Page 52 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
Cheyenne lets out a shriek loud enough to shake the whole pool, before water hits us from both sides at once. Maria and Chey start splashing like maniacs, laughing too hard to aim properly, the kiss breaking as both of us laugh into it.
“Rude!” Kadin calls over his shoulder, still keeping one hand locked at my waist as he turns just enough to shield me from the worst of it.
That only encourages them.
Another wave crashes over us, soaking my shirt through completely now, plastering it tighter to my skin. Burying my face briefly against Kadin’s shoulder to escape the spray, I laugh in spite of myself as the water churns around us, the whole backyard dissolving into noise, light and movement.
Maria’s hands hit my shoulders with more force than I expect.
One second I am laughing, half-hidden against Kadin as water flies from every direction, the next the world tips. Cold swallows over my head in a sudden rush, the pool closing above me in a sheet of blue and silver.
The shock should send me scrambling upward immediately.
Instead, for a few suspended seconds, I let myself sink.
Everything softens under the surface. The noise of the party dulls into a distant, underwater pulse. Bass turns into a low vibration I can feel more than hear. The shrieks and laughter above me blur into something warped and far away. My hair lifts, drifting around my face, my shirt tugging weightlessly against my body, the water pressing cool against every inch of exposed skin.
There is a strange kind of mercy in it.
No eyes. No expectations. No one asking anything of me.
Just silence. Just the ache in my lungs beginning to build, and the calm that always lives for a breath or two before instinct takes over.
Shapes move above me through the wavering light, broken apart by ripples and motion. One figure cuts cleanly through the blur, larger than the others, moving with far more purpose than the splashing chaos around us. At first, I assume it is Kadin. He had been closest. He had been holding me seconds earlier.
Then those hands find me.
They do not flutter at my waist. They do not hesitate.
They land firm.
A broad palm spans my side, then the other follows, fingers spreading over my waist with a steadiness that feels almost possessive even through the water. The grip is stronger than I expect, more angry, the realization traveling through me before thought can catch up. My body is drawn forward through the pool in one smooth, controlled pull until there is almost no space left between us.
The contact is immediate.
His chest presses into mine beneath the water, clothing heavy and shifting between us. One of his hands slides slightly higher along my side as if to keep me from drifting away, thumb digging in just enough to anchor me there. The movement is notrough, but it is certain, and certainty feels more dangerous than force ever could.
My breath stutters inside my chest.
The surface glows above us, fractured by light, but still, he does not let me go. There is a beat, maybe two, where we remain suspended like that, my body held to his beneath the water while everything around us disappears into blue silence.
Then he drives us upward.
Air crashes back over me as we break the surface. Dragging in a breath, I blink hard against water streaming into my eyes, my pulse beating too fast to feel entirely my own. One hand stays at my waist. The other comes up, sweeping wet hair back from my face with a slow, almost infuriating care.
Then both of his hands frame me fully.
Not Kadin.
Silas.
The shock hits so hard it wipes the world clean for a second.
He is standing in front of me, soaked through and fully clothed, as if he stepped into the pool without bothering to think about the consequences. The dark flannel clings to the hard lines of his shoulders and chest, the shirt beneath it plastered to him so completely that every movement of his breathing shows through. Wet fabric drags heavily over his arms, over the ink winding up his forearms, making the black trees there look even darker beneath the pool lights. Water streams from his hair in uneven rivulets, dark curls loose now without the cap, sticking at his temples and forehead. The faint scars there catch the blue glow before disappearing again beneath droplets.
He looks ruined.
He looks furious.
