Chapter 20 #2
Eli clears his throat and opens the cooler like a magician revealing treasure: grapes frosty with condensation, slices of melon, sandwiches in wax paper, and something wrapped in foil. He taps a bigger container. “Contingency plan for Cassian’s imaginary fish and a special dessert, no peeking.”
“Slander,” Cassian protests. “I can’t help it if the fish won’t bite.”
“Semantics,” Eli shakes his head.
Laughter bubbles out of me before I even know why.
Sunlight seeps through my skin; the surf hums against the edges of my thoughts.
For the first time in forever, it feels safe to just exist—sticky with salt, full of warmth, surrounded by people who keep showing up even when I’m still figuring out how to let them.
Cass shields his eyes and nods toward a faded RENTALS sign down the beach.
“Board time. Anyone want to learn how to fall with style?”
Something in me tightens, then loosens. The water stretches out in shades of teal and green, the surface rucked by wind. I’m not afraid of water. I’m afraid of trying in front of people who matter and pretending it doesn’t matter if I fail.
But then I think about Eli handing me coffee exactly how I like it this morning, about Rowan’s eyes going soft when he looks at me like I’m not a problem to solve, about the way they touch each other without fanfare—like love’s just another fluent language they speak.
How Cassian says my name now like he’s saying it with every positive emotion attached to it.
Dad’s voice rattles in my head—Mancinis don’t show weakness.
“Me.” I stand up, brushing off a bit of sand.
Cassian’s grin flares, bright and wicked. “Deal. Try to keep up, trouble.”
After he checks out a bright yellow board, we head to the water.
The first lick of bay water shocks up my legs—cold that turns good fast. Sand molds around my toes, warm on top, cool underneath. Cassian plants the board sideways to the chop, palm flat, scanning the surface like he’s reading it.
Once we’re about waist deep, he grins at me.
“Knees soft. Hips square,” he says. He moves like a wave himself—loose, sure. “Hands by your ribs. Don’t yank—press. Let the water do the work.” He taps the horizon. “Eyes there. Your body follows your eyes. I’ve got you.”
The wave nudges. I press, the board lifts. My legs wobble; the whole world tilts. For half a breath, everything holds—me, board, sunlight—and then I’m off.
The bay swallows me with a hush. Cold rushes down my spine. My hair veils my face, and for a blink I’m fifteen again in a different kind of drowning: Mom face-down on the couch, Dad gone to work, the house loud with silence.
My feet find sand. I push up, break the surface—gasping, blinking.
And a laugh bursts out of me as salt stings my eyes, but I don’t care.
“There you go!” Cassian whoops. “Fall like you mean it!”
“Shut up,” I laugh, water dripping off my chin.
We go again. And again. He steadies the board each time and lets go the instant I balance.
“Hands by ribs, eyes up, good. Don’t flirt with your feet unless you want to kiss sand.”
The fourth wipeout gets me. I come up sputtering, frustrated, slapping the water. “I can’t—”
“You are,” Cassian says, solid as bedrock. “You’re doing it. Again.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you fall again.” His grin curves slowly. “You’re good at that part.”
“Yeah, right.” The fear doesn’t disappear, but it stops driving.
The sun dips lower, painting the water gold. Farther out, Rowan stands at thigh depth—not hovering, not shouting. Just there. It should make me feel watched. Instead, I feel… safe. Seen, but not cornered.
I get my knees under me. The board twitches like it wants to run; I don’t let it.
“Eyes,” Cassian calls.
I pick a notch on the horizon, breathe toward it, and plant my feet. My thighs shake. Fear hums under pride, but I’m still up.
One breath. Two. Three.
I’m standing.
A rush of warmth sweeps through me. The board hums beneath my feet. Water hisses past in a rhythm that matches my pulse. For five perfect seconds, the bay carries me.
“Look at you,” Cassian shouts. “Look at you, Jess.”
And something behind my eyes go hot.
Then the board decides it’s done listening. I plunge sideways, hit water, hip smarting, salt in my nose. When I surface, hair plastered to my cheek, Cassian reaches to brush it back. I beat him to it, because if he touches me right now, I might cry—and I refuse to cry on a victory lap.
“I stood for a couple of seconds.” I pant, grinning.
“Longer than five seconds,” Rowan says from closer than before. His mouth curves, private. “You’ll stand longer next time.”
Next time. Like certainty. Like room for me in a future I haven’t dared picture.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Next time.”
We keep at it until my legs tremble and my feet buzz from gripping wax. The air smells of salt, kelp, and someone’s grill downshore, making me realize I’m getting hungry, but I don’t want to stop now. I’m so close to nailing this.
When Cassian finally declares me “legally awesome” at staying on thirty seconds, I help him drag the board onto the sand. My muscles ache, but in that earned, alive way—the kind that comes from doing instead of surviving.
As we haul the board higher, his swim trunks shift, and I catch a glimpse of pale, jagged skin along his upper thigh. A long, warped crescent, like something took a bite and the surgeon did their best to pretend it never happened.
“Whoa,” I say before I can stop myself. “What happened there?”
Cassian glances down, then huffs a humorless little laugh. “Tiger shark, when I was nineteen. Thought I was invincible, the ocean disagreed.”
“Seriously?” My stomach does a weird flip. “And you still surf?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, but there’s tension in it.
“Scares the shit out of me every time I go out past my waist.” He nudges the board upright, using it as a prop so he doesn’t have to look at me.
“My dad was in the Coast Guard. I grew up seeing the real aftermath—bites, boats flipped, idiots who thought rules didn’t apply to them. I know exactly what the water can do.”
I look at the scar again, at how clean the edges are in some places and how ragged in others. “So… why keep doing it?”
He hesitates, then meets my eyes. There’s something raw in his expression that he mostly hides with a crooked grin.
“Because letting the sharks win feels worse than being afraid.” His hand brushes his thigh once, absent, like the memory itches.
“Got a surgery to make this pretty, but didn’t bother completely covering it up—like a badge.
It still aches when storms roll in. But I’d rather hurt and keep getting back on the board than sit on the sand pretending I’m not still thinking about it. ”
“That’s…” I swallow, throat tight. “Kind of badass.”
His grin softens. “It’s stubborn. The badass part is you, trouble.”
My chest does that stupid squeeze thing again. I look away first, toward the blankets.
Eli has already colonized the cooler—sandwiches in neat rows, fruit glistening with condensation. He hands me a bottle. “Hydrate. You’re pink, but not lawsuit-pink.”
“Your faith in me is inspiring.”
“My faith is in SPF 50,” he deadpans, though the smile hiding in it gives him away.
Then Eli starts handing out sandwiches and fruit.
While we eat, Cassian reenacts getting dragged down a beach as a kid, full of elbows and outrage. Firelight jumps over the thorns and skulls inked along his arms, turning the dark bands on his skin into something wild and sharp.
Rowan tops it with a story about his cousin and a picnic table that caught fire twice. Eli throws in a perfectly timed rip-current fact that makes Cassian groan and me snort so hard I choke on melon.
I let the moment hold me—no calculations, no bracing. These three keep handing me napkins and jokes and water like I’m the point. It settles warm in my chest. Dangerous. And good.
Dusk leans in. The sky melts from apricot to tangerine; light softens to honey. Rowan builds a fire in an iron ring, arranging paper and sticks with the kind of focus that makes his brows knit. I want to smooth the crease with my thumb.
“Marshmallows,” Eli says, pulling skewers from a towel he’d rolled like an oblong pillow.
Rowan points at Eli. “Grahams for you. You burn marshmallows.”
“I do excellent caramelization,” Eli says, right before setting my marshmallow on fire. He blows it out fast, eyes wide. “For you—a crème br?lée.”
“It’s fine. Actually, I prefer them this way.” I peel the char, find the center molten and perfect.
Cassian’s marshmallow slides off and hisses into the coals. He swears, then Rowan toasts him another to textbook gold and hands it over without a word.
“You’re a menace,” Cassian says.
“I’m efficient.”
“That’s the menace.”
My Graham Cracker breaks. Chocolate melts warm over my thumb. I lick it off on reflex, and everything stops.
No leer, no move—just three males who’ve stilled, desire coiling low in the air.
“What?” I ask, too quickly. My pulse trips.
“Nothing,” Cassian says roughly.
Wind flips my hair into my face. Eli tucks it behind my ear, slow, careful, his thumb skimming my jaw for one extra beat. Fire pops; waves hush and retreat. The whole beach feels smaller, like the world’s leaning in.
Cassian swipes the last bite of my s’more. I lunge, my hand landing flat against his chest—solid muscle, steady heartbeat. He freezes, grin softening into something slower.
“Come here,” he says, gentle enough that it feels like an offer, not a command.
And I do, kissing him without waiting—without checking if Rowan and Eli are watching. Their gazes slide over my skin like heat, heavy with want and something darker, more possessive.
His mouth tastes like toasted chocolate and marshmallows. Lust rolls through me slow and sure; my fingers slide into his hair, and the sound he makes—rough, hungry—pulls an answering noise from Rowan’s direction that makes my stomach clench.
I can still taste him when I pull away—sugar, rain, something I can’t name. My pulse is everywhere. The air feels different now, charged and fragile, like life has been waiting for me to exhale.
And I’m smiling before I mean to at his smug look. “Don’t get cocky.” “Never,” he lies, brushing another quick kiss.
Rowan feeds the fire, the flames gilding the edges of him.
But he’s not looking at the fire. He’s looking at me—at my kiss-swollen lips, at the way Cassian’s hand still rests possessively on my hip.
When our eyes meet, the hunger there steals my breath.
This isn’t the careful, controlled Rowan who fixes problems. This is the Alpha who wants, and doesn’t bother hiding it anymore.
I look; he looks back. The question hangs unspoken: Will you come to me, or do I need to come get you?
And when I shift closer to him, he’s already moving to meet me.
Rowan cups my jaw; his mouth is patient until it’s not. When I touch his shoulder, control slips, his fingers tightening at my nape, breath catching.
He draws back first, searching for hesitation, and there’s none.
Something eases in his eyes. He drags his thumb across my lips like a promise and lets go. The world drops to the heat in my mouth and the steady thud under my palm where I had him—proof that I can pull him off-balance and he likes it.
Eli hasn’t moved far. His gaze catches mine—steady, warm, and a little undone. But there’s something else underneath: the careful stillness of someone who’s learned to wait for permission, and I hate that he’s not sure of what I’m feeling.
I reach for him first. Chocolate-smudged and unafraid.
The way his breath catches—small, sharp—tells me it matters that I did.
He takes my hand, thumb brushing over my fingers as he steps close until we share the same breath. “You sure?” Always giving me the exit he’d take himself.
“I’m sure.”
Eli kisses like care made tangible…desire wrapped in patience.
His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my temples like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
His mouth tastes faintly of cinnamon and salt, and when his teeth catch my lower lip—gentle, deliberate—the quiet sound it pulls from me doesn’t feel like breaking. It feels like a release.
Somewhere under his thumbs, the jitter in me quiets. It’s infuriating how safe that feels. It’s glorious, too.
Behind us, Rowan makes a low sound like approval threaded with want. Cassian’s low whistle lets us know he approves as well.
Tension I didn’t know he was holding finally eases.
“Okay?” he murmurs when we part.
“Better than,” I whisper, the truth humming steady between us.
His thumb traces my jaw one more time in a slow, reverent beat before he lets go. No words, but I feel what he’s not saying in that touch.
Rowan’s hand finds Eli’s shoulder, and he tips closer; Rowan’s mouth skims his temple. Cassian’s fingers brush my knee. The connection settles warm between us—easy, earned, right.
“Too bad this isn’t a private beach,” I say, breathless.
They all look at me—ravenous—but I don’t want to stop this by packing up and leaving. I want to keep this memory.
We finish the chocolate as the sun bleeds out, red at its belly, the sky shifting to bruised gold and violet. I lean back on my hands and let the ocean breathe for me. For once, I’m not calculating exits.
For a long minute—ten, maybe twenty—I’m stitched to this place, to these men, by something that isn’t fear or duty. It’s simpler. Messier. The kind of wanting that used to terrify me, because wanting meant giving someone power to leave.
Cassian said I’d fall. He wasn’t wrong. I fell a dozen times in that water today. But I also stood. Shaking, terrified—and doing it anyway.
And tonight I fell again. Into their hands, their mouths, their steady presence. Let them catch me without shattering.
The waves hush in, hush out. Salt and smoke and sugar linger on my tongue. Their scents tangle with mine—sandalwood and rain, bergamot and clean linen, leather and black pepper—saturating the air until I can’t tell where they end and I begin. And I don’t flinch from it.
I just let it be.
Let this moment claim me by the weight of three pairs of eyes that see all my jagged edges and want me anyway.
By the terrifying, exhilarating truth that I kissed each of them—while the others watched—and the world didn’t end.
It cracked open instead, spilling light into all the dark places I’ve been hiding.
Dad taught me that wanting is weakness. That needing someone gives them power to destroy you.
But sitting here—lips bruised, heart open, surrounded by Alphas who they touch me like I’m special, and not because I’m an Omega—I’m learning a different lesson:
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is fall. And trust that you’ll be caught.