We waded over, joining the chaos. Alex was useless. Sydney dunked him so hard he coughed up salty water. For a heartbeat, the thrill of being part of something—of not being the broken one, the haunted one—nearly made me float.
Alex grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back into the tumbling surf. His hands were warm, the curve of his fingers familiar and safe.
I leaned into it. Into him.
Let myself be held. Let myself pretend.
For a second, I didn’t even care about the past. Or what waited on the sand, watching.
But then I looked up, and there he was.
Feet planted at the water’s edge, arms crossed over his chest. Eyes fixed to my face, unblinking.
And behind all the noise, I was shattering again.
Alex spun me, reckless, both of us half-falling. My knees scraped wet sand, hair clinging to my cheek. He steadied me, mouth so close to mine I could taste his breath.
I almost let him kiss me. Hell, maybe I wanted it.
Maybe I wanted Caiden to see.
But I held back. The ache in my chest was too dangerous.
“Amelia,” Alex said, voice a low, sweet thing. “You with me?”
I blinked, forced my body to hold still. “Yeah. Sorry.”
He smiled, brushing wet hair from my face. “Don’t be. Thought I lost you there for a second.”
Not lost. Justdrowning.
I glanced up the beach. Caiden was still there, jaw working, eyes locked on me like he could set me on fire from thirty feet away.
I wanted to hate him. Sometimes, I did.
But the pull between us was a force of nature. Like the tide, always returning, always taking something with it when it leaves.
The sun slid lower, the light turning blue, then gray. Shadows grew long across the sand.
Alex moved in closer, his arm curled tight around my waist. “Let’s walk a bit?” he asked, his words soft just for me.
I nodded, though the idea of being alone with him, with the burn of Caiden’s focus, made my skin prickle.
He led me a few yards down the shoreline, the group’s voices fading behind us.
The world was quieter here. The only sound was the hiss of the waves gnawing at the sand, and our breathing. Mine rapid, his steady.
Alex was easy, steady, hands gentle on my shoulders.
He told a story about his childhood, something about falling off a jet ski. I tried to listen, tried to laugh in the right places, but every few seconds my body remembered the glass, the blood, the taste of fear that never washed away.
He didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re quiet,” he said, eventually, concern flickering in his blue eyes.
I shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
