13. Scarlett
Scarlett
A shimmer.
A break in the trees. A flash of silver blue. The sound—soft, falling water filled the air. Not a full waterfall, but a wide, stone-lipped spring spilling into a clear pool. Hidden away, like it didn't want to be seen.
“Holy shit,” Kane breathed. Stepping forward, stunned it was real.
“I second that,” Rhett added, yanking off his shirt.
“Oh my god,” I groaned blinking at them, heat already rising to my face. “Please keep your pants on.”
“No promises,” he called, launching himself into the water with a cannonball that sent Hemingway scrambling behind a log.
The splash soaked my legs. “Rhett!”
He came up laughing. “Refreshing!”
I tossed a twig in his direction. “Feral.”
Kane was next, stripping down to his gym shorts, tattoos wrapping up one arm across his chest. He tossed a beer to Rhett —pulled from a soaked side pocket in his backpack like this was his plan all along.
“You brought beer?”
“Don’t act surprised,” Kane said. “I’m nothing if not prepared.”
Alden grinned, shrugging out of his t-shirt. His back flexed as he moved, muscles shifting like they were used to being watched. And I watched.
I was only human.
Trace just stood at the edge, separate from the chaos, like he was still deciding to join it—or burn it down. The smirk on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. Then he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped into the water, as if it were made for him.
His tattoos appeared carved into his skin. Ink along his ribs, down his forearm, something small behind his collarbone I couldn’t quite see. The edges of his hair were wet; the sun had tanned his skin gold.
Fuck.
I needed to breathe.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I didn’t know when it got this bad—this constant pull, this ache—but it was worse now that he was here again. It felt normal, even though everything had changed.
What is wrong with me?
“You coming in?” Alden asked, voice casual, eyes not.
I hesitated, then peeled off my shirt, shimmied out of my shorts, and stepped in wearing my black bikini—clean lines, the kind that clung when wet.
All four of them looked.
Not one tried to hide it.
And something inside me thrilled at it. Hated that I liked it.
The water was cold at first, a shock against my skin that made me suck in a breath. It wrapped around me, smooth and sharp and perfect.
Hemingway sniffed the edge of the pool, lapped at the spring water for a few seconds, then flopped into a sun patch and began snoring immediately.
I drifted, weightless, the current soft and slow. Rhett floated on his back, humming something out of tune. Kane had climbed onto a rock threatening to do a flip. Alden was near the edge, sipping a beer, watching me like I was something delicate and dangerous.
And Trace—Trace swam right past me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
“You okay, Sunshine?” he asked, voice low, eyes darker than the water.
“I’m great,” I said.
“You don’t look great.”
“Maybe you should stop looking.”
His mouth twitched. “You don’t mean that.”
And the worst part? I didn’t.
But I needed to.
Fuck. This was not a good idea.
I couldn’t afford to go there again. Couldn’t afford to feel the way I still did—this trembling, electric thing that made me want to scream and kiss him all at once.
I ducked under the surface, hair swirling, heart thrashing, desperate to be anywhere but here.
When I came up again, the sun caught the water in diamonds.
And all four of them were still watching.