Chapter 35
Thirty Five
Sloane
“I’m sorry,” I said slowly, planting my hands on my hips, “did you call me short?”
I glared straight at Lock.
And I meant it: the problem—the man towered over everything.
Standing on the porch as if he owned the place, he made Callan’s six-foot-two frame shrink.
Broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and that same posture Callan carried sometimes, the kind that made you instinctively straighten up around them.
Lock looked down at me as if I amounted to a mildly entertaining animal.
Completely straight-faced.
“Naw, darlin’,” he said. “I called you a fairy.”
He paused.
Then he winked.
“Nothing wrong with small.”
Before I could even process the audacity of that wink, Callan shoved him on the shoulder.
“Hands off, dude,” Callan said.
Lock rocked half a step back but didn’t look bothered in the slightest.
Callan jerked a thumb toward me.
“This fairy is mine. Go find your own.”
I snorted.
Lock burst out laughing.
“Well, hell,” he said. “Didn’t know we were staking claims.”
I crossed my arms, trying to look offended, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me.
“You’re both ridiculous.”
“Runs in the family,” Lock said easily.
He pushed himself off the porch railing and grabbed the medical kit he’d been using on Callan’s ankle, snapping it shut.
“Let’s get your people settled before it’s fully dark.”
God, yes, the thought of a real bed nearly buckled my knees.
Lock headed toward the cabin door.
“I’ll throw together some food. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be hot.”
My stomach answered before my brain could.
“After that,” he added, glancing back at us, “you guys can get cleaned up.”
I froze.
“Shower?”
The word slipped out before I had the chance to stop it. Raw, desperate hope—the kind that only comes from days caked in blood, salt, and sweat.
Lock chuckled.
“Yeah.”
He pushed the cabin door open.
“Finn’s got a full solar setup here. Electricity, hot water, refrigeration.” He ticked them off casually.
I turned slowly toward Callan, eyes wide, mouth open.
“Oh my god, we can take a shower.”
He laughed softly.
“Yes, love. I heard.” I kissed her softly, aware of Lock looking at me.
Lock added over his shoulder, “The main cabin’s fully wired. The smaller one out back has power and heat, but no bathrooms.”
That was enough.
We stepped off the porch, moving across the clearing toward the guest cabins. Up close, the place shimmered with quiet care: timber siding, small porches, rocking chairs, lanterns on the corners, solar lights along the path already waking to dusk.
Jeff and Ethan appeared from the dock, hands scrubbed clean.
“Boat’s tied down tight,” Jeff announced, wiping his palms.
Ethan stretched. “It’s weird being on solid ground again.”
Callan nodded at the line of cabins. “Pick whichever you want.”
Jeff scanned the row. “These all your brothers’?”
“Yep,” pride in my voice.
Jeff whistled. “Nice setup.”
Callan pointed to the cabin nearest the tree line. “Sloane and I’ll take this one.”
Jeff nodded. “Works for us.”
They wandered off, bickering toward the next cabin.
Callan and I climbed the little wooden steps of the one he’d chosen. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. Inside, simplicity stood out against the day’s chaos: a queen bed with thick quilts, a wood stove tucked in the corner, a dresser, a small table with two chairs, and real lights.
I turned slowly, soaking it in as if I’d stepped into a hotel room rather than a cabin in the woods.
“Callan,” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
I looked at him, a real smile spreading across my face for the first time in days. “I think we made it.”
* * *
Dinner was simple—potatoes fried in a cast-iron pan, thick slices of sausage from the freezer. After tuna and crackers, it tasted divine. The cabin glowed with warmth from the stove.
I finished the last bite, a small groan escaping me. “That might be the best meal I’ve ever had, though we seem to be saying that a lot lately.”
Lock’s chuckle came from the far side of the table. “Funny how the world ending resets expectations.”
Jeff raised his fork. “To hot food.”
Ethan echoed, “To hot food.”
Callan watched me with that quiet, steady smile.
I wiped my hands and surveyed the room again. “Okay—important question.”
Lock lifted an eyebrow. “Hit me.”
“Where’s the shower?” The room quieted for a second before Callan pushed his chair back.
“I’ll show you, love.” He stood, offering his hand. I took it, following him down the short hallway toward the back of the cabin. The floorboards sighed softly beneath our steps.
He pushed open the door and flicked on the light.
A full, normal bathroom. Tile on the floor, a sink, a toilet, and a glass shower.
Callan stepped past me, twisting the knobs and letting the water warm. Steam curled up and around us, a soft hush that swallowed the room.
I turned, peeling off my clothes as the heat pooled against my skin. My shirt followed the pants to the floor, revealing bruises and scrapes.
For some reason, I shifted a fraction away from him as the last of my clothes dropped. Ridiculous. Callan had seen every inch.
“I need to wash my clothes,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Callan didn’t answer at once. I sensed him close behind me, warmth brushing my back as his chest pressed lightly against mine. He slid his arms around my waist, and his lips pressed to the side of my neck.
A soft shiver ran through me.
“Let me dig out some of Finn’s clothes for you,” he murmured, a quiet warmth in his voice. “A tee and some boxers should be comfortable.”
He paused, a sly note threading through his words. “And don’t tell him I’m stealing a few things, too.”
I huffed a little laugh, easier than I meant to sound. “Your secret’s safe.”
The kiss he brushed along my shoulder before stepping back lingered, a small fire I hadn’t noticed simmering all day. The bathroom grew cooler, the heat retreating as he walked away.
He vanished down the hall, and a moment later I heard drawers opening somewhere in the cabin.
I stepped into the shower.
The hot water hit my shoulders, and a long groan escaped my lips.
Days of salt, sweat, and dried blood began washing away immediately, spiraling down the drain in faint pink streaks.
I leaned forward and braced my hands against the tile, letting the water run through my hair and down my back.
The steam curled around me, loosening muscles wound tight from stress and sleeping on a boat deck. My eyes drifted closed, and the glass door slid open behind me.
Callan stepped in without a word. The shower was small. His chest brushed my back first—solid, warm—his hands found my shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the knots there.
I moaned, long and shaky.
He didn’t speak but reached for the bottle of shampoo on the ledge, poured some into his palm, and worked it into my hair with slow, careful fingers.
His touch was tender, massaging my scalp in deep circles that made my knees threaten to give out.
Suds slid down my neck. I tilted my head back, letting him rinse, letting the water cascade over us both.
His fingers combed through the wet strands, untangling everything the ocean had knotted. When he was done, he turned me gently to face him.
Water streamed down his face, darkening his lashes, tracing paths over the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were steady on mine—dark, unguarded.
He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Like he had all the time in the world now that the world had paused trying to kill us. The warm water ran down our faces as he deepened the kiss.
I opened for him immediately, tongue meeting his, tasting clean water and the faint salt that still clung to him.
My arms wound around his neck as his slid down to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I felt him—hard, thick, pressing insistently against my stomach—and a fresh wave of heat rolled through me.
“Callan,” I whispered against his lips when we broke for air. My voice cracked. “I… I care about you. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”
He stilled for half a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, eyes searching mine.
“I… I feel,” I went on, “things I’ve never felt before. Not like this. Not… safe. Not real.”
His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away water.
“I know,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I do too, love.”
He kissed me again—tenderly this time, almost reverently.
I rested my forehead against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heart.
I didn’t feel like running.
I just felt… here.
With him.