Chapter 16 – Catalina
Jensen holds the truck door open for me, offering his hand so I can step down when we get back to the cabin.
It’s a little past nine now, the dark summer night is settling over his grandma’s property like a warm blanket.
Shadows spill across the yard, pooling under the porch railings and stretching long over the warm grass.
The summer moon hangs high and heavy, casting a silver trail across the gorgeous lake that’s at the back of her property. I want to get a better glimpse of it.
It's the lake Jensen told me he used to fish on when he was little, and the one I’m excited to go out on in the morning when we wake.
This time away is going by too fast, and before we know it, we’ll be forced to fly back to the West Coast for Jensen’s first ride back.
I’m trying to soak up every minute we still have here.
I pause on the pathway up to the front door and look at the horizon.
The Smokies… God. They rise behind everything, quiet and ancient, like they’re standing guard over the whole valley.
I’ve seen mountains. I grew up with California cliffs, spent the last few days in Denver surrounded by Colorado's beauty, but something about these mountains is softer. More secretive. Ethereal, almost.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. There are fireflies still blinking in the darkness, and the whole place smells like fresh air.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners a little. “Glad you think so. I like it.”
“So, this is where you come during your downtime?”
He nods. “Off-season, between events… it’s the only place my brain usually quiets. Feels like I can breathe out here.”
I can see that. The air feels crisper. It's hard to stress about much when this is your view every morning over coffee.
“So…” he says, glancing toward the cabin, “if we go inside, we’ll probably wake Grandma. You want to stay out here for a bit and enjoy the view? I'm not tired yet.”
I nod. I’m not tired either. “Sure.”
He jerks his chin toward the back of the cabin. “Got something to show you. You don’t have to do it. I just think it’d help my shoulder.”
“Okay.”
I follow him through the yard, my wedges sinking into the warm grass that's still slightly damp. There’s so much of it; actual, green grass, not manicured, no pesticides spread on this lawn dotted in dandelions and weeds, not drought-stricken California dirt with landscaping gravel pretending to be nature because everything’s too dry.
This grass is soft and lush and wild, and the weirdest part is how much I’m fighting the urge to lie in it, look up at the stars, and let the night swallow me whole. That's something I would never normally think to do on account of bugs... and dirt... and, I don't know, whatever else is in grass.
Earthworms?
Out here it feels like a natural thing to do.
We round the side of the cabin, then climb the two steps up onto the back of his grandma's deck. That’s when I see the back of the property for the first time and notice something I didn't know was back here. There’s a hot tub built right into the wooden slats, the far edge dipping toward a small cliff drop-off that the cabin's built into. And it all overlooks the lake that’s resting in the distance.
Steam curls into the night air from the warmth of the tub, making it look magical. The view is beautiful, even in the dark.
“Did you put this in?” I ask.
He nods. “Great for recovery when I’m home. Plus, winters here can be tough. Grandma never uses it, but she just keeps it warm when she knows I'm coming home. I texted and asked her to warm it up for me before we left for the bar.”
"I see."
He reaches for the clip on his shoulder sling and pops it loose. Rolls his shoulder, stretches his arm out slowly, then grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head in one easy motion.
My breath catches. I’ve seen this before, and yet it’s still shocking.
Sculpted abs, the deep V I remember from our one night spent together, even if the hotel room had been dark and rushed and full of bad decisions that we're both pretending didn't happen and we can somehow walk back.
The dark outline of that all black, bull tattoo stretched across his strong chest is evident but out here, I can't even see the scar from the tiny incision I made.
Jensen's built like an athlete, which isn't surprising given his career. But this is the first time I've ever looked at an athlete and seen more than a body to treat. More than someone who uses their body as a tool.
When I look at Jensen now, I see the man beneath the muscles and tattoos.
"I know it's hot, but the heat will feel good," he explains as if I need an explanation for him undressing to get into water. He doesn’t need to explain. I’m sure this is good for his recovery.
He unbuttons his jeans. Unzips his pants.
Boots get toed off in the corner. He’s still not looking at me, but the smirk that's tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing and he's aware of me watching.
I'm shameless about it. Like a woman starved of affection, physical touch, and the presence of wildly attractive men.
Which yeah, I guess I'm all three of those things. It doesn't help that I had two glasses of wine tonight. A total break in my rules.
He pushes his pants down and steps out of them, kicking them aside until he’s standing in nothing but a pair of dark gray boxers. And there’s no mistaking the outline of him between his legs. I know how it feels to have that inside me. I'm still sore from it. My mouth waters remembering.
“Forgot to bring a swimsuit,” he says casually, his voice still soft and quiet. “No pressure to join me. I’m gonna try and relax this thing for a bit. Might do a few of the exercises Heath gave me to keep it loose before we head to California.”
Then he sinks into the water. The muscles in his neck and face visibly relax, arms resting wide on the edge of the tub, head tipping back toward the sky as he exhales a low, satisfied “Ah. That feels nice.”
It is nice. A nice view for me.
Tonight was supposed to be… what? A fun distraction? A first date in years that didn’t make me want to claw my skin off. I know for certain that the only reason it was halfway decent was because I knew Jensen was there. Watching me. Protecting me.
Maybe that shouldn’t have made me feel good to know I had his attention, but it did.
Perhaps that would seem greedy and selfish to someone else.
I've never gotten to be selfish before. Maybe I wanted his eyes on me.
Wanted the attention I never got in my last relationship.
Wanted to feel… I don't know, attractive? Chosen? Desired?
Maybe I wondered what it'd feel like to have a guy be a little jealous for once. I swear, I never felt like my ex was ever protective of me around other men. He couldn’t have cared less if they'd looked, which, to be honest, I'm not sure they ever did in my black scrubs and tight bun.
Does this mean that I’m using Jensen for attention? To fill some fucked up void that my ex left behind? I don’t know.
But I’m reaching behind my neck and slipping the straps of my sundress free anyway, letting it fall down my body as I cover my bare breasts with one arm.
He lifts his head slowly to watch me. This time, he doesn’t hide the way he looks at me. His gaze drags down my body, slow and hot, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“No bra tonight?” he asks, his voice rougher.
I step out of the dress, leaving myself in only a pair of black lace underwear.
My biceps are still pressed against my nipples like I can hold onto this last bit of decency when he's already seen me naked before. But that night was supposed to be a one-time thing. I’m not so sure this will be the last time anymore.
“A bra wouldn’t work with the sundress.”
He rubs his jaw, eyes dipping lower, throat working as he swallows.
“Yeah. Makes sense. Wouldn't work with the dress.”
I move toward the edge of the tub slowly. The boards under my feet are warm, the night air is thick around us with the sound of insects and the bubbles from the jets. The smell of the chlorine in the hot tub tickles my nostrils, but other than that, it's all fresh air out here.
I slip into the water, and it’s warmer than I expected. It hugs every inch of my skin, a perfect contrast to the heat. It's comfortable. It feels good. Jensen watches me for a beat and then leans back again, tipping his face up and closing his eyes like he's giving me some space to adjust.
I settle in across from him, heart pounding wildly in my chest, wondering what he’s going to say next.
“So, did you have fun tonight?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, eyes drifting to him across the water. “I did.”
He nods. “Well, good. That was the goal for this time off. For you to visit somewhere new and have fun.”
“I haven’t been on a first date in over a decade.”
His brows lift a little, soft eyes finding mine from across the softly bubbling water. “You were with the same guy for that long, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. And I don’t even remember our first date.”
"Must have been terrible."
I let out a little laugh. “I'm sure it was.”
“When was the last time he’d taken you on any date?”
Oh God. Embarrassing. Our whole relationship revolved around our career—two surgeons in the same orbit, convinced ambition was romance and that we didn’t need anything more.
Growing up on Grey’s Anatomy didn’t help; it made working in the medical field seem sexy.
Like there'd be quiet moments where we'd get to slip away in the on-call room and hook up.
The reality was hospital cafeteria lunches and both of us falling asleep talking about work when we finally crossed paths at our apartment. There was definitely no time for spontaneous sex happening, especially during residency.
I guess I judged Dani a little too hard when she fell for her boss, because though my ex wasn't my boss, we shared a career, which meant we ended up sharing little else in common. The cheating stung, but it did help me realize that I loved my career more than I’d ever loved him. I’m certain he felt the same way.
“It’d been a while,” I say carefully.
He snorts. “Sounds like a dick.”
I laugh. “He is.”
“What’d he do to fuck it all up and lose the best thing that ever happened to him?”
I fight a smile, shaking my head. “I don’t think he’d say I was the best thing to ever happen to him. I think the woman he got pregnant while we were engaged was the best thing that ever happened to him. And hopefully their kid will be too.”
Jensen’s face hardens. “What a fucking crime.”
I shrug, sinking an inch deeper into the warm water.
“At the time, it felt like my world was ending… I was mortified. Now, I see things differently. I wish he would have ended things before he cheated. It made me feel so violated. You know?” I bite down on my lip, wondering if I'm sharing too much with him.
Wondering if I'm being too open. Wondering if he’s going to see my vulnerability as a liability.
“So that’s why you set sail and pivoted gears?” he asks quietly.
“I won’t let him take the credit for my midlife crisis.”
Jensen huffs out a small laugh. “Good. Don't let him take anything more from you.”
The water ripples lightly between us, and I watch him. His relaxed posture, the way the moonlight carves angles along his cheekbones, the faint haze of steam drifting around him. The easy smile on his handsome face.
“I’m glad you did it,” he says seriously. “I’m glad you joined the Iron Horn Series.”
“I am too.”
His smile deepens.
“You know, you’re nothing like what I expected before I started working with the team.”
He raises a brow. “You had expectations of little ole' me?”
“Not you specifically. Riders in general, yeah. Cowboys. Hayes prepped me before I left Whitewood Creek on what to expect. He told me not to expect too much of you all or I'd end up being disappointed.”
Jensen throws his head back and laughs—this deep, warm rumble that vibrates through the night. His eyes tilt up toward the moon, and while he’s distracted, I let myself really look.
The water droplets sliding down his chest.
The bubbles clinging to the faint trail of hair near his bull tattoo.
The bulges in his biceps spread across the back of the tub, arms spanning the entire length of it.
He reaches for a button and shuts the bubbles off, causing everything to go quiet and still. Out here, with no light pollution and no city noise, silence feels intimate. Like the world shrinks to only him and me and the warm water between us.
“You know,” I say, drifting a little closer to him so that I can see the scar where I cut him up close, “you could’ve used scar cream on this. Or strips. That scar could’ve disappeared completely. Did one of my nurses forget to tell you that during your after-care prep discussion?”
He glances down at his chest, then back up at me. I move closer, the water parting around us, and before I can talk myself out of it my fingers find the scar—that faint, raised line I put there myself.
Most people touch a scar and feel damage and adhesions.
I touch it and feel every layer underneath.
Skin. Fat. Fascia. The sternum I sawed through with my own hands while he was somewhere else entirely, his blood moving through a machine because I'd stopped his heart to fix it.
Six layers between the world and the thing that keeps him alive, and I cut through every single one of them.
I know this chest better than he does. I've been inside it.
Yet even with all those layers between us now, I can still feel it beat from outside his body.
He draws in a careful breath, like my touch does something to him. I wonder if he wants me to stop. My insecurities tell me yes, but the look in his eyes tells me no. Keep going.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask permission to touch you first.”
His mouth parts slightly. Our faces are so close now that his eyes are all I can see. The steam from the hot water is curling around us, cascading everything in soft lighting and hiding us from the stars watching overhead.
“You never have to ask me for permission,” he says roughly. “You can touch me anytime you want. Think that's the rule considering you've had your hands inside this chest."