Chapter 19
NINETEEN
JULIEN
Her smile stops my heart.
Not the careful, polite curve of lips I’ve seen her give her parents, strangers, or even me until now.
This is different.
Real.
Unguarded joy breaking through the layers of caution and control she desperately holds onto like a kid holding onto his favorite stuffed animal.
I can’t answer because my chest constricts, squeezing something loose that I’ve kept locked away for too long.
Her eyes shine with wonder, crinkled at the corners as her teeth catch her lower lip like she’s embarrassed by her own excitement.
Fuck.
“Julien?” Her smile falters, confusion creasing her brow as she tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”
I shouldn’t want her this badly.
She’s Nicklas’s daughter. This is exactly what he wanted when he tried to force the marriage. But fuck, I can’t stay away. I need more of that smile.
“Yeah.” The syllable feels inadequate, stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Just…”
Just what? Just realizing I’ve been an asshole? Just noticing how the sunlight catches the blue-gray of her eyes, making them look like morning mist over water?
I clear my throat. Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read me like she always does, and this time she might. I move before she can see too much, stepping closer, my fingers brushing hers as I take the flower from her palm.
It’s so small I’m afraid I’ll crush it, this fragile thing that’s somehow survived when so much hasn’t.
“It is beautiful.” I tuck it behind her ear, the purple petals a stark contrast against her dark hair. My fingertips graze the soft skin of her temple, and I feel her slight inhale, and the way she holds herself perfectly still. “It suits you.”
A beautiful pink color floods her cheeks. She glances down, then back up, uncertainty written across her face.
I step back before I do something stupid like trace the curve of her cheekbone, kiss her, or worse, tell her what I’m thinking. That she reminds me of this flower, surviving in the harshest conditions, beautiful despite everything.
“We should get going.” I grab her hand, interlacing our fingers. “Pine Lake isn’t far. We can make it on foot.”
Her hand feels small in mine, fingers cool against my palm. It’s more practical this way. I can keep her close, guide her, and make sure she doesn’t do something stupid or stumble with her still-healing concussion.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “How far?”
“Couple miles.” I scan the road ahead. “Hour, tops.”
We walk in comfortable silence, our joined hands swinging gently between us as birds sing around us, the wind rustles through tall grass, and sunlight dapples the ground through the tree branches.
If I ignore the absence of cars and people, I can almost pretend we’re just a couple taking a Sunday hike.
Almost.
My free hand stays close to my machete, eyes constantly scanning for movement.
“What’s Pine Lake like?” she asks.
“Quiet. Remote.” I help her over a fallen log, a smile touching my lips. “Dad used to take us fishing there. Later, Cameron and I worked as counselors at the camp.”
“You were a camp counselor?” Her voice carries a note of surprise, like she can’t picture me with kids.
“Shocking, I know.” I squeeze her hand as we navigate around a pothole. “Hard to imagine me with a whistle and a clipboard.”
“I’m trying to picture it.” Her lips twitch. “Did you make the kids do push-ups?”
“Just basic survival skills. Knot tying. Fire starting. How to find north without a compass.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “What about Cameron?”
“Arts and crafts. Friendship bracelets. Sing-alongs around the campfire.” Back then, Cameron still played guitar, and the kids gathered around him like he was some kind of pied piper. “He was better with them than I was.”
“You sound proud.”
“He’s good with people. Always has been.” I glance at her. “Makes up for what I lack.”
“Which is?”
“Patience. Empathy.” I clear my throat. “The lodge sits on the edge of the lake. Solid construction, defensible position. Main lodge plus a dozen cabins scattered through the trees. Fully stocked for seasonal tourism. Boathouse.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Nothing’s perfect,” I say, then regret the pessimism when her shoulders drop. “But it’s better than most options. And on the way to our cottage in the mountains, where we hopefully meet Cole.”
She stops abruptly, our joined hands jerking like a caught fishing line. “Cottage?”
Shit. Didn’t mean to let that slip. “The one in the mountains,” I say casually, like I haven’t just revealed a backup plan we deliberately kept quiet. I tug her hand gently to get us moving again, and she walks, but her gaze is fixed on the ground.
Give me another stamp on the asshole card.
“Your cottage,” she says, voice careful. “And you plan to go there?”
“Yes.” No point in lying.
“Who?”
I hesitate. “Family. And Cole and his wife.”
She pulls her hand free, stopping in the middle of the road, and I expect her face to crumple, but instead, it goes blank so fast I almost miss the hurt flashing in her eyes.
“Family.” She steps back, creating more space between us. “Makes sense”
“Dakota—”
“No, I get it.” She gives me that brittle smile I’m starting to hate now that I know what the real one looks like. “After what my father did to your family, I wouldn’t want us there either.”
Fuck. “It’s not about you.”
“It’s okay.” She starts walking again, faster now, like she can’t wait to get away from me and this conversation. “We should go.”
“You don’t understand.” I catch up in three strides, grabbing her elbow to stop her. “The cottage was always plan B.”
“For family,” she repeats, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond my shoulder. “I’m not stupid. I know where I fall in the hierarchy.”
I release her arm, running a hand through my hair. “There’s no hierarchy.”
Her laugh cuts like glass. “There’s always a hierarchy.”
“Not with me.”
She finally looks at me, really looks, and the resignation in her eyes makes me want to punch something. Myself. For my stupidity.
“I understand, okay?” She softens her voice. “Family comes first. It’s practical. Smart, even. For me, it’s always Meli, so… I understand.”
“God, why do you do that?”
Her shoulders hunch. “Do what?”
“Put yourself last.” I step closer, invading her space. “Like your existence is some fucking apology.”
She flinches but doesn’t back down. “I’m being practical.”
“No, you’re doing what you always do. Assuming you don’t matter.” My voice drops lower. “Because that’s what they taught you.”
“Stop.”
“Your father hits you. Your mother lets it happen.”
She blinks, fighting tears. “Please, don’t bring this up now.”
I’m pushing too hard, but I can’t stop. “And everyone always thinks about Amelia first. Even you. Like taking care of her is your only purpose.”
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t get to decide what matters to me.”
“And your father does?”
“That’s not—” She shakes her head, the flower dislodging from behind her ear.
I catch it before it falls. The purple petals brush against my palm, delicate and unreal between my calloused fingers. It’s so damn small. Fragile. I should’ve crushed it by now.
“I didn’t mean—” Words have never been my thing. Actions speak louder, and right now, I’m holding a fucking flower like it’s made of glass while she looks at me with those goddamn glassy eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She squares her shoulders and continues the path. “Really. Let’s just get to Pine Lake and find the others.”
That fucking word again. Fine. Nothing about this is fine.
Fuck.
I’m handling this about as well as a grenade with the pin pulled.
I follow her, keeping some distance.
She’s not wrong. The cottage was always my plan for me, Cameron, Sienna, Rosa, Cole, and Arianna.
Her name was never included.
She walks ahead, shoulders rigid, hands balled into fists. She’s tougher than she looks, surviving her father, the wedding that wasn’t, zombies, and that psycho reverend.
I never really planned to include the Levines. Never planned on looking at Dakota and feeling this… whatever the fuck this is.
She slips on loose gravel. I reach out, but she’s already righting herself, not looking back at me. Still moving forward.
Always forward.
Probably better that way.
Or I will crush her like that flower.