“You don’t know what you’re doing out there.”
“I do.”
His eyebrows lift. “Oh, you do?”
“I’ve been watching you for years.”
“You think watching me is the same as actually doing it?”
“I know it’s not, but I’ve learned things from you. And from Ryan.”
The silence that follows isn’t the same as before—it’s heavier, thicker. Even more awkward, if that’s possible.
It’s obvious we’ve reached an impasse.
“You won’t last two days out there.” The certainty in his voice irritates me.
“I will.”
“You don’t know the terrain, where it floods when the storms come, or what’s out there—sea snakes, things hiding where you won’t see them until it’s too late.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“You’ll figure it out.” His gaze sharpens. “That’s just perfect.”
Another long silence stretches between us, then something colder settles over his expression.
“And what exactly is the point of this?”
There are too many answers, and none of them are easy to say out loud. So I go with the simplest one.
“We don’t have to keep doing this.”
“Doingwhat?”
I gesture between us. “This.”
The space. The silence. The careful distance.
I hate every second of it.
He mirrors the gesture. “I don’t know whatthisis.”
“You hate me, Dane. You always have.”
I’ve never said it out loud before. Now that I have, it hurts more.
“You don’t want me here. Message received.”
For a moment, Dane doesn’t move, his expression going completely blank.
“That’swhat you think?”
I swallow, forcing myself to stay steady and not show him how much he’s hurt me over the years. “You’ve made it very clear.”
His brows pull together. “Oh, I have?”
“Yes.”
