Page 93 of When the Smoke Clears

I glance at my watch and wince. It’s been two hours.

Fuck.

I knew it was getting late when the sun dropped behind the ridge, but I didn’t realize I’d let the sky go completely black. Isla’s been alone all this time, probably pacing the floorboards thin.

I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I know it. But I couldn’t be around anyone when all I wanted to do was punch a tree until my knuckles split.

The truth? I haven’t let anyone get this close in years. Not since Isla walked away. And now, with her world collapsing—her mother gone—I was terrified she’d see me break.

The flashlight beam swings up and catches my face—dust and sweat streaked beneath my jaw. Isla bolts forward, arms reaching, breath hitching in ragged little gasps. Her eyes, wide in the circle of light, shine raw, burned through with fear.

God damn it. I did this. I pushed her away the moment she tried to come back in.

I’m an asshole.

I open my good arm, and she slips into it like she never forgot how. Her small frame presses against my chest, soft and warm and trembling. My palm flattens between her shoulder blades, holding her as close as I can without hurting her.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” I murmur into the soft cascade of her hair. It smells of freshly cut lilies and something uniquely hers—tender, bittersweet. “I…didn’t know how to handle the news. And weirdly, I’m not even surprised.”

She tilts back, chest rising with quick, shallow breaths. Silver light lines her face.

“I was lost when I learned Mom died,” she whispers, voice rough as gravel. “I still am. It’s okay not to know your next move.”

“But I still worry about you,” I say, guilt tightening my throat. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

A small, fragile smile warms her lips. “We’re starting over, Luke. That takes time. And considering what we’re both going through…”

Her palm presses over my heart, grounding me. “I think we’re allowed to be a little confused.”

Her steady warmth melts something locked inside me.

I lift a hand to her chin, brushing my thumb under the soft curve, tilting her face up so her eyes meet mine. The world falls away, all pine and night and her breath warming the space between us.

She’s the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever known. Maybe the only one who’s ever truly known me.

And for the first time all damn night, the tightness in my chest eases, not because anything is fixed, but because she came after me.

My palm drifts from her jaw to the nape of her neck, finding the silken tension there. Her hair tumbles through my fingers. I tug gently, and she parts her lips in a quiet gasp.

Her eyes flick from mine to my mouth. Hungry, uncertain, quivering. Then she licks her bottom lip, slow and involuntary. That tiny movement steals the breath from my lungs.

After ten years of yearning, my restraint snaps.

“I can’t wait anymore,” I murmur, voice low as distant thunder.

Her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me flush to her. My chest roars with the life that she’s awakened. I cover her mouth with mine in a fierce claim, lips crushing, tongue sweeping past her teeth, tasting her. Every nerve in me ignites.

I grip the soft cotton of her sweatshirt while she locks her arms around my waist, drawing me closer. My boot scrapes against pine needles as I back us toward the cabin door, never breaking that hungry kiss. She arches into me; her breath is warm and sweet on my lips.

I kick the door open and guide us inside, thrusting it shut behind us. The interior glows in firelight, embers flickering against log walls. A woven rug cushions our frantic steps. I pull back for air and study her: lips swollen, eyes shining with lust and something tender—relief, longing, fear.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, voice husky. “So damn beautiful.”

I slide her hand to rest over my heart. She presses, and the pounding there echoes in my bones.

“It hurts,” I admit, soft and urgent.

“Luke…” she moans, heat radiating off her skin in waves.