Page 32

We lapsed into silence, then, as dusk turned to dark and the forest came alive with the cacophonous symphony of night song. Despite the fire, it was still cold and wet, and I found myself shivering.

"Hey, c'mere." Jax had rolled a large log to the fire for something to sit back against; we were close but still apart.

I hesitated, but the need for warmth won, so I shifted over until our hips and thighs and shoulders were brushing. I assumed that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.

Jax dug the blanket-in-a-bag out of the backpack, took it from the bag, and hooked it around my shoulders. "There."

I suppressed a sigh, because I could tell he was being chivalrous—I watched him valiantly suppress a shiver. "Dammit, Jax."

"What? It's a blanket. No big deal."

“Just…" I let the sigh out, then. "Scoot your big ass down a bit.” He wiggled lower until our shoulders were level, and then I tossed the edge of the blanket around his giant shoulders. "Get the other blanket from the kit."

He dug out the crinkly silver space blanket and settled its stiff, noisy expanse over our legs. "Better?"

Within seconds, the answer was yes. I nodded. “Yeah, for sure."

Jax wriggled again, shifting a bit higher and slinging his arm along the log behind my back. "You're so tense, yo. Relax. I'm not gonna bite."

"Yo?" I leaned away from him a little and gave him an amused sidelong smirk. "Who says yo anymore?"

"I do? Uncle Bax does, Dad does. I dunno. It's just a thing…yo."

I tried to relax, I really did. But I haven't been this physically close to another human being in more than eighteen months, except for some hugs with Tania, which doesn't count because she's a girl and my sister.

I just don't know how to feel.

That's not entirely accurate.

I know how I do feel—I just don't know what to do with it.

I feel safe. Warm. Comfortable. I don't trust anyone, as a rule. But here I am, feeling drowsy and letting myself close my eyes around a man I’ve known for a matter of days.

His arm around my shoulder doesn't make me want to shy away, to cringe.

If anything, a part of me wants to lean in.

I just…can't, though.

Except, I feel Jax drifting toward sleep, and I feel myself doing the same, and I can't stop my head from tilting toward his shoulder, my weight from drifting toward him, onto him.

At one point, I woke up to Jax adding a few sticks to the cupful of dull orange flames. When he leaned back against the log, I felt my body do something I hadn't given it permission to do: return to the warmth and solidity of Jax's arm around me.

I woke up to a loud snuffling and a pungent scent, not unpleasant, like a wet dog with an earthy layer to it.

My eyes sprang open, and I froze when I saw the source of the sound and smell. "Jax," I breathed. "Wake up."

"Mmm?"

"Bear," I breathed.

I felt him tense, felt his arm tighten around me—he was reclined against the log, the hoodie folded and bunched behind his head for a pillow, and I was full-on snuggled on his chest.

If there wasn't a giant fuck off grizzly bear less than six feet away, I'd have shot to my feet just to get away from the feeling this position birthed inside me.

"We don't have any food," Jax breathed. "It'll go away."

"You sure?"