34. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he water shimmered beneath the sun, still, waiting.
I stood at the edge of the yacht, swimsuit clinging to my skin, my cover-up forgotten somewhere near a pile of half-drained mimosas. The lake stretched wide and calm, like it knew something we didn’t.
Sloane floated, head tilted back, eyes closed. Rhett and Kane jumped in, their laughter echoing off the surface.
Alden came up behind me, towel slung over his shoulder, voice low. “You going in?”
I didn’t look at him as I stepped forward, letting the sun slip across my shoulders, and dove.
The water swallowed me whole.
It was colder than expected—bracing, electric. When I surfaced, the lake was a different world. Quieter. Farther away from whatever storm waited inside the boat. Or in me.
I floated for a second. Just breathing.
Then Alden was there.
He swam closer, slower than necessary, his gaze skimming the water before it found mine.
“You always dive in without a word?” he asked.
“Only when someone’s watching.”
A hint of a smile curved his mouth. “I’m always watching, Love.”
I opened my mouth to respond —
But the shift hit me first.
The water changed, the current subtle but certain.
I didn’t have to turn to know.
Trace had entered the lake—silent and shadowed. A presence that didn’t need to speak to be obeyed.
My words to Alden dissolved on my tongue.
I swam farther out, toward the sun, toward the hush. My heart still beating too fast.
Alden stayed nearby.
Trace didn’t move.
And for a moment—one beautiful, breathless moment—I let myself float.
Between them.
Weightless.
***
The sun had started to dip when we climbed back on board.
Golden light stretched across the deck, softening everything. Water clung to our swimsuits in all the wrong—and right—ways. Someone turned up the music. Something sultry and low, a little too perfect.
Rhett moved through the group, handing out drinks. “Final yacht toast of the trip,” he announced. “Let’s not remember any of it.”
“Cheers to trauma,” Sloane said, raising her glass.
“To questionable decisions,” I added, clinking mine against hers.
“To Lena finally showing some skin,” Kane said, smirking.
Lena gasped, mock-offended. “I wore a bikini!”
“And we’re all grateful,” Rhett said, shameless.
Lena flipped him off but smiled. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun; red hair curled over one shoulder. For once, she wasn’t being quiet. She was alive in the glow—laughing, sipping her drink, leaning into Sloane’s side, head tipped back, soaking in the moment.
“You look hot,” I said, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
She rolled her eyes but leaned into me, her perfume soft and familiar. “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” I nudged her. “We need more chaos from you. Blow something up. Seduce a stranger. Yell at a cloud.”
Lena giggled, but there was something sharp beneath it. Her smile flickered, eyes wide. “Maybe I’ll do something none of you see coming.”
I blinked. “That sounded ominous.”
She laughed again, lighter this time, nudging me back. “You’re insane.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Drink in hand, Trace stood at the far end of the deck, his shoulder pressed against the railing as if someone had anchored him there. Still. Coiled. The storm in him was barely contained, flickering just beneath the surface.
Alden sat on the bench beside me, his leg brushing mine—subtle, intentional. The contact grounded him.
Grabbing the speaker, Sloane flipped to something loud, dirty, and familiar.
The beat dropped, and I stood up on the seat, drunk on sun and adrenaline.
“Scarlett,” Lena hissed. “You’re gonna fall.”
“I’ll land hot.”
She covered her face, laughing. “You’re unwell.”
But she danced with me anyway.
And for a moment, we weren’t past or future.
Just now.
Just sun. Music. Skin. And fire.