Chapter 8 Raine
Raine
The triage tent smelled like antiseptic, wet earth, and exhaustion. A heater rattled in the corner, pushing lukewarm air across rows of cots. My clothes clung like ice, braid dripping onto my collar. I should’ve felt relief—we’d saved them. The family was alive. That was all that mattered.
So why did my hands still shake?
“Sit,” one of the medics ordered.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, though the ache in my ribs said otherwise. My palms were raw, a slice of glass stinging along my forearm. But it wasn’t pain that made my chest tight.
It was him.
Adam Stoker. I could still feel the burn of his arm locked around me, the steadiness of his heartbeat pounding against my back when the house gave way. For one suspended moment in that flood, it hadn’t mattered how much I hated him. I’d clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
And that terrified me more than drowning ever could.
“Carter.”
I stiffened. His voice carried even when he tried to lower it. I didn’t turn right away, forcing myself to focus on the medic wrapping my arm. But every nerve lit up, aware of his presence behind me.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped.
“Didn’t ask,” he shot back, stepping into view. He was just as soaked, hair dripping down his temple, shirt plastered to his chest. He should’ve looked wrecked, but somehow he carried disaster like armor. “I came to tell you we’re moving back out.”
I lifted my eyes, meeting his. My throat tightened. “Then go.”
Something flickered across his face—frustration, regret, something he didn’t want me to see. His jaw flexed. “Don’t pull that lone-wolf crap again. You scared the hell out of me.”
The words cracked through me, sharp and unwanted. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I forced a laugh, brittle and cold. “Scared you? That’s rich. You don’t get to say that after what you did.”
His eyes narrowed. “Raine—”
“Save it.” I shoved off the cot, ignoring the medic’s protest. “We’ve got work to do. People to save. That’s all that matters. Not us.”
I shouldered past him, braid whipping against my back, and didn’t look to see if he followed.
Because the truth—the one I couldn’t admit—was that us still mattered more than I could bear.