Page 77 of Broken Trust
And then … splash.
The impact sends water exploding everywhere. I laugh so hard that I nearly inhale river water.
“Axle!”
Her muffled scream disappears beneath the surface.
I start swimming, and by the time I reach the spot where she landed, bubbles are rising.
A second later, she bursts upward, gasping. Eyes huge. Braids clinging to her shoulders.
“Oh my God!”
I’m already beside her.
“The water is freezing!” she sputters dramatically. “Freezing!”
I catch her shoulders automatically. “Breathe,” I say.
“It’s arctic!”
“Breathe, Doc.”
“I can’t feel my toes!”
“Jovie, look at me.”
“I think I have hypothermia.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’ve been in the water for six seconds.”
She sucks in a breath. Then another. Finally, her eyes focus, and that’s when she realizes how cold she really is. With a startled squeak, she launches herself at me. One second, she was treading water. The next, her arms are around my neck, and her legs wrap around my waist.
And suddenly, I’m holding her. Every inch of her body pressed against mine.
My brain completely shorts out.
“Whoa,” I say, trying to pull away and create some space between us.
She clings tighter. “C-c-cold,” she stutters.
“Yeah.”
“So cold.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of the cold plunge?” I ask, trying to distract her.
The problem is that I can feel everything. The curve of her body pressed against mine. The tremble running through her muscles, causing her legs to flex against my waist. The goose bumps covering her skin.
The wisps of wet hair, loose from her braids, sticking against my neck.
The heat of her breath.
Every single one of my survival instincts decides now would be a fantastic time to stop working as I tug her in closer. Enjoying all of it.
“Axle?”
“Yep.”
