Chapter 34 #2
For once, it isn’t complicated. It isn’t heavy. It’s just this: the sea around us, the laughter in my chest, Boone grabbing me around the waist to dunk me under, me coming up sputtering and shrieking.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this light.
And as the boat drifts, as the water sparkles and the men’s voices call down to us, I think—this is exactly what I needed.
Boone floats on his back beside me, the sun sharp on his chest, droplets running down the muscles of his arms. He kicks lazily, eyes half-closed, completely at peace.
It makes me smile because I don’t think I’ve seen him like this since the day I met him—unguarded, unhurried.
I splash water at him. “You’re too comfortable.”
His grin spreads wide. “Maybe I finally deserve to be.”
I roll to float beside him, sky endless above us, water holding us up. “I’ve been thinking,” I say, voice small because suddenly this feels big. “When the mural project’s done… I might stay.”
He jerks upright, water sliding off his skin, eyes locking on mine. “Stay? Here? In Driftwood?”
I nod, half-nervous. “I haven’t told the others yet. But I will.”
Boone’s grin is instant, wild, that golden retriever joy sparking through every inch of him. “Sadie.” He grabs me around the waist, lifting me half out of the water and spinning me before I can protest. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes,” I laugh, shrieking as he dunks us both under. When I come up, I’m breathless and smiling. “Yes, I mean it.”
He’s still holding me, eyes bright. “You have no idea what this means.”
I look at him, chest tight with something I can’t quite name. “I think I do.”
The others call from the deck, tossing us lines for the terrible fishing expedition Shepard insists will “make the day complete.” We climb back on board, dripping and grinning, and Gabe immediately thrusts rods into our hands.
Turns out none of us are particularly skilled. Boone nearly hooks his own foot. Gabe mutters curses every time his line comes up empty. Shepard, ever the patient one, gives us instructions like a schoolteacher, but even his rod stays stubbornly still.
After twenty minutes, I laugh so hard I almost drop mine into the water.
“Useless,” I say, flopping down onto the deck, sun drying the salt on my skin. “I wish I’d brought paints. Imagine what I could do with this.”
Shepard glances over from where he’s reeling in again. “You’d paint this? Here?”
“All of it,” I say, stretching my arms wide. “The light, the water, the way you three look right now. I’d trap it before it fades.”
There’s a silence. Boone’s hand slips over mine, squeezing.
We eat on deck—fresh fruit, grilled fish Julian’s crew managed to catch for us because apparently someone had to. My skin is sun-warmed, my hair tangled, my lips salty. I’ve never felt freer.
Later, I slip below deck to change into something dry. The cabin is dim, shadows stretching long across the bed as the sun begins to sink. I sink into the mattress, boneless, sun-drunk.
There’s a knock, light. The door opens and Boone steps in first, hair damp, eyes darker now. Shepard behind him, glasses off. Gabe last, shirt sleeves rolled high on his arms.
I push up onto my elbows. “Hey.”
It should feel casual. It doesn’t.
Boone crosses the room, sits beside me on the bed, brushing a hand down my arm. His touch is easy but charged. Shepard lingers by the door, like he’s not sure. Gabe closes it behind him, slow, watching me.
The air shifts.
I know it. They know it.
Boone leans closer, his lips brushing mine. The kiss is soft at first, tasting of salt and beer. I sigh into it, hands curling into his shoulders, pulling him closer until it deepens, tongue sliding against mine.
When we part, I look up and see Shepard watching, eyes dark. Gabe, too, jaw clenched.
I hold a hand out toward Shepard. “Come here.”
He hesitates, but then he crosses the room, sitting on my other side. His palm cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone, and when he kisses me it’s hungrier, less restrained. Tongue and teeth, glasses digging into his nose as I tug him closer.
Gabe exhales, low and harsh.
“Gabe,” I whisper, breaking from Shepard’s mouth, turning toward him.
For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he does, stepping closer, bracing one hand on the wall above me, the other tracing the line of my throat. He kisses me like he’s been holding it back for weeks—rough, consuming, leaving me gasping.
I’m caught between them, Boone’s hand slipping under my top, Shepard’s fingers tangling in my hair, Gabe’s tongue stroking deep into my mouth.
I don’t know who moans first. Maybe me. Maybe all of us.
The sunset spills through the porthole, gold and fading light painting everything softer than it feels. Because this isn’t soft. It’s inevitable.
Boone kisses down my throat, teeth scraping. Shepard pulls at the tie of my bikini, fingers trembling just slightly. Gabe presses against me, hard length undeniable through his pants, his voice rough in my ear.
“You sure about this, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I breathe.