Page 40 of When We Are Complete

She laughs again, wiping the water from her face. The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles has always done something to me, a damn spark in a tinderbox, and I’d forgotten how good it feels to see her laugh, even soaked and shivering beside me.

Her wet clothes cling to her curves, every inch of her more tempting than ever. I look away before she catches me staring, but the image stays burned into my mind as I settle in the driver’s seat, totally saturated, and check the weather forecast on my phone.

The radar is a mess of angry reds and yellows. “It’s only going to get heavier. We need to wait it out; roads will be too dangerous to travel back right now and visibility too low.”

“Great, just great.” She sighs and brushes her wet hair away from her face and she smiles at me. “At least we tried.”

Something sweet lodges in my chest. “Look.” I point toward a structure not far off. “There’s a ranger’s cabin. We can wait there. It’ll be more comfortable than sitting in the truck. This storm is going to last at least a few more hours.”

“Okay,” she agrees, perhaps eager to escape the cramped confines that only seem to amplify whatever this is between us.

The engine starts and we creep slowly forward while rain assaults the windshield in a relentless barrage. I squint through the blur, the truck’s wipers frantic against the deluge, and soon we’re pulling up just outside the hut. I kill the engine before reaching back and grabbing my everyday carry bag, or EDC, from the backseat.

“Ready?” I glance at Kelly, her dark eyes wide, hair plastered against her pale skin.

“Let’s do it.”

We open our doors at the same time and slam them shut, before bolting for the cabin, the ground beneath us already awash with water. The rain is ice-cold and my boots squelch in the mud. But I feelalive.

We reach the old ranger’s cabin—with weathered wood siding and pine needles that carpet its sloping roof—and I head straight for the front door, which is not surprisingly unlocked. There are a handful of these kinds of cabins dotted around the Pines, left open as shelter for hikers or park rangers caught in bad weather.

“Get in,” I shout over the roar of the rain, shouldering open the door, the hinges protesting with a groan.

There’s something thrilling about being out here with her. The world has shrunk down to this cabin, the two of us, and the rain pounding against the roof. I can’t remember the last time I did something so reckless, but all I feel is excitement. I’m a kid again, and the world is full of possibilities.

Chapter 22

Jake

We stepinside the small cabin, our breaths coming hard and fast, my heart still racing from the mad dash. Kelly shakes out her hair, droplets scattering across the dusty wooden floor. When she stops, her hair clings to her neck and shoulders, framing her face. I swallow hard, trying not to focus on the fact that she’s standing so close.

“Good call,” she says, her voice bouncing off the bare walls. “At least we can stretch out a little.”

Water puddles around our boots. I’m aware of every movement she makes, hyper-alert to the way her soaked clothes cling to her curves, the rise and fall of her chest as she catches her breath.

“And staying here is better than being roadkill in a ditch somewhere trying to make it home in that,” I reply with a jerk of my head toward the window, trying to sound nonchalant. I slick my sodden hair back and look around.

The room is barebones, with a wooden table and two chairs to one side and a fireplace on the other. Beside the fireplace, a pile of firewood stands stacked neatly.

She shivers slightly as she wraps her arms around herself.

“Let’s get warmed up.” I swing the bag off my shoulder, setting it down with a thud. “We could be here for a while. I’ll get a fire going.”

“Right. I forgot you were practically a survival expert.” She looks around the sparse interior, already taking stock, lining up her next moves like she lines up everything else in her life—neat, orderly, controlled.

But nothing about this situation is neat or orderly. And control? That’s just a joke nature’s playing on us right now. I stifle a laugh because, really, what else can I do when I’m stuck in a cabin with the woman who’s taken up every spare thought I’ve had in the last few weeks?

Kelly’s teeth are chattering now. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

“I’m a bit chilly,” she admits.

“Just give me a sec.” I drop to a crouch by the fireplace, rustling through my EDC for the flint and steel and some firestarters I make from lint out of the dryer filter and a blob of petroleum jelly. I set up some smaller pieces of wood in the fireplace with the firestarters, and the spark catches quickly, flames licking upward, greedy. My hands go through the familiar motions, feeding more kindling, nursing the fire to life while Kelly hovers in the background, watching with those dark eyes.

“Nice skills,” she says.

Once the fire’s going, I turn back to my pack, rummage through until I find the stash of jerky and trail mix. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but some food will help. I toss a packet of jerky towards her. “Come sit by the fire and eat. You’ll feel better.”

She catches it and tears into the package, before coming to sit beside me. I rip open my own packet and chew on the toughmeat, letting the silence stretch between us. She hesitates, then does the same, taking small bites.

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