Chapter 5
FIVE
THATCHER
The sky over the ridge is the color of pewter when I pull on my parka and grab the small hatchet.
The air smells like snow and sap, sharp enough to sting my throat. The cabin looks warm and smug behind me, smoke curling from the chimney. Inside is safety and hot coffee and Liz, who—if I’m reading her right—thinks I’m out of my damn mind.
She’s right.
But a promise is a promise, even if it’s to a stupid piece of paper labeled The Naughty List.
Today’s target: Skinny dip in a frozen lake.
The pond behind the cabin isn’t much of a lake, but it’ll do.
I tested the ice earlier, counted the steps from shore to the deep spot, made sure the hot tub was running.
I’ve been through worse conditioning drills.
Cold plunges. Ice baths. Pain that makes your heart race until the edges of the world go bright.
What I haven’t done is invite someone I’m halfway in love with to watch me do it.
“Let me get this straight.”
Liz stands on the porch, bundled in flannel and disbelief. “You’re going to cut a hole in perfectly solid ice and then jump into it. On purpose.”
“That’s the plan.” I grin and set the first swing. Chips of ice scatter like shattered glass. The sound echoes across the trees.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.” I give another clean strike. “But it’s a good kind of insane.”
“There’s no good kind of insane.”
“Sure there is. It’s called living a little.”
She mutters something about testosterone and life insurance but trudges down to help anyway, handing me the thermos she insisted we bring.
When she kneels beside me to brush snow from the opening, her breath ghosts against my cheek.
I’m aware of everything—her nearness, her laugh, the curl of hair escaping her hat. The way my pulse keeps syncing to hers.
We widen the hole until dark water glints beneath. A ribbon of current slides under the ice. Beautiful and dangerous.
“You don’t have to—” she starts.
I peel off my jacket. “It’s fine. I’ve done this before.”
“That doesn’t make it smart.”
“Smart’s overrated.”
Before she can stop me, I step to the edge and dive.
The shock is immediate, a thousand knives of cold. It steals my breath, clamps around my ribs, turns the world to white noise. For a second I forget which way is up. Then instinct kicks in, and I push toward the light, breaking the surface with a shout that steams in the air.
“Holy hell!”
Liz’s face flashes above me, horrified and furious. “Get out!”
I laugh, shaking water from my hair. “Come on! It’s refreshing!”
“Refreshing my foot—you’re going to die!”
“Then I die clean!”
She’s still yelling when her boot slips on the ice. There’s a sharp crack, a gasp—and the world jerks sideways.
One second she’s there, the next there’s only the echo of her scream and a swirl of bubbles where she fell through. Adrenaline wipes out every rational thought. I dive, slicing through the opening, the cold punching into me like a fist.
For a heartbeat I can’t see her. The water is ink, the light from above fractured and dim. Panic claws at my chest.
Save her.
Then—movement. A flash of her coat, her hand reaching up.
I grab it, haul her close, kick hard toward the hole. She’s heavier with the weight of soaked clothes, limp with shock. My lungs burn, but I don’t stop until we break the surface. Her gasp is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
“I’ve got you,” I rasp, dragging us both onto the ice. My hands shake but I don’t let go. Her lips are blue, eyes wide and glassy.
“Don’t—don’t you ever—” she stammers.
“Talk later,” I grunt, scooping her up. She’s shivering so hard her teeth chatter against my chest. “We need heat now.”
Inside the cabin, everything blurs into motion. I strip off my soaked clothes, wrap her in blankets, build the fire until it roars. My fingers are clumsy, but I get her bundled on the rug in front of the hearth, half sitting against me so her body steals my warmth.
Her breath saws in and out. “I—I’m okay.”
“Liar.” I press the mug of hot tea against her hands. “Drink.”
She does, obedient for once, and I could kiss her for it. Steam fogs the air. The firelight paints gold on her skin where the blanket slips from her shoulder. Every protective instinct I’ve ever had wakes up all at once.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I whisper.
“You scared me first.” Her voice is small but steady. “You went under so fast—I thought—”
I tighten my arm around her. “Not going anywhere.”
She leans back against me, head resting under my chin. “You’re shaking.”
“Adrenaline,” I say. But it’s more than that. It’s the feel of her heartbeat against my ribs, the trust in her weight as she relaxes against me. The way her fingers find mine under the blanket, intertwining without hesitation.
Minutes pass before the tremors fade. The silence fills with the sound of logs popping and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“Better?” I ask.
She tilts her head to look up at me. “Better. You?”
“Not even close.” I give a short laugh and kiss her forehead.
I’m pretty sure falling for her is way scarier than plunging after her in ice water.
I kiss her nose and her cheek.
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. “Thatcher…”
“Yeah. I know. Bad idea. Complicated. Still true.”
Something softens in her face—fear, maybe, melting into something else. “You don’t make it easy to stay mad.”
“Good thing I’m not aiming for easy.”
Later, when we’re in dry clothes and the shakes have passed, I suggest the hot tub. She stares like I’ve grown another head. “You can’t possibly want to spend more water.”
“It’s therapy,” I argue. “Besides, the jets might convince my heart to start beating normally again.”
She sighs, but ten minutes later we’re sunk into the steaming water, snow drifting down around us. The night has gone still, only the faint hiss of falling flakes and the low hum of the heater breaking the quiet.
We share a bottle of wine from the pantry, passing it back and forth. Her hair curls damp against her cheeks, and when she laughs, it fills the space between us like light.
“To not dying,” she toasts.
“To second chances,” I answer.
Our fingers brush as I hand her the bottle. The contact sends a spark straight through me. She must feel it too; her breath catches, eyes lifting to mine. The heat isn’t from the tub anymore.
I reach out, trace a drop of water down her shoulder. “You really okay?”
“I will be,” she says softly. “You were… kind of heroic out there.”
“Kind of?”
She smiles, teasing. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
When she leans in this time, I meet her halfway. The kiss starts slow, exploratory, but the moment her lips part under mine, everything else disappears—the cold, the fear, the noise in my head. All that’s left is her taste, her warmth, the sound she makes when my hand slides into her hair.
The world narrows to heartbeats and breath. She pulls back only long enough to whisper, “Take me to bed, Thatcher.”
I rest my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath, to slow the rush of wanting her and protecting her and not screwing this up.
“Are you sure,” I say finally, voice rough.
“Please.”
There’s only one thing left to do. And it’s definitely on the list.