Chapter Twenty-Three
By the time they reached the shore, her teeth were chattering and her skin was kissed with goosebumps. Ethan didn’t toss the towel this time—he came to her slow, quiet, the way he always did when he was holding something in.
He draped the towel around her shoulders with reverence, like he was dressing something sacred.
Then he pulled her into him, their bare chests brushing, the fabric a thin barrier between skin and skin.
She melted forward, and he caught her, arms strong around her waist, hands rubbing gently along her back to coax the cold from her bones.
The late Tennessee sun cut through the trees in long amber shafts, warming the lakeside clearing like a benediction. A soft breeze rustled the autumn leaves above, the sound like an old hymn. Water lapped quietly behind them. Her breath steamed between them.
He drew her in tighter under the towel, his hand sliding up to cradle the base of her neck. The heat of him, the steadiness—it started a slow bloom in her chest. Her heartbeat answered his.
Then he tipped her chin up with the edge of his knuckle.
That look.
It was all over his face. Intense. Bare. Searching her eyes like he was trying to memorize them. Like he might say something life-altering. Or maybe nothing at all.
She held her breath.
But Ethan Kane didn’t speak.
He kissed her.
A slow, deep, reverent kiss that made the whole world quiet. The wind stilled. The ache eased. The earth tilted.
She let herself fall into it.
And that was all it took.
The kiss changed. Deepened. Heat uncoiled between them like a storm rolling low through the valley.
He angled his mouth over hers with aching precision, one hand buried in her wet hair, the other still wrapped around her under the towel.
She rose on her toes to meet him, fingers curling into the warm muscle of his back, anchoring herself to the only thing that felt solid.
The world tilted again.
This time, it broke.
His tongue swept against hers, coaxing her open, slow and claiming.
She answered with a breathless moan, and he swallowed it like a man starved.
His hand slid down, gripping her hip, pulling her flush against the heat of him.
All that cold, long gone now—replaced by something electric. Something molten.
The towel slipped. She barely noticed.
All she knew was the feel of him—bare chest to bare chest, the ridges of his body against hers, every hard line pressed to every soft one. Her skin sparked everywhere he touched. The kiss was all tongue and hunger now, slow and filthy and tender in the same breath. A contradiction. Like him.
The lake shimmered behind them, sunlight catching the ripples. Leaves stirred overhead. Somewhere, a crow called once then fell silent.
He broke the kiss with a groan like it hurt to stop. Forehead against hers, breath ragged.
“You keep kissing me like that,” he said, voice rough, “and I’m not letting you go for a goddamn second.”
She smiled against his mouth. “Maybe that’s my plan.”
That earned a low, breathless laugh. He kissed her again, then again, light and quick between the words. “Always knew…there was a catch.”
Her hands curled behind his neck, fingers threading into the damp ends of his hair. “What do I have to do to catch you?”
His reply was quiet. Honest. “You already have.”
Her heart thudded hard. She blinked up at him, eyes searching his. “In a real way?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.
The air between them shifted. He stilled, studying her.
She bit her lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t shake. “In a ring way?” she added, steadier this time.
He didn’t answer—not with words. Instead he pulled her into him, arms tightening, face buried in her wet hair. The inhale he took was long, like he needed her in his lungs. Her body. His memory.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, and it was the truest thing he could’ve said.
Her chest squeezed. Not because it hurt—but because it meant he meant it. Because it meant the question wasn’t ridiculous. It wasn’t a no.
He stepped back and reached down for their clothes. His movements were efficient, deliberate. A soldier returning to control. But the way he handed her her shirt—gently, like she was something to be cared for—made her ache in a whole different way.
“Let’s get you back before you freeze,” he said, already tugging on his jeans, water still clinging to his skin.
She watched him for a second—this hard man with soft hands, with too much pain in his past and too much pressure in his present. The man who had carried her out of the dark, into a cabin, into a fire, into something she didn’t have a name for.
And yeah, okay.
Maybe she was ten percent disappointed the moment didn’t end in some kind of declaration. Some fairy-tale vow.
But the other ninety?
Ninety percent of her wanted to spin in circles from how he held her.
From how he touched her.
From how he said I don’t know like it meant but I’m trying.
She dressed slowly, fingers still tingling, heart warm despite the breeze.
“Okay,” she said, to the wind. “Let’s get back.”
Ethan didn’t let go of her. One hand rested easy on the small of her back, the other curled around her fingers, thumb brushing slow over her knuckles like he was memorizing the shape of her.
Every few steps, he’d tug her in closer, steering her gently as they followed the foot-worn path through the pines.
“Used to walk this trail when I was a kid,” he said. “Dad brought me out here one fall. Taught me how to follow deer tracks. I was eight. Too small to hold a rifle proper, but I could spot signs before he did. He pretended he didn’t see ’em, just to let me feel like I was leadin’.”
Amara smiled up at him. “You were a woods kid?”
He gave a short laugh. “Nah. Not really. Mom kept me in Knoxville, mostly. After the split, she had custody. Dad got his weekends. Some holidays. He didn’t know how to parent, not really. But he could track a buck through rain and mud and two counties of bullshit. So that’s what we did. We hunted.”
They stepped over a knot of roots. She clung tighter, and he liked it more than he should’ve.
“When I was fifteen, Mom got sick. Cancer.” He paused, watching the words rise in the cool air before they vanished. “Did the whole fight. Lasted a year. Then she was gone.”
Amara squeezed his hand.
“Dad drank himself to death a few months after,” Ethan said, quieter. “He’d already been at it for years. But after she died? He didn’t even try to fake being strong.”
She stopped him then. Just for a second. Just to touch his face.
He let her. Let her look at him like he hadn’t been hollowed out by it all. Then he pressed a kiss to her temple and started walking again.
“I enlisted that same year,” he said. “Seventeen. Wanted out. Wanted order. Wanted… something.”
“And you found it?” she asked.
He nodded once. “Found a war. Found blood. Found Sarge.”
That name made her blink. “My dad.”
“Yeah.” His throat went tight. “First boss I ever had that gave a damn. Saw something in me. Maybe recognized the mess. Started callin’ me ‘kid’ like it meant somethin’. Invited me home for that dinner one time when we landed. Changed everything.”
Amara looked down. “I remember that day,” she said softly. “You sat across from me and didn’t say a word for half the meal.”
Ethan huffed. “I was tryin’ not to cry.”
She stopped walking. He did too.
“I didn’t know that,” she said.
“I didn’t know how to be around a real family,” he replied. “Didn’t trust it. Didn’t think I deserved it.”
“You still don’t do you?” Her voice was gentle. Dangerous.
He didn’t answer. Just brushed his thumb over her cheek and said, “C’mon. Camp’s just ahead.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, except for the rustle of leaves underfoot. His hand never left her back—holding her steady, like he might lose something if he let go.
By the time they crested the last bend in the trail and the cabin slid into view—half-dappled in the afternoon light, woodsmoke curling lazy from the chimney—Amara didn’t want to let go of Ethan’s hand.
But he was already pulling away.
“I need to get in touch with some people,” he said, glancing toward the truck like his brain had made the shift. “Figure out what the hell happened. Who’s behind it. I think you’re safe here now, for a few hours.”
Her spine stiffened. “So you’re leaving.”
He paused mid-step. Turned back. “Amara—”
“You’re leaving me. Again.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“No?” She crossed her arms, bracing herself against the flush of heat in her face, her chest. “Because it feels pretty familiar.”
He looked at her then like she’d just sprouted horns. Like he couldn’t believe she’d say it out loud. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I didn’t ask for protection. I asked you to stay.”
His jaw flexed. “And I told you—we can’t stay here forever. You want to go back to a place where someone pulled a gun on you? You want me to let that lie? You think that’s who I am?”
“I think,” she said carefully, “that you don’t sleep. That you don’t let yourself rest. That you’re more afraid of standing still than being shot at.”
He didn’t answer.
She stepped forward and laid her hands on his shoulders. His muscle was tight beneath the flannel. So tight it made her ache for him. “Come inside. Rest. Just for a little while. With me.”
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.” She leaned in closer, voice low and coaxing. “When’s the last time someone held you without asking for anything? When’s the last time you were allowed to be safe?”
“I’m not the one who needs—” he started, but she cut him off.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”
His hands shot to her waist and pushed her gently, firmly, back.
“Don’t,” he said. Low. Controlled. Barely a scrape of gravel. “Don’t use that on me. Not now.”
She blinked. “Use what?”
“That softness. That voice. That fucking…look on your face like you still think I’m a good man under all this goddamn wreckage.”
Amara recoiled like he’d slapped her. “You think I’m playing you?”
“I think I need to stay sharp. I think I need to not be in a bed with you when I still don’t know who’s trying to kill you. I think—” He broke off, pacing. “I think I don’t know what the hell this is between us, and I don’t have the luxury to figure it out right now.”
Silence rang sharp between them. Only the wind in the trees. A crow calling in the distance.
Then she said it.
Cold. Precise.
“Well. At least now I know where I stand.”
He flinched like it landed. And maybe it did.
But she didn’t stay to watch it work.
She turned, every step fire under her boots, and marched up the porch, yanked the cabin door open, and slammed it behind her.