Page 85 of Trust

“All right,” I murmur under my breath, “where did you go?”

I increase my speed, filtering out any sound or movement that doesn’t belong. I follow the pull. I’m getting closer.

Twenty minutes pass, and there’s still no sign of her. I shorten my steps, listening with my whole body. I know I’m close. I follow the tiny tells she drops rather than any real trail. A fern leans the wrong way, a rustle that doesn’t fit the wind. I put myself in her head, map the forest like she would. She’s good, but not military good. My lips curve at the sight of a tree uprooted by the last storm. It lies on its side, the roots ripped from the ground, sprawling in every direction. Dark mud clings to it in heavy clumps. Branches jut out from the defeated trunk at uneasy angles, some snapped clean, others bent like broken fingers.

I approach, every mindful step as noiseless as possible. Ducking behind the fallen giant, I wait her out. Her impatience will be her downfall. She’ll tell on herself by moving too fast, too soon. Then I’ll be on her. My breath goes low and steady, matching the controlled calm old training carved into me. A muffled shuffle of soil confirms her position. Tiny twigs break beneath her weight as she moves away slowly. And then she sprints. Two more minutes left on the clock and I’m only a couple of feet behind.

The forest narrows around her, trees crowding together into close-walled columns. Her zigzag grows frantic. Adrenaline spikes. She doesn’t turn around, keeps her focus on what lies in front of her. Good girl. A boulder comes into view. She starts running circles around the rock, her head and shoulders still visible as she halts on the other side to look at me. She has the nerve to grin. I step, she mirrors it.

“Gotcha,” I announce, stalking closer.

“Not quite,” she says, way too proud of herself.

“You think this little bit of stone will keep me from catching you?”

“No, but I think it’s good enough to take some time off the clock.”

I huff and get into motion, fast. One second after my watch alarms the time is up, I throw her down. At first, I let her strike back. Then I pin her arms, flip her onto her stomach, and press her down with my knee. Not what she’s practiced, but necessary.

She fights me with full force. The more we train, the more I want her to stay here, where I know she’s safe and never has to experience what we practice for.

I lean close. “Hips,” I whisper. “Turn into the pressure. Push off your elbows, not your hands.”

She growls low and does exactly as I say, throwing her weight into a twist that almost unseats me. I’m impressed.

She’s panting now, her ponytail loosened, red streaks of hair framing her face. Her body’s tired, but her eyes are alive.

I let her take the next one. Let her flip me. She lands on top. A primal urge rises in me, accompanied by an underlying warning. I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t let it in. The place is wrong. The timing is worse. But the want is there, and the way Cash kissed her earlier only deepened it.

Lying there in the dirt, I stare up at her, reminding myself why distance matters.

One move and I could flip her back, bury myself between her legs.

I don’t.

I stay there, letting her victory shine across her face. Her thighs lock around me for balance, and it sparks through me. I shift, let her feel how close I am to losing control, how easy it would be to—

She reads it and climbs off, her cheeks darkening.

I don’t comment. I sit up and lean back on my hands, palms pressed against the ground.

She turns to look at me, grins, and bolts. That’s enough to make me question what’s left of my discipline. It’s been gradually shrinking ever since that damn rear door split my forehead open. I shake my head, pushing up slower than I need to, giving her a head start. She still doesn’t know when to quit. I catch her fast. She barely has time to react before I haul her up and throw her over my shoulder. She laugh-screams the whole way back, fists thudding against my back in half-hearted protest. It pulls a laugh out of me, a real one. Didn’t expect that. Can’t remember the last time I had fun like this.

It’s late afternoon by the time we return to the house and I set her down. She drops into a kitchen chair, gravity pulling her down hard.

I’m barely sweating.

She glares at me as if that’s my fault.

I hand her a bottle of water.

“You okay?”

She drinks half the bottle before answering. “You always ask that.”

I brace my hands on the table and offer a small smile. “Bad habit. Caring.” It always starts the same way. I assess the risk and decide it’s my job to neutralize it, even if it costs me.

She looks up at me. Her eyes linger for a second too long, and I don’t want to think about the cost right now.