Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lorelie
Patrick’s hands drift down my back, hot and heavy. I arch into him without thinking, leaning into the kiss.
When his palm slides over my bare skin, something in me sparks and then snaps.
I pull back with a sharp breath. “Do you want to go on a hike?”
He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sudden turn. For half a second, he looks almost dazed. Then he nods, like I didn’t just do a one eighty
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just let me use the bathroom.”
He walks over and opens the door beside the bed.
It’s a closet. Empty hangers sway slightly; a few jackets shoved to one side. He stares at it, confused, then looks back at me for help.
I bite my lip and point across the room. “Other side of the wall. Living room.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding like that explains everything. He shuts the door and opens the correct one this time, revealing an actual bathroom.
When the door clicks shut behind him, I exhale slowly and press my hand to my chest.
I don’t know what just happened.
Despite what I said in the car, I did, in fact, wax. I knew what tonight might turn into. I planned for it, even. I told myself I was ready, that this was long overdue.
But the second his hand slid across my skin, my brain short-circuited.
And can you blame me? The last time we reconnected physically, I had to kick him out the very next day. My brain remembers that, even if my heart wants to forget.
It’s been six months since we started trying again. Six months of talking. Of therapy. Of dates that end with long kisses and careful goodnights. I want him. God, I do.
I just need a second to be sure; I don’t flinch the next time.
I change into yoga pants while Patrick is in the bathroom, moving quietly. When I’m done, I wait by the door, hands clasped together.
He comes out a minute later, drying his hands on his jeans. “Ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Together, we head down the narrow trail behind the cabin. The forest is dense and damp, the ground soft beneath our boots. We walk slowly, carefully stepping over slick stones and fallen branches, the air thick with the scent of wet trees.
Neither of us talks much. It’s not awkward. It’s peaceful. Like the place demands quiet.
Then we reach the water.
“Stream” feels like an understatement. It’s more of a small waterfall, loud and rushing hard over dark rocks. The water is cloudy, brownish from the recent rains, but it’s still striking, still powerful.
“Wow,” I breathe, stepping closer without thinking.
“Careful,” Patrick says quickly, extending a hand and lightly stopping me.
“What?” I ask, glancing back at him, confused.
“Look at the water line,” he says.
I follow his gaze. The banks are soaked, covering the roots of trees and other vegetation.
“This isn’t normal,” he continues, voice serious now. “Barry said it was a stream. This is… way above that. Practically a lake.”
I shrug, uneasy but trying to brush it off. “Maybe he was confused.”
Patrick doesn’t laugh. He studies the water a moment longer, jaw tight, instincts kicking in. The same instincts that make him good at his job.
“Maybe,” he says slowly. “We shouldn’t push our luck.”
I nod, suddenly grateful for his caution, for the way he steps half a pace closer to me without touching, just close enough to catch me if the ground shifts beneath our feet.
I notice his protective stance, the way his body angles instinctively between me and the water, between me and anything that could go wrong.
When I’m with him like this, I know nothing can touch me. Apparently not even nature.
Smiling, I reach out and grab his hand. “Let’s go back.”
He doesn’t look at me at first. His eyes are still locked on the waterfall, assessing. I tug his hand gently. “Patrick,” I say, firmer now. “Let’s go back. The cabin’s way higher on the mountain. We’ll be fine.”
He exhales, finally turning to me, and nods. “You’re right,” he says. “Let’s go.”
We’ve barely made it halfway back up the trail when the sky opens up.
Rain slams down hard and fast, soaking us instantly.
I gasp as cold water soaks through my clothes, my hair plastering to my face.
You’d think the thick trees would protect us from the downpour, but they don’t.
They amplify it instead, the rain hammering the leaves so loudly it feels like the whole forest is roaring.
There’s nowhere to duck off the trail, nowhere dry to wait it out. The ground turns slick beneath our boots, mud clinging and sliding with every step uphill.
Patrick tightens his grip on my hand.
He doesn’t let go once.
He moves slightly ahead of me now, pulling me up the incline, adjusting his pace without saying a word. When I slip, he steadies me immediately. When I lose my footing, his arm closes around mine, keeping me upright.
“You okay?” he asks over his shoulder, rain dripping from his lashes.
“Yeah,” I say, breathless.
We’re completely soaked by the time the cabin finally comes into view, a dark shape through the trees. My legs burn from the climb, my heart pounding from more than just the exertion.
Patrick gets the door open and ushers me inside, the warmth hitting my wet body instantly, sharp against my chilled skin. Water drips from our clothes onto the wood floor, little puddles forming at our feet.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Why don’t you shower first,” he says, already shrugging out of his shirt. “I’ll get the fire going.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already moving, crouching in front of the fireplace without waiting for an answer.
It’s not a typical brick hearth. It’s one of the older kinds, set right in the center of the space, dividing the living area and the bed. Two-sided. Practical. The kind of fireplace meant to be used from anywhere in the cabin.
Patrick moves with easy familiarity, like he’s done this a hundred times. His naked back flexes as he starts stacking logs with quiet focus. For a second, I stand there mesmerized.
Feeling a sneeze come on, I leave him to it and step into the bathroom.
It’s small. Cozy. It was clearly built for necessity, not luxury. The tub and shower are one unit, separated only by a thin curtain. A tiny window near the ceiling lets in a sliver of gray light from the storm outside.
I peel off my soaked clothes slowly, the chill lingering on my skin even as steam begins to rise when I turn the water on.
My clothes land in a puddle beside the tub.
Mud streaks my calves and thighs, somehow even tangled into my hair. The water feels like heaven as I step under it, rinsing away the dirt and cold.
I lean one hand against the tile and close my eyes.
I wonder what Patrick is thinking right now.
There’s no way he didn’t notice the hesitation. The way I pulled back when things started to get heated.
God, leave it to me to make a romantic weekend getaway awkward.
Patrick
I’m drying my hair, as I walk out of the bathroom waring dry clothes. Casually, I ask. “What do you wanna do for dinner?” And stop dead.
Lore’s kneeling on the floor, spreading out blankets near the fire.
I stare at her, my chest tightening before I can stop it. “Jesus, Lore. I’m not going to attack you if we share a bed,” I say, sharper than I mean to.
She looks up at me, confused. “What?”
“You don’t have to-” I gesture vaguely at the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”
She blinks, then her expression softens. “Patrick.” She pats the blankets. “I’m doing this for us. I just thought it’d be nice to sleep by the fire.”
“Oh.” I turn away, draping my towel over a chair, embarrassment crawling up my spine. “Sorry.”
Before I can take another step, she grabs my hand and tugs me down beside her.
The floor is hard. The carpet barely cushions anything. But I’d sleep on broken glass if it was what she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For earlier. I know I hurt your feelings, and…”
She trails off.
I wait. Then, because I’m apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone, I say, “I know what you said before… but I didn’t think you were serious.”
She frowns. “What did I say?”
I stare into the fire, the flames shifting just enough to give me something else to look at.
“Last year,” I say. “In Dr. Brett’s office. You said sleeping with me was disgusting.” My jaw tightens. “I thought you were just angry. But maybe it was true.”
“No,” she says immediately.
Lore takes my hand in both of hers, forcing me to look at her. “No, okay? That wasn’t the truth. I was angry. I was hurt. I thought you lied to me on purpose.”
“I didn’t-”
“I know,” she says quickly. “I know that now. That’s not it.” She exhales shakily. “Last year we fell apart. Completely. And I just-” Her grip tightens. “I don’t want that to happen again.”
Something in my chest loosens. God, just the thought that she still found me repulsive was enough to bury me alive.
I lean back against a pillow and pull her with me, settling her against my chest. She fits there without hesitation.
“We don’t have to have sex, Lore,” I say quietly. “I didn’t come here for that.”
She tilts her head up, eyebrow lifting. “Fine. I didn’t just come here for that.” A small smile curves her mouth. “I came here to spend time with you. To hold your hand.”
I lace our fingers together, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “It’s been fun, sneaking around but…” I trail off, suddenly unsure how to say it without sounding like I’m asking for too much.
“You want to tell everyone,” she finishes gently, like she’s reading my thoughts.
I nod. “Yeah. I want the world to know you’re still my wife.” My finger drifts to the chain at her neck, lightly tracing it. “I want my ring on your finger. Not hanging from a necklace.”
Her teeth catch the side of her lip, worrying it. I immediately regret pushing.
“We don’t have to,” I add quickly. “I was just… throwing it out there.”
She studies me for a moment, then says, “How about we tell them after Milo’s birthday?”