Eleven
THUNDER BAY, ON
Wyatt stands at the water’s edge, crouching down to dip his fingers into the waves that lap against the shore.
The sky is dark overhead, and we’re bathed in moonlight, away from the glow of the street lamps. It’s a good thing the beach is empty at this time of night—we’re going to need a little more privacy for this dare. Though I wouldn’t be opposed to publicly humiliating Wyatt.
As soon as he makes contact with the water, he springs back up, shaking out his hand. “Fuck, that’s cold,” he mutters.
“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out,” I say from my place farther from the water, amusement in my voice. But he’s not wrong. The temperature has dropped significantly, thanks to the absence of the sun and our proximity to the water. I’m shivering in my crewneck, arms wrapped around my torso.
“I don’t chicken out of things,” Wyatt proclaims, though he looks less than enthused at the idea of making more contact with the water .
In hindsight, daring Wyatt to go for a skinny dip is pretty cliché, but sometimes you can’t beat the classics. And considering how chilly it is tonight, it feels like a pretty decent match to my tattoo, in terms of pain level.
Wyatt turns to me, narrowing his eyes at the look of pure delight on my face. “You’re a sadist,” he accuses.
I snort. “Duh.”
“All right.” He takes a deep breath and removes his ball cap. “Here goes nothing.”
At the sight of him beginning to pull his shirt over his head, I whirl around so quickly my ponytail nearly whacks me in the face. If I’m going to keep up with my anti-ogling policy, I need to give myself a fighting chance. My heart races as I hear his shirt drop to the sand, followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans.
Maybe this wasn’t my brightest idea.
“You’re not even going to watch?” he asks, amused.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing. “I told you that wasn’t something I wanted to see. I’ll turn around when you’re in the water.”
“If you insist.”
It takes every ounce of self-control to stay rooted in place as his footsteps retreat. I hear his sharp intake of breath as he steps into the water, and he mutters a curse. He takes his time wading in deeper, and then there’s a big splash, followed by a couple beats of silence. When he resurfaces, he lets out a spirited whoop.
“The coast is clear,” he calls out.
I open my eyes, exhaling. I feel like I just passed a test. Slowly, I turn around, spotting Wyatt a short distance from the shore, water up to his chest. He’s beaming from ear to ear, looking like there’s no place he’d rather be than in Lake Superior on a cold summer night. Reaching up, he drags a hand through his damp hair and clears it away from his forehead.
“Well?” I cross my arms.
“I feel alive!” he shouts, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Of course Wyatt would like this. “That was refreshing as hell. Thanks for the dare. ”
“If I’d known you would enjoy it so much, I would’ve picked something else.”
“You could’ve picked anything, and I would’ve enjoyed it,” he remarks, treading water, obviously quite satisfied that my dare has backfired. “I’m unflappable.”
I give him a sardonic smile. “How unfortunate.”
He watches me for a second, and even from a distance, I glimpse the mischievous look in his eye. So it doesn’t totally shock me when he says, “I dare you to join me.”
I bark out a laugh. “Nice try. I already did my dare. I’ve more than proved myself.”
“But if you do this, I promise I won’t make any jokes about you getting trapped in a gas station restroom or falling out of a canoe.”
A surprisingly tempting offer. I narrow my eyes. “What about the grad party?”
“No way!” he says. “That’s too precious for me to give up.”
“Regardless, I have a fresh tattoo that I’m not allowed to submerge underwater for two weeks, so it doesn’t matter,” I say, proud to remember Joe’s instructions, even in my dazed state of mind.
“So don’t submerge it,” Wyatt says. “Come on in, Moore. The water’s fine.”
I give him a dubious look. “You just said it was cold.”
“At first. But after you get used to it, it’s a dream. You know you want to.”
Pursing my lips, I consider it. The adrenaline from my first dare still lingers in my bloodstream. I wouldn’t necessarily mind chasing that high again. And the fact that skinny dipping with Wyatt Song is so far removed from what I would ever do on a regular basis makes it even more tempting. Because while it’s been light-hearted teasing on his end, all the comments about me being too boring really do get under my skin.
Mainly because I felt that way with Roman—that he’d eventually get bored of me. And that’s exactly what happened in the end. He got bored. He left. I wasn’t enough for him to stay, and maybe that was because I was also too much . Too rigid, too structured, too stuck in my ways, too stagnant. Maybe that was why he decided he’d rather spontaneously leave than bring me along—because he knew I’d plan everything to death, because he knew there was no way in hell I’d ever leave my job or my city because I am— was —stagnant.
Fuck being stagnant.
I’ve already done one crazy thing tonight—why not add another?
“Fine,” I say, enjoying the surprised look on Wyatt’s face for the second time tonight.
I pull my crewneck over my head, letting it drop to the sand. I’m about to remove my crop top too when I catch Wyatt’s eyes. The humour has left his features, and he’s gone slack-jawed. Heat floods my cheeks, and my heart skips a beat.
“I didn’t watch you, so you’re not allowed to watch me,” I order.
“Right,” he says, awkwardly turning away.
I wait a few extra beats to make sure he won’t peek. Then I remove my top and slip out of my leggings. The cool night air makes goosebumps rise on my exposed skin, and I pause again. I could leave it here with some degree of modesty, but something compels me to go the whole nine. I unclasp my bra and slide my underwear down my legs.
Immediately, I cover my chest with my arms, feeling like I completely lost my mind somewhere between entering Inkjection and ending up here. But I try not to overthink as I hurry toward the water, wanting to shield myself as quickly as possible.
The whole time, I keep my eyes glued to the back of Wyatt’s head, ready to yell at him if he so much as glances in my general direction. I regret my decision the moment the ice-cold water hits my toes, but there’s no going back now.
I wade in deeper, feeling like my goosebumps have multiplied tenfold. When the water laps against my stomach, I gasp sharply, resisting the urge to scream. Finally, I get deep enough to cover all the important parts while carefully leaving my shoulder exposed. The cold is a shock to my system, a zap of electricity, not unlike my trip overboard in Blind River .
But it’s different this time. I’ve actually chosen to do this, for one. And I have to admit, Wyatt was right. Under the gleam of moonlight, with the whole beach to ourselves and the burst of energy flooding my veins, I do feel alive. More alive than I’ve felt in a long time.
I stop a short distance away from Wyatt, treading water. “You can turn around now,” I say, the words coming out breathier than I intended.
Like me, he takes another moment of safety before facing me. “You made it,” he murmurs. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
My lips curl into a small smile. Steadily, my body acclimates to the temperature of the water, and it feels amazing. If I didn’t have both my tattoo and the fact that I’m currently in my birthday suit to worry about, I’d float on my back and probably be content there, staring at the stars.
I echo his question from earlier. “Now what?”
He’s quiet for a beat, and I become hyper-aware that we’re swimming quite close together, and the lake is the only thing separating our skin. A couple droplets of water trail down his face, reminding me of the sight of him fresh out of the shower yesterday morning. I watch one course over his cheek, sliding past the corner of his mouth. I’m momentarily baffled by how he can make nature look like an accessory, like something as simple as water was put on this earth specifically to serve him—to make him look better.
It’s infuriating.
“Now nothing,” he finally says.
“Kind of anticlimactic, isn’t it?” I say, trying to lift the sudden tension from the atmosphere.
“That doesn’t make it any less enjoyable,” he remarks. “Life is all about finding moments like this. They don’t always have to be loud and exciting.”
I’d agree with him, but with the way my heart is pounding in my throat, I’d say this moment is pretty damn loud and exciting.
“You’re not allowed to call me boring anymore,” I tease.
His eyes linger on my face. “After tonight, I wouldn’t dream of it. ”
I don’t know if I’m drunk on adrenaline, or if it’s something else entirely, but I want to keep chasing this feeling. I want to keep trying new things, to step out of my comfort zone and see what happens, whether the end result is good or bad.
Even if, at the end of all of this, I go back home and remain the same person I’ve always been, I want to relinquish some of my control and go where the current takes me.
“I think I’ve made my decision,” I say.
“Yeah?” Wyatt replies, looking at me intently.
“I want to make the most out of this trip.”
His mouth spreads into a grin. “Thank God you said that, because I already booked us a motel for the next two nights.”
My mouth falls open in disbelief.
“What?” he says defensively. “I knew you’d come around.”
?
In the morning, the entirety of last night feels like a fever dream. When I hopped into Wyatt’s Toyota for the first time four days ago, I never would’ve anticipated that over the course of one night, I’d let him pick out a tattoo for me, and then we’d finish things off with a leisurely skinny dip.
Noor is going to lose her shit when she finds out.
We’ve been in frequent contact since I left, but I don’t know how to tell her about all this without her reading too deeply into it. Sometimes, two people who don’t like each other are able to set aside their differences and work toward a common goal. Along the way, they may just end up having a quick, naked night swim in Lake Superior. It’s normal. No big deal. Happens all the time.
A knock sounds on my motel room door. I pause in front of the mirror above the dresser, where I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I slide on my lip gloss, then take a deep breath before I answer the door. Wyatt waits on the other side, straightening out when he sees me. My mind flashes back to last night, to the way the moon glowed silver on his skin, and my heartbeat stutters.
And then he opens his mouth, and I snap out of my trance .
“That’s not going to work.” His words are coloured with disapproval as he appraises my outfit, looking me over from head to toe. I glance down at myself with a frown; high-waisted jean shorts and a white tee, a cardigan tied around my waist, totally inoffensive.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, feeling stubborn and self-conscious. Wyatt has given me zero indication of what he has planned for us to do today, but this outfit felt appropriate for most of our options.
And to be fair, we’re practically wearing the same thing, him wearing a blank white tee with denim shorts. But he crosses his arms, shaking his head before pointing down at my feet. “No sandals. Those are not suitable for our activities today. Don’t you have any sneakers?”
With a huff, I leave him in the doorway, ducking inside to change my shoes. Thankfully, I’m a chronic over-packer, one of those people who brings along half their entire closet and far too many pairs of underwear, just in case. You can never be too prepared.
I root through my suitcase for a pair of socks, perching on the edge of my bed. “Excuse me if I wasn’t anticipating a wilderness adventure,” I grumble as I pull them on. “You didn’t even tell me what we’re doing.”
“Right,” he says, as if he just forgot, and not telling me wasn’t deliberate. “Do you like hiking?”
Rising to my feet, I place my hands on my hips. “You know full well that I don’t.”
Wyatt lets out a grunt of amusement. “Then I’ve got some bad news for you.”
I groan, looking up at the ceiling, casting a silent prayer to the heavens. When I turn my attention back to Wyatt, I find his gaze lingering on me. I control my expression and square my shoulders. “Okay, I think I’ve gotten all my complaining out of my system.”
“Good,” he says, amused, holding the door open for me, and I head outside, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
I squint at the bright sunlight as I make my way down the stairs and into the parking lot, toward Wyatt’s car. The sun beats down on my shoulders, the smell of lake water hitting my nose sharply. Wyatt unlocks the Toyota, and I climb into the passenger’s seat.
Wyatt drives us to a grocery store, picking up a couple premade sandwiches, and tucking them into his backpack. We head thirty minutes out of the city to Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park, which appears to be swarming with other tourists, much to my chagrin. Nothing dampens your mood faster than having to strong-arm your way through a crowd of people taking cell phone photos.
After paying the admission fee to grant us entrance to the park, Wyatt tells me to choose a hike, and I pick the one the park claims is the easiest. He looks like an overzealous tour guide with his backpack and ball cap, happily marching toward the mouth of the trail as I follow behind him silently. It pains me to admit it’s a tiny bit endearing.
The path is surrounded by trees, only allowing us to walk in a single file line. Sunlight filters through the leaves and casts intricate shadows on the ground below. I hear the laughter and shouts from other tourists nearby, but it feels like we’re secluded at the beginning of the trail.
This is another thing Noor would be shocked to see—me on a hike.
My preferred form of physical activity is yoga or hopping onto a Peloton. Things that can easily be done inside, without having to worry about heat, or rain, or bugs, or—I push a branch out of my way with a grimace, ducking beneath it— nature . But after last night, I made a vow to embrace change and try new things. Even though the blackflies buzzing around me are starting to make me regret my choice.
Ahead of me, Wyatt heaves a contented sigh, glancing over his shoulder and holding his arms out to showcase the area around us. “Isn’t this great?”
I fix him with a glare, certain that this optimistic act is partially to annoy the shit out of me. “Wonderful,” I quip sardonically.
He grins. “You are such a ray of sunshine.”
Stepping over a fallen log, I exhale through my nose. “How about I choose our activity in our next destination?”
“I think that’s fair.”
The path begins to incline, and my breathing becomes strained, heavier. Beneath my feet, the ground is uneven, and for a few moments, we both seem to be focused on our footwork, though Wyatt glances behind him every few seconds, as if checking to see if I’m still there.
“Quit looking at me,” I breathe out after a while. Being perceived while I’m struggling and out of breath is not ideal. “I’m fine.”
“Just making sure you’re not bailing,” he remarks. “Our canoe trip was extremely short-lived.”
“Hey!” I say, “You promised you wouldn’t joke about that anymore.”
“That wasn’t a joke,” he protests. “But you’re right, I’m sorry.”
“If you really feel bad about it,” I begin, stepping over a large rock half-buried in the ground, “you could do something embarrassing in front of me, and I’ll feel better. If you make it extra embarrassing to cover the grad party too, we’ll be even.”
“Oof. I don’t think I can top that.”
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
Wyatt’s steps slow as the path plateaus and widens, though he keeps his gaze ahead of him. “You know,” he says, “if it’s any consolation, the grad party was the first time I felt like I really understood why Roman was with you.”
I snort, falling into step beside him. “Because I practically gave him a lap dance?”
“No,” he protests. “Because you were. . . magnetic. Nobody could keep their eyes off you.”
The air immediately shifts, and I feel the flutter of wings in my ribcage, my face heating. Wyatt still doesn’t look at me, and somehow, it makes things feel even more charged. My lips part, and I fumble for something to say to bring us back to the status quo.
“That’s probably because I was making an absolute ass of myself,” I offer, laughing lightly.
Wyatt’s dark eyes meet mine, and it’s as though he can read my mind, the voice inside that’s screaming at him to go back to the way things were, before we started this trip and entered this strange pocket of time where we maybe don’t actually hate each other.
“Sure,” he says after a pause. “That must be it.”
I try not to dwell on his words, but the memory of that night floods back once again, fire spreading throughout my body at the thought of Wyatt’s eyes on me during my little performance, unable to look away.
“I never understood why Roman was friends with you,” I admit. Wyatt’s eyes dart to mine again, offended. “You two just seemed so different .”
He shrugs noncommittally. “People don’t need to be the exact same as their friends.”
“Obviously,” I say. “But still. Roman always put on this front of being so intelligent and deep, so I just—”
“Thought that I was stupid and shallow,” he finishes blandly.
My cheeks burn with guilt. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
He glances down at me, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re implying.”
Distantly, I can hear the sound of rushing water, and I take a moment to measure my words carefully. My mind plays back a reel of all the times I ranted to Noor about Wyatt after being forced to hang out with him. I’d gone on endless tangents about how he was nowhere close to being on Roman’s level, how he couldn’t seem to keep it in his pants, how he seemed to know exactly how to push my buttons and always went out of his way to do just that, the list goes on.
But if this whole experience—getting dumped by Roman, embarking on this road trip—is teaching me anything, it’s that I’m not always the best judge of character. So far, Wyatt is proving himself to be a lot more thoughtful than I ever believed him to be.
“It’s no secret that I haven’t had the best impression of you,” I say slowly. “But it’s not like it hasn’t been mutual. We’ve always butted heads. And knowing what I know now, your friendship makes even less sense. It seems like you’ve known he’s full of shit for a long time. ”
“I have,” he says simply, just as we step to the side to let a couple of fast-paced walkers slip by. “But it’s like I told you, Roman was a brother to me. We met in elementary school, for Christ’s sake. He took me under his wing when I was. . . when I had no one.”
“I knew how close you guys were, but Roman never really dove into your history, aside from saying that you’d known each other your whole lives,” I muse.
Wyatt pauses, looking somber, and I find myself drawn into his expression. I have to remember to keep an eye on the trail.
“He was there for me,” Wyatt says. “My parents were never around when I was a kid, always busy with work. They didn’t make time for me.” At that, I look away, the words hitting too close to home. “Roman all but adopted me into his family, and it felt like they were all I had for a long time. I guess a part of me has always felt like I owed him for that.”
“You don’t,” I murmur, even though I understand those feelings all too well. I’d die for Noor, the one I consider family more than anyone else in this world. But she’s nothing like Roman. “Not after what he did to you.”
He gives me a small smile. “Yeah.” Then he tilts his head as we come to the end of the trail. “For the record, I never knew what you saw in him. You always seemed so smart. I didn’t get it.”
I bristle slightly. “Well, I’m clearly a fucking idiot.”
“Stella,” he says, levelling me with an unimpressed look, and the mood lifts marginally. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I guess it’s because I knew him so well, I could tell when he was bullshitting. But he was different when he was around me. He didn’t put up so much of a front. That’s probably why I stuck around him for so long, despite everything. I knew the other side.”
My throat tightens, and I feel the urge to steer the conversation away. I’d rather not hear someone talk about how foolish I was for falling for an obvious liar. “Careful,” I tease. “It almost sounds like you were in love with him too.”
“Nah, not my type.” Wyatt’s eyes spark, holding mine. “I’m more into women who can’t stand me.”
Lips parting, I feel my mouth dry .
Before I can process what he just said, I’m tapped on the shoulder by a stranger. I hadn’t even noticed that we’d stopped walking, reaching our final destination. We’re at the end of the boardwalk, and the waterfall rushes proudly in front of us. Other tourists mingle about, snapping photos.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman says, smiling apologetically, “but could you take a picture of us in front of the waterfall?” She gestures to her family behind her: a husband, and two small children who wait patiently.
“Of course.” Blinking, I accept her cell phone. They line up against the railing, and she straightens out her daughter’s pigtails. “Okay, everyone smile!”
I snap a few photos before passing it back to her with a dazed smile. I’m still stuck on Wyatt’s last statement. It’s hard to concentrate.
“Thank you,” she gushes. “Here, let me take a photo of you two.”
“Oh, no,” I say, holding up my hands. “We don’t need a photo.”
“I insist,” she says, gesturing for me to give her my phone. “You’ll regret not having more photos when you’re older. I always wish I’d gotten more with my husband on our vacations.”
Wyatt steps forward, offering his phone instead with a shit-eating grin. “Come on, darling,” he says playfully. My insides twist at the term of endearment spoken in his smooth voice. “We need to commemorate our trip.”
I feel my face grow stony, my eyes shooting daggers in his direction. The woman watches us expectantly as Wyatt poses against the railing of the boardwalk. Forcing a phony smile, I head over to join him, resisting the urge to kick him in the shin. We stand an awkward distance apart.
She points the camera at us, focusing on the screen. “Can you get a little closer?”
I take a tiny step toward him, catching hints of his spicy cologne and the heat emanating from his body.
“Even closer,” she calls.
The words turn me religious for a second—I ask the Lord for patience before taking another step in Wyatt’s direction, my arm brushing against his chest accidentally. Wyatt places a hand on the small of my back, and my breath hitches at the contact, though I try to mask it with a breezy laugh. It’s a tiny, innocuous gesture, but somehow, it feels as though he’s branded me through the material of my t-shirt.
“Perfect!” the woman says. Time ticks on as she snaps far too many photos. My heart hammers in my chest, and I work to keep my breathing even until she finally lowers the phone, and we spring apart as if we’ve been caught doing something nefarious.
Wyatt clears his throat, his fingers flexing as he tucks them against his side, and it's the only indication that whatever just happened—the unexpected crackle of tension—affected him too.