Chapter 8 - Griffin
"You look like a different guy," Hannah says, still catching her breath, water dripping from her hair down her face.
I tread water, watching her. "When I'm here, I am."
"What do you mean?"
"This place." I gesture around at the waterfall, the trees surrounding us. "When I'm here, I can be the person I was before the military. Before everything went to shit. Before I learned that the world is full of things that want to kill you and sometimes they succeed."
"Yeah. I get that."
She starts swimming backward, away from me, moving toward the waterfall.
The thermal shirt she's wearing is plastered to her skin, and I can see everything: the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, and fuck, her breasts.
They move with every stroke, jiggling slightly under the wet fabric that's gone nearly transparent, and I can see the outline of her nipples, hard from the cold water.
And she's smiling. Actually smiling, her face lit up in a way I haven't seen since she got here, maybe in a way she hasn't felt in three weeks. Water droplets catch the sunlight on her skin, and her hair is slicked back from her face, making her eyes look bigger, brighter.
She looks gorgeous.
Absolutely fucking gorgeous.
And my body reacts like I'm some kind of teenager who's never seen a woman before. My cock stiffens, straining against my briefs, and I'm suddenly very grateful that we're underwater. Very grateful that the cold hasn't completely killed my ability to get hard, even if the timing is absolute shit.
*Get it together,* I tell myself. *She's not here for that. You're not doing this for that.*
But my dick apparently didn't get the memo, because it's definitely interested in the way her body moves through the water, the way that shirt clings to every curve, the smile on her face that makes her look like someone who hasn't been broken by fear.
"You have family back home?" I ask, desperate to think about literally anything else. "Besides your mom?"
She stops swimming and treads water, considering the question. "Just my mom. We're not close, though. She remarried a few years ago, moved to Arizona. We talk maybe once a month."
"That's it?"
"That's it. No siblings. No cousins I'm close to. My dad's out there somewhere, but I haven't heard from him in years and I'm fine with that." She floats on her back for a moment, staring up at the sky through the spray. "What about you? Before your parents died, were you close?"
"Yeah. They were good people. Didn't understand why I joined the military, but they supported it anyway." I swim closer to the waterfall, letting the spray hit my face. "My mom used to send care packages when I was deployed. Cookies, magazines, stupid stuff from home. Made the guys jealous."
"That sounds nice."
"It was."
We're quiet for a moment, just the sound of the waterfall and our breathing. Then, because I apparently can't help myself, I ask, "You got someone waiting for you back home? Boyfriend?"
She laughs, and it echoes off the rocks. "No. Definitely not."
"Definitely?"
"I've never really... dated. Unless you count Tommy Morrison when I was thirteen, and I don't because all we did was hold hands at the movies once before he told everyone I had cooties."
I can't help it. I smile. "Cooties?"
"He was very concerned about them."
"Sounds like an idiot."
"Oh, he absolutely was." She rights herself, treading water again. "What about you? Ever have someone serious?"
"Once," I say. "In the military. We dated for about a year."
"What happened?"
"We realized there was no love there. We were just two lonely people trying not to be lonely. Didn't work."
"That's sad."
"Not really. Better to figure it out before we made any permanent mistakes." I swim closer to her without really meaning to, drawn by how the light catches in her eyes. "She was a good person. We both were. We just weren't good together."
"Do you miss her?"
"No." It's the truth. I don't miss Sarah. Haven't thought about her in years, actually. "I miss the idea of having someone, maybe. But not her specifically."
Hannah nods, like she understands that distinction. "I don't even miss the idea of it. I've been alone so long it's just... normal."
"Yeah. I get that."
We're close now, close enough that I can see the water droplets on her eyelashes, the way her lips are slightly blue from the cold. Close enough that if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch her.
I don't.
Because as much as my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to see if she tastes as good as she looks, I know that's not what this is about.
This isn't about me wanting to fuck the pretty girl in the cold water.
This is about helping her get out of her head.
About showing her she's still the person she was before the gun.
Even if my cock is very interested in other activities.
"We should probably get out," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "Before we actually get hypothermia."
"Probably." But she doesn't move, just floats there watching me with those eyes that have seen too much.
"Hannah…"
"Thank you," she says. "For this. For making me jump in. For knowing what I needed even when I didn't."
"Stop thanking me."
"No." She swims past me toward the edge of the pool, and I try very hard not to watch the way her ass looks in those wet underwear, the way her legs kick through the water. I fail spectacularly.
I give her a minute to get out first, to give my body time to calm the fuck down before I follow.
The cold water helps, but not as much as I'd like.
I'm still half-hard when I finally pull myself out of the pool, water streaming off my body, and I grab my thermal shirt quickly to hold in front of me like some kind of shield.
Hannah is already pulling her jeans back on, hopping on one foot as she tries to get the wet denim up her legs. Her thermal shirt is still soaked and clinging to her, and I force myself to look away before I make this weird.
"That was insane," she says, finally getting her jeans buttoned. "And amazing. But mostly insane."
"Yeah."
"We're doing it again before I leave, right?"
I look at her, surprised. "You want to?"
"Absolutely." She pulls on her sweater, though it's not going to do much good over a wet shirt. "That was the first time in three weeks I haven't felt like I'm drowning. So yeah. We're definitely doing it again."
"Okay," I say. "We'll come back."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
We start the walk back to the cabins, both of us soaking wet and probably going to catch our deaths from the cold, but neither of us seems to care. Hannah talks the whole way back about the waterfall, about how beautiful it was, about how she can't believe she almost didn't jump in.
And I walk beside her, listening, watching the way she gestures with her hands when she talks, the way her whole face lights up when she's excited about something. Bear trots between us, perfectly content, like this is exactly how things are supposed to be.
By the time we reach her cabin, we're both shivering hard, teeth chattering, our wet clothes heavy and cold against our skin. I push open the door, still need to fix that lock, and usher her inside, Bear following.
"Fire," I say, heading straight for the wood stove. "Now."
"Y-yeah," Hannah agrees through chattering teeth. "G-good idea."
I work quickly, my hands clumsy from the cold but still competent. Tinder, kindling, fuel. The fire catches fast, and I feed it until we've got a solid blaze going. Heat starts radiating out immediately, and I move closer to it, holding my hands out.
Hannah strips off her sweater and jacket, standing in just her soaking thermal shirt and jeans, and moves to stand beside me. We're both dripping onto the floor, creating small puddles, but neither of us cares. We just stand there, side by side, waiting for the warmth to seep back into our bones.
"That was stupid," she says after a minute, but she's smiling.
"Probably."
"We could have died."
"We didn't."
"We're going to be sick tomorrow."
"Maybe."
She looks at me, and there's something in her eyes I haven't seen before. Something lighter. "I don't regret it."
"Good. You shouldn't."
We stand there a while longer, until the shivering starts to subside and feeling returns to my fingers and toes.
Hannah's thermal shirt is still plastered to her body, and I can see everything again: the curve of her breasts, her nipples still hard from the cold, the way her waist dips in before flaring to her hips.
I force myself to look at the fire instead.
"Come on," I say, moving toward the bed. "Sit. You need to get warmer."
She follows, and we both sit on the edge of her bed, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Bear flops down on the rug in front of the stove with a contented sigh, already warming up.
"You're not as grumpy as you seemed," Hannah says, and there's something teasing in her voice.
I glance at her. "I can be if you want."
"No." She nudges my ribs with her shoulder, gentle and playful. "You're perfect like this."
Perfect. Nobody's ever called me that. Especially not in the last eight years, when I've been anything but. Broken, maybe. Damaged. Functional on good days. But never perfect.
"Hannah—"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" she starts, turning to look at me, and whatever apology she was going to make dies on her lips.
Because I don't let her finish.
I close the distance between us and kiss her.
Our lips are cold. We're both still dripping wet, water from her hair running down between us, soaking into what's left of our dry clothes. Her mouth is slightly open in surprise, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss, my hand coming up to cup the back of her head.
Her hands come up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, and she opens for me completely. Her tongue meets mine, and fuck, she tastes good.