CHAPTER 8. Connor
I tense the second I see Rick, my body reacting before my brain catches up.
Noah goes completely still beside me too, like prey catching the scent of a predator.
The easy, vulnerable moment we were sharing vanishes, replaced by a taut, ugly silence.
Of course Rick would find us here—alone, in the middle of the woods, right when Noah was finally starting to open up.
“What’s up?” Noah asks as Rick comes closer.
Everything about this guy is polished in a way that gets under my skin. The pressed clothes. The perfect hair. The calm expression that looks like it’s been rehearsed in a mirror. It makes me want to knock that perfect mask right off his face.
“Plans have changed,” he says, looking straight at Noah like I’m not even here.
“Kayaking got pushed to tomorrow since Mom and Dad wanted a slower morning after the drive and all the wine last night.” He gestures vaguely back toward the cottages.
“Everyone’s heading to the lake to swim now, so your mom asked me to come get you. ”
“Oh. Okay,” Noah says, his voice tight. “Thanks for letting us know.”
A pause stretches out. Rick shifts his weight, glances at me, then looks back at Noah.
“Actually, now that I found you, I was thinking maybe we could talk for a minute.” His tone is light, easy, but something about it sets my teeth on edge.
“Okay,” Noah says, like he’s waiting for Rick to keep going.
Rick hesitates, then says, “Alone.”
Noah’s brow furrows. “Connor can stay.”
Rick shoots me a look with real annoyance in it, the first honest expression I’ve seen on his face. Then he turns back to Noah.
“I’d rather it be just the two of us,” he says, his face smoothing out again. “Just to clear the air. It’s been a while.”
Noah’s eyes flick to mine, and for a split second he looks unsure before his face closes off again.
“That’s not necessary,” he says. “There’s nothing to clear.”
“Please?” Rick steps closer, lowering his voice a little. “Just a quick chat.”
Noah looks deeply uncomfortable, but after a beat, he nods. “Alright.”
Every part of me wants to step between them.
Tell Rick to get fucked. Tell him he lost the right to pull Noah aside the second he decided shame mattered more than Noah did.
But it isn’t my place. This isn’t actually my relationship to defend.
Noah isn’t actually my boyfriend. I have to keep telling myself that, even while something ugly and possessive keeps rising in my chest.
“I’ll give you a minute,” I say instead, because what else can I do?
I move a little way down the path, far enough to give them privacy, but close enough that I can still see them. Rick wastes no time guiding Noah farther off, just out of earshot. I watch from where I am, trying not to make it too obvious.
I can’t hear what Rick is saying, only watch the effect it has on Noah.
At first Noah stands there with his arms folded hard across his chest, listening, but it doesn’t take long for his whole body to tighten, like he’s already regretting agreeing to this.
Then his chin lifts, and a few seconds later the sound of his voice carries back to me—not the words, just the tone.
Short. Flat. Carefully controlled. Even from here, I can tell he’s getting angry, no matter how hard he’s trying to keep it off his face.
Good.
I’d rather see anger in him than that awful, wrecked look from this morning. Anger means Rick hasn’t gotten to him in the same way yet. It means Noah is still pushing back.
But then something changes. Noah’s shoulders drop, and the fight goes out of him so fast it turns my stomach. A second ago he looked angry. Now he just stands there, still, like whatever Rick said caught him off guard.
I force myself to stay where I am, picking at the bark of a nearby tree to give my hands something to do. This was always part of the deal—helping Noah face his ex. I just didn’t expect it to be this hard to watch.
At one point, Rick reaches out and puts a hand on Noah’s arm. It’s brief, probably meant to look harmless to anyone watching, but I still see Noah flinch. I make myself look away as something dangerously close to jealousy rises in my chest.
Fuck. I need to cool down.
I pull out my phone and open the gym app where I track my training. I think about the workout I’ll miss tomorrow and try to distract myself by going over Monday’s plan instead.
Finally, after what feels like forever but is probably only a few minutes, I hear footsteps. When I look up, Rick is heading toward me.
As he draws level with me, he cuts me an unreadable look. It’s definitely not friendly, and he doesn’t even bother hiding the hostility in it. I give him the same look back, then turn toward Noah.
Even from here, I can see him take a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with it. Then he looks up, like he’s only just remembering I’m here, blinks once, and starts walking over.
By the time he reaches me, his face is pale and his mouth is set in a hard line.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Noah nods, though it’s obvious he’s not. “Let’s go back,” he says, without meeting my eyes.
We head down the trail after Rick, far enough back that we could talk without him hearing us, but Noah stays quiet.
I don’t push. Whatever Rick said, Noah clearly isn’t ready to talk about it.
For the next few minutes, we walk in silence, our shoulders brushing now and then. I can tell Noah’s furious—so wound up he seems to vibrate with it—and I keep catching myself wondering what the hell Rick said to him all over again.
Then the trail narrows, the slope turning steeper and forcing us closer together, and Noah suddenly reaches for my hand. His warm fingers slide between mine, and my pulse kicks hard at the contact.
Jesus. My body’s reaction to him is getting ridiculous.
When I glance over, he’s frowning, his gaze fixed on Rick’s back like he could burn a hole straight through him. I squeeze his hand once, and Noah flashes me a quick smile that doesn’t come close to hiding how angry he is.
Fuck. I know this isn’t really about wanting to hold my hand.
It’s not about that hot kiss on the ridge either.
It’s about Rick, who keeps glancing back at us as we make our way down the trail.
Noah’s probably using me as a buffer without even realizing it, putting distance between himself and whatever Rick just said to him.
But knowing that doesn’t stop my body from reacting. It doesn’t stop the warmth that spreads through my chest when his thumb brushes over the back of my hand.
Fuck. I might be in trouble.
***
When we reach the lake, the others are already there.
Caroline and Maria are sitting on lounge chairs under a large umbrella, chatting.
Brad and Daniel are down to their swim trunks, standing ankle-deep in the water while they slap sunscreen on in a hurry.
Maya and Cassidy are already swimming—Maya cutting through the water with strong strokes far from shore, while Cassidy stays closer in, looking a little lost.
Noah doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk up to the group. If anything, his grip gets tighter.
“There you are!” Caroline calls, waving. “We were starting to wonder if you boys got lost in the woods.”
“We were just enjoying the walk,” I say with a smile, leaving out the part where Rick showed up and killed the mood.
Caroline gives me a wink, like she’s decided “enjoying the walk” is code for making out in the woods or something.
Daniel turns toward me, grinning. “Water’s much warmer than last night, Connor.” He looks genuinely happy, the lines around his eyes crinkling.
“Perfect,” I say. “I just need to go change.”
“Let’s just swim in our underwear,” Noah says, tugging on my hand and looking up at me.
He smiles, and for a second I get distracted by how long his lashes are.
“Come on,” he adds, and it sounds almost like a dare. I can’t tell how much of it is real and how much is for Rick’s benefit. Rick is only a few feet away, stripping down to his swim trunks, close enough to hear us perfectly well.
“Who says I’m wearing any underwear?” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I mean it to.
Noah chuckles, his cheeks turning pink.
“That’s even better,” he says. Then he slips his hand from mine, grabs the hem of his shirt, and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion.
This is the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, and the sight of his bare chest—lean but muscled, with a faint trail of hair disappearing down his stomach—makes my mouth go dry.
I try not to stare as he kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his jeans, then strips down to his boxers right there on the shore, leaving his clothes in a heap on one of the empty chairs.
Then he heads for the water and looks back at me over his shoulder.
Okay. I’m definitely not staring at his ass.
“Chop-chop, Dr. O’Reilly,” he says with a grin.
Jesus Christ.
I pull my own shirt over my head, suddenly far too aware of Noah watching me.
Then I step out of my jeans, drop them with his clothes, and follow him to the water in my boxer briefs.
Noah steps in first, sucking in a breath as the cold water reaches his calves, then his knees.
I go in after him, wincing at the temperature.
Despite what Daniel said, it feels colder than yesterday, though that might just be because I’m suddenly way too warm.
Noah stops when the water reaches his waist, his shoulders drawn up against the cold. I move in beside him, close enough that our arms brush.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say quietly. “Not if it’s too cold.”
“I’m fine,” he says, even though his teeth are already starting to chatter.
Before I can say anything else, he drags in a breath and ducks under all at once. A second later he comes back up with a gasp, water streaming down his face, his hair plastered to his head.
“Holy shit,” he splutters, eyes wide. “It’s freezing.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, and his mouth twitches.
“Shut up,” he mutters, splashing water at me. “Get in properly.”