Page 68 of The Quiet After The Fall

I hear every step he takes into the water, slow at first, then faster. The cold isn’t getting to him like it did to me. The water shifts and moves with him, waves lapping gently against my back before he’s close enough that I feel the heat coming off him even here, submerged, surrounded by cold.

He stops right behind me. I still don’t turn, even though it’s killing me. I’ve always let Knox win. Let him see the side of me that craves his approval. But not now. Not after everything he’s put me through. I refuse to cave.

“Sawyer,” he rasps, his voice low. He sounds wrecked, like my name’s been sitting in his throat all day and it finally scraped its way out.

I let the silence sit, let him wait for me to be ready. But I’m hiding a smile because I did it. He broke first.

“Every second I don’t touch you, it feels like something’s being carved from my skin. I don’t know how much longer I can do this…stand here, this close, and not have my hands all over your body.”

His words sink in deep. I know that feeling. Being carved out from the inside. I’ve been living in it since Owen’s funeral, since long before that if I’m honest with myself. Hearing him say it out loud, so desperately, chips away at the wall I’ve been holding up all day.

Don’t let it show.

I finally turn.

“You could touch me,” I say, tracing one finger along the surface of the water between us. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

Hope flickers across his face, or maybe disbelief that I’m handing him what he wants that easily. He steps closer, close enough that there’s maybe a few inches of water between us, and lifts his hand.

I catch his wrist before he makes contact.

“I didn’t say where.”

His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps there, and I watch him battle with himself as I roll my shoulders back. Watch him decide whether to push or stand still. His eyes flash to mine and I tighten my hold on his wrist.

“Sawyer,” he pleads. “You’re killing me.”

“Am I?” I guide his hand, moving intentionally slow, to my waist instead of anywhere either of us actually wants it. He shudders, like it’s not enough and somehow still too much. “Seems like you’re still standing.”

“Barely.” He lets out a ragged breath.

I float a fingertip up his forearm, watching him hold himself together by a thread. His breathing goes uneven. His grip on my waist tightens like he’s fighting the urge to pull me the rest of the way in.

“What do you want, Knox?”

“You know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He draws circles along my skin, stepping closer. “I used to think the accident was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” His voice drops, low and rough. “But it’s not. The worst part was surviving it and still not having you.”

I swallow hard, not knowing how to respond. But he’s not finished. His composure slips, I can feel his body tense, his shoulders tighten. The careful stillness he’s held all day finally breaks, exposing the rawness beneath.

His hand comes up and he grips his own hair, pulling like it could help physically hold him together. “Every heartbeat since the accident has been borrowed time, and I’ve spent every single one of them thinking about you. I’m done waiting. I fell for you and I’ve been in freefall for years, and I am so fucking tired of being quiet about it.”

His words hit me right in the chest, affecting me in ways I don’t want him to see.

He closes the little distance between us, reaching to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. I feel the moment he decides to kiss me…the shift in his breathing, the way his eyes drop to my mouth.

Before he can, I press two fingers to his lips.

“Don’t,” I say. “Not there. Not until you do what you need to do.”

If he kisses me here and now, my resolve will shatter. There’s something too personal about it, too real.

His brows knit together, but he doesn’t push. He exhales, rough, and instead of my mouth, he drops his head to my neck, lips finding the spot just below my ear.

“Fine,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”