Chapter 6 #2
"So basically constantly."
"Basically constantly," he agrees. "You're gonna love it.
Whole town shows up—families, teenagers blasting terrible music from their truck beds, Betty Cordero with her fold-out chair and a cooler full of beer she'll offer to anyone over twenty-one and also probably some people who aren't but she likes their vibe. "
"Betty Cordero from the diner?"
"The very same. She holds court from her chair like a benevolent lake goddess.
Dispensing wisdom and beer and probably judging everyone's swimming form.
" Finn leans forward again. "Oh, and there's usually this group of teenagers who think they're being sneaky with their terrible weed, but everyone knows and everyone pretends not to know. It's a whole thing."
"Small town theater," I say.
"Exactly. You're catching on."
The turnoff appears ahead—a dirt road marked by a hand-painted sign that says "SWIMMING HOLE" with an arrow, the paint faded and peeling but still readable.
Holt takes the turn without slowing much, and the truck rumbles over washboard ruts, kicking up dust behind us that hangs in the air.
The suspension creaks, everything rattles, and Finn grabs the door handle to steady himself while wearing that grin that says he's having the time of his life.
"Fair warning," Finn says, his shoulder bumping mine with every rut, "Betty's gonna offer you beer and also probably try to set you up with her nephew."
"I thought her nephew was married."
"He is, but that won't stop her from trying.
She's got vision." Finn grins. "Also everyone's gonna ask how you're liking living with Holt, and they're all gonna have Opinions with a capital O about it.
Which—" He looks between us with exaggerated interest. "How IS that going, by the way?
Any developments? Scandals? Should I be taking notes? "
"Finn," Holt says, low and warning.
"I'm just asking! As your friend and business partner and the person who has to listen to both of you pretend you're not—"
"We're not pretending anything," I interrupt, feeling my face heat. "We're just—"
"Coexisting," Holt finishes.
"With GREAT SUCCESS," Finn adds in a fake announcer voice. "Tune in next week for more Avoiding The Obvious Theater."
"Let them have opinions," Holt says, pointedly ignoring Finn and addressing me instead. "We know what's what."
There it is again—that squeeze in my ribs, warmth spreading through my chest like spilled coffee.
The simple certainty in his voice, the way he's just decided that our business is our business and everyone else can think whatever they want.
Like it's that easy. Like he's already decided I'm worth defending.
"Aw," Finn says, pressing a hand to his chest. "That was almost sweet. I'm gonna cry. This is beautiful. Can you feel the moment? I'm feeling the moment."
"Finn."
"Shutting up now."
We round a bend and suddenly the swimming hole opens up before us—a natural pool maybe fifty yards across, water so blue-green it looks photoshopped, too perfect to be real, surrounded by red rock and cottonwood trees that provide actual shade, actual relief.
A cliff face rises on one side with a worn path leading to a ledge, and scattered around the shore are families on blankets, teenagers in clusters sharing speakers, a few trucks with tailgates down and music playing, creating this layered soundtrack of different songs.
This is what I ran toward.
Holt parks near a cluster of other trucks, and before the engine's even fully off, Finn's out the door, already pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. "Last one in has to buy beer!"
He takes off running, all long limbs and zero grace, and I watch him launch himself off a rock into the water with a cannonball that sends up a massive splash. People yell in protest but they're laughing, everyone's laughing.
"He's like a golden retriever," I say, watching him surface and shake water from his hair.
"Accurate," Holt agrees, cutting the engine, and the silence after feels suddenly significant, just the two of us in the truck cab for a moment before we have to join the world outside.
I grab my bag from the floor and slide out of the truck.
There are kids shrieking, music playing, someone laughing, a dog barking.
"Scout!" Betty Cordero waves from her throne—a fold-out chair with a cup holder and a sun umbrella, positioned in prime viewing territory near the water's edge. "Get over here, sweetheart!"
I grin, because of course Finn was right, and make my way over. Betty's probably in her sixties, skin tanned to leather, wearing a one-piece with a Hawaiian print and oversized sunglasses.
"Hey Betty."
"You surviving the boys?" She leans in conspiratorially, lowering her sunglasses to peer at me over them. "They giving you any trouble?"
"They're mostly annoying," I say, and she laughs—this bark of delight that makes me smile wider.
"Good answer. Smart girl." She reaches into her cooler, pulls out a beer. "You need anything—beer, snacks, someone to smack those two upside the head—I'm your girl."
"Noted."
She gestures toward the water with her own beer. "Now go cool off before you melt. You're looking pink. And watch out for Finn—he's already declared himself the swimming hole activities director and he's recruiting people for some water volleyball."
I leave my flip-flops near Holt's truck—there's a growing pile of shoes and bags, everything just left in communal trust—spread my towel on a flat rock that's already warm from the sun, and shimmy out of my cut-offs.
The bikini's simple—black triangle top, matching bottoms—but when I straighten up and turn around, I catch Holt looking.
Not staring. Just... looking. Quick, like he didn't mean to, like his gaze caught on me and stuck for half a second before he remembered himself.
He pulls his shirt off—one smooth motion, tossing it on his towel—and Jesus Christ, the tattoos.
Black and gray ink covering both arms completely, crawling up one side of his neck: wolves mid-stride with their hackles up, clockwork gears that look like they might actually turn, military insignia I don't recognize but that probably mean something significant.
His chest is bare, his build exactly what I expected after watching him work—broad shoulders, some softness around the middle, strength that came from hauling engines and crawling under trucks plus a few beers.
And the prosthetic. Right leg, above the knee, carbon-fiber visible beneath his swim trunks, all sleek engineering and modern design.
It's just... there. Part of him. He doesn't hide it, doesn't call attention to it, doesn't do anything except stand there like a man about to jump in a swimming hole on a hot Thursday afternoon.
"SCOUT!" Finn's voice carries across the water. "Stop ogling Holt and GET IN HERE!"
My face goes hot. "I wasn't—"
"YOU ABSOLUTELY WERE!" Finn yells back, bobbing in the water with that shit-eating grin. "IT'S FINE! HE'S VERY OGLEABLE! BUT THE WATER'S COLD AND YOU'RE MISSING IT!"
Several people around the pool laugh, and I shoot Finn the most aggressive middle finger I can manage while also dying of embarrassment.
"You gonna stand there or actually get in the water?" Holt asks, and there's amusement in his voice, that almost-smile tugging at his mouth.
"I'm strategizing my entry!"
"It's called jumping!"
"Some of us have technique, Finn! Some of us have grace!"
"You have neither of those things!" he yells back, and a few teenagers nearby crack up.
Holt's mouth does his usual twitch smile thing. "You coming?"
"Right behind you."
He wades in, water rising to his hips, then his chest, and then he ducks under completely. When he comes up, his hair's slicked back, water streaming off his shoulders, and there's this ease in his expression I've never seen before. Relaxed. Almost peaceful.
I take a running start and launch myself off the rock. The cold hits me—shocking, perfect, knocking the breath from my lungs and replacing it with ice. Everything goes dark and freezing and I kick toward the light, break the surface gasping and yelping and possibly cursing.
"Oh my God, it's freezing!"
Finn swims over, looking absolutely thrilled by my suffering. "Isn't it perfect?"
"It's—" I duck under again, letting the cold soak into my overheated skin, into my bones, shocking every nerve ending awake. When I surface, I'm grinning. "Okay, yeah, it's perfect. It's so perfect I might actually cry."
"Beautiful," Finn says, wiping an imaginary tear. "This is why I brought you here. For this exact moment of realization."
Holt's watching us with that quiet amusement he does, and Finn takes that as a challenge. He scoops a handful of water and flings it directly at me.
"Oh, you're dead." I retaliate immediately, splashing back, and within seconds it's absolute mayhem—me and Finn in a full water war, shouting and laughing and trying to dunk each other while Holt watches from a safe distance.
"Holt!" I gasp between splashes, water in my eyes, hair plastered to my face. "Help me!"
"I'm neutral."
"NEUTRAL?" Finn and I yell in unison, turning on him as a united front.
"Switzerland of swimming holes," he says, but I catch it—the smile pulling at his mouth, the way he looks lighter than usual. Not just tolerating us. Enjoying us.
"BETRAY HIM!" Finn yells at me. "SWITZERLAND CANNOT STAND!"
"I don't think that's how neutrality works!"
"IT IS NOW!"
We both turn on Holt, splashing him from either side, and he takes it for about five seconds before he retaliates with a single, perfectly aimed splash that absolutely drenches us both. Finn and I sputter in shock.
"Did he just—"
"He destroyed us," I say, wiping water from my eyes. "We've been destroyed."
"REMATCH!" Finn declares. "Best two out of three!"
"We didn't win the first one," I point out.
"Semantics!"