Chapter 21 Bunny Slope Badass #2
We walk out of the bathroom like nothing happened. Well—he walks. I limp just slightly, one leg made of metal, the other jelly.
Totally worth it.
Hot Tub Debrief
By the time we make it back to the cabin, I can’t feel my spine.
The sky’s already turning that weird electric blue that says it’ll be dark in twenty minutes, and all I want is a protein bar, a nap, and the immediate amputation of my remaining leg.
Instead, I get roped into the hot tub.
Brandt’s already in it, steam curling up around his neck, cheeks pink from cold and chlorine. He looks up at me like I’m late to the best part of the night. Which, considering how the afternoon ended, might be true.
I slide in with a grunt, prosthetic removed and tossed somewhere dry, my body aching like I went ten rounds with God. “If I die in here, you’re not allowed to put that on my tombstone.”
Brandt tilts his head. “What?”
‘Death by recreational sports and oral overachievement.’
He snorts. “You’re not dying.”
“Feels like it.”
He floats closer. Bare shoulders. Wet hair. That dumb, happy grin like he’s proud of me. Goddamn I lucked out.
“You really did great today, West.”
I wave him off, half-hearted. “I skied a glorified sidewalk with five-year-olds on either side of me. One of them told me I looked like a broken Transformer.”
“You stayed upright,” he says. “You didn’t bail. You got back on your feet every time. You pushed through all the bullshit your brain throws at you. That’s not nothing.”
I close my eyes and lean back, water lapping at my chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever ski again. Not really.”
“I know.”
“It’s like… I stopped letting myself picture things that used to feel easy. Like skiing. Running. Dancing.”
Brandt hums quietly. “You danced at the Halloween party.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice soft. “Only because you made me.”
“No. You danced because you wanted to, even if you didn’t believe it yet.”
I hate how he says shit like that. Like he sees me. Like he’s been collecting the pieces I leave behind and holding onto them until I’m ready to take them back.
Steam curls around us. I sink lower, letting the heat numb my leg and everything else.
“Brandt?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared all the time. I know I act like I’m not, but I am. I hate that this is my normal. I hate how much of my life I spend pretending I don’t give a shit.”
He doesn’t rush to answer. Just sets a hand on my chest, right over my heart.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says. “Not ever.”
And maybe that’s the part that makes it all feel bearable.
It’s definitely the only reason I’m still alive.
When I open my eyes, Brandt’s closer, knees brushing mine under the water. His hand still rests on my chest, fingers splayed like he’s keeping me here, tethered, grounded.
“Why do you look at me like that?” I ask, quieter than I mean to.
He tilts his head, not moving his hand. “Like what?”
“Like I’m worth all this.” I gesture vaguely at the hot tub, the trip, the week—my whole chaotic, broken-ass self.
“Because you are,” he says without hesitation. “You’re not just what happened to you, West. You’re funny. Brave. You make things easier just by showing up.”
“You’re full of shit.”
He smiles like he knows I’ll say that. “Still true.”
I shake my head, but something in me softens. Cracks open. Like I don’t have to brace for the next blow. Like I can just sit here and let myself be wanted. Brandt’s thumb strokes my skin once, then again. A lazy circle over my heart like he’s memorizing the rhythm.
“You always do this,” I murmur.
“What?”
“Make me feel… safe. Like I could fall apart and you’d just—be there.”
“I would.”
My breath catches. He moves in slowly, like he’s giving me every chance to say no. I don’t. Can’t. When his lips meet mine, it’s not a question. It’s an answer.
Warm. Intentional. Steadying.
The kind of kiss that rewires your whole goddamn nervous system.
I thread my fingers into his damp curls and pull him closer. The water sloshes gently around us, and I press into the kiss like I’m trying to memorize the shape of this moment. His mouth, his breath, his hand on my chest anchoring me to right now.
It deepens. Turns hungry. His tongue traces mine with a soft groan that punches heat straight through my gut.
I bite his bottom lip, just a little. He laughs against my mouth, breathless and cocky, and it wrecks me.
“I thought you were dead on arrival,” he whispers, lips brushing mine.
“I’m reconsidering,” I say, tugging him into my lap, water be damned.
Steam curls between us, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building low in my belly. His hands find my waist, mine on his back, our mouths locked in a kiss that says we made it. That says I see you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere.
And maybe I am tired. Maybe I still ache in every joint and muscle and bone. But I’ve never felt more alive.
Back Home
The cabin is behind us. The snow is melting off the roof of the Jeep. And my thighs feel like I just rode bareback across the goddamn Rockies.
Home smells like old coffee grounds and that weird candle Stiles insists makes the place “feel grounded.” It mostly smells like wet dog and accidental arson. But whatever. I’m supposed to say it’s the thought that counts.
Brandt’s humming something under his breath as he dumps our bags by the door. He’s still glowing from the trip. Me? I’m stiff, half-sore, and fully bracing for the emotional crash that always follows doing something brave.
I go into the bedroom to toss my jacket and nearly trip over the stack of crap Brandt left on the dresser.
At the top is an old photo in a bent frame. One of me. Before. Me on skis, goggles pushed up, face flushed from wind and effort and probably tequila. My smile’s too wide, like I didn’t know what was coming yet.
I remember that weekend. Me and Brandt joined some of the other lonely losers in our unit that didn’t have plans for the new year, piled in my Jeep, and drove the handful of hours up to the ski lodge.
I freeze. Every time I see it, it hits the same.
That guy didn’t have to think about balance, or socket sweat, or if some kid was staring too long at the wrong leg.
That guy didn’t think twice about skiing.
That guy—
“Hey,” Brandt says gently from behind me. “You okay?”
I don’t look at him. “Why’d you leave this out?”
“I didn’t.” His voice is careful. “It must’ve fallen out of my bag. I kept it in my wallet for years.”
That makes my throat go tight. “Why?”
“Because it’s you,” he says simply. “I loved that version of you. I love this version more.”
I set the frame down, not because I want to stop looking at it, but because I want to stop feeling it.
“I don’t know who that guy is anymore,” I admit, raw around the edges.
“You’re still him,” Brandt says. “You’re just... more.”
I finally meet his eyes, and he’s not smiling, not smirking, just watching me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
“Still think I looked badass on the slopes?” I ask, trying to defuse the moment before it swallows me whole.
Brandt closes the distance, puts a hand on my neck, and leans in so close I feel the whisper of his breath. “You looked unstoppable.”
And goddammit. That’s almost worse than if he’d lied.