Page 42 of The Rebound Plan

He bends his long legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. I miss the warm press of his finger against mine. I try not to stare at his freckled shoulders or the light dusting of hair on his chest, now disappearing into the shadow of his thick thighs.

We’re both silent for a good long stretch.

Then he looks at me again. “I should focus on what I need right now.”

I nod, a weird lump in my throat. “Yeah.”

His gaze is piercing. “You’re happy, right?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I dig deep and think about the last time that I was genuinely happy. “Moving from New York was scary. But I’ve found the best of friends here. I don’t regret any of that.” Then I think about the season to come, and I’m genuinely excited for them. “And now I get to cheer you on to victory this year.”

I don’t add that I think it’s better to go down a path, no matter what, even if you find out later it wasn’t the right one to get you where you want to go. That’s the kind of bitter realization that doesn’t taste any better if you’re pre-warned.

Standing, I stretch my arms over my head. “Is it deep enough to dive in here?”

“Aye,” he says, slowly rising, his gaze carefully tracking me.

Lifeguard, back on duty.

“Race you back to the dock,” I say lightly before launching myself into the air.

Even with the headstart, he catches me halfway. I splash at him, but it’s ineffective, and he reaches the shallow-enough-to-touch area first.

He’s grinning when I join him. “Nice try. Oh, watch?—”

A boat rips past.

Russ grabs my hand, hauling me past him, putting himself between me and the incoming big wave. I freeze, trying to grip the stone lake floor with my toes, and when the wave arrives, that doesn’t help at all. He surfs the big roll of water, but I flail and get pulled under.

The next thing I know, he’s lifting me back up to the surface, holding me against him, and all I can feel is his chest pressed against mine, his arms looped around my body. Plastered together, hearts pounding.

“You’re all right,” he says. A statement.

Lake water splashes all around us, cold and sharp.

I gasp and nod weakly.

“Shannon?”

I close my eyes and squeeze his shoulders. Smooth, tight skin. “Yes,” I whisper.

He lets me go, and I let myself get caught by the next wave, grateful for the cold now on my overheated skin.

He sinks, too, until we're both submerged up to our necks.

I bob along for a few moments, until my breath settles down, then climb out and wrap myself in my towel. I curl up on one of the chairs on the deck, which gives me an accidental front row seat for Russ hauling himself out of the lake, decorated with water droplets that glitter like diamonds. He looks wild and rugged and golden.

“How about now? Are you hungry yet?”

I lift my gaze to his face and shake my head with a nervous jolt. “No. Still need more sun.”

And some air.

He runs the towel over his head, making his damp hair sticking out and up in funny ways. His gaze lingers on my face, his brows tight. And then he grins, the concerned expression evaporating. Or maybe I imagined it, projecting more into a conversation about hockey than rightfully deserves to be there. “All right. See you up there. Or back here after, if you’re still recovering. But don’t forget to put on sunscreen if you stay out, okay?”

I nod mutely.

At least I didn’t ask him to put it on my back for me. I could hear myself saying that, too.

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