Page 125 of Camp Bliss
His brows cinch together. “Um…What?”
I press my lips together, taking in his sweetly confused face and that innocent streak of dirt on his jaw.
God, I never want to lose him.
But there are no guarantees. No assurances.
If life has taught me anything, it’s taught me that.
Just because people share your blood and DNA doesn’t mean they won’t look at you and think,“Meh.”
The world can shut down—completely fucking shut down and steal one of your favorite people—when your life is just getting started.
You can fall in love with someone who will run away to a non-extradition country with half of your net worth.
No guarantees.
But I have to know what will happen if what we maybe-might-be starting crashes and burns.
I swallow hard. Inhale. Exhale.
“What if we break up?” I ask again, my voice much, much smaller this time. I grip the tamper handle like it’s a lifeline. “What happens after that?”
Zach’s frown deepens. Months ago, I might have called this a scowl. But it’s not his angry scowl or his irritated scowl. This is his serious scowl—frown. Whatever. It’s cute, and it means he’s concentrating. Weighing his words.
“Do you… Do you want to break up?” As soon as he asks the question, I notice that his lips have lost their color.
I drop the tamper and rush him, gripping his forearm with both hands. “God, no!”
His breath leaves him in a gust that turns into a chuckle. “Okay. That’s good,” he mutters. Then he takes a step back, drops the sandbag to the ground, and grabs me. “Come here.”
And then I’m in his tight hug.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
Zach gives the best hugs.
And I just need more of these in my life.
I wrap my arms around his ribs and squeeze tight. He hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.
“Greta, honey, try not to scare me like that, okay?” he murmurs into my hair.
Jesus, this guy.
This guy kills me.
I tilt my head back to look up at him. “Sorry. That thought scares me too. A lot.” I swallow hard again. “Which is why I have to know what to… what to expect if things don’t work out between us.”
He presses his lips together. Their color is back. Then he nods. “I’ve thought about that.”
My stomach plunges.
“You’ve thought about it?” I squeak.
His eyes narrow, reading my obvious alarm. “Not like that. Not for me,” he says, eyes blazing. “But for you.”
