Page 139 of Silent Shadows

Her smile turns wicked. “Very professional.”

I open the door, gesturing for her to walk in. “Always.”

We walk in, standing in the “dry” section of the stall beside a bench and a sink. Against the back wall is the shower, shielded from view by a cheap plastic shower curtain.

This shower is not built for two people. It’s barely built for one road-weary trucker.

The second I lock the door behind us, the shower curtain sticks to my shoulder, Daisy bumps her elbow against the wall, and my bag hits the bench hard enough that it makes a sad creak.

She starts laughing. Really laughing.

Head tipped back, one hand braced against my chest, she reaches behind me into the shower and turns the water on to warm it up. Then she takes my glasses off and places them gently beside the sink before trying to pull my shirt over my head. It’s so caked in mud that it gets stuck. I help pull it off, and she laughs even harder. I laugh too, dropping my forehead to her shoulder.

“This is hilarious,” I laugh, as steam begins curling around us.

“This is your idea.”

“You agreed very quickly.”

“You were concerned about me getting hypothermia or whatever.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”

“Miles.”

I lift my head and watch as she starts to strip off one piece of dirty, wet clothing after another. I follow suit, peeling off my jeans.

The laughter fades as she takes my hand, pulling me into the shower with her.

Water runs over her hair, down her temples, along the line of her throat. I watch as mud swirls at our feet and disappears down the drain. The outside world shrinks to the sound of water and breath, and the charged inch of space between our bodies.

I look down and see a bruise blooming on her hip where she fell. I reach out and brush it with the tips of my fingers.

This. The scrape on her hand. They’re such minor injuries. Still, my chest tightens.

Her hand covers mine. “I’m okay,” she says.

I nod.

But I don’t let go.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

I look at her. She sees too much. She always does. That is part of the problem. Maybe the whole problem.

“I know you’re capable,” I say. “I know you can take care of yourself. I know you don’t need me hovering like a paranoid lunatic with trail maps.”

“Good.”

“But Grant scared me.”

The words come out before I can make them prettier.

Daisy stills.

I look down at our joined hands under the warm spray.