Page 15 of All That Glitters in Pelican Point

“I wasn’t,” I say, because it’s technically true—but it doesn’t come out smug, or sharp. It comes out low and uneven, like I’m realizing how close I came to not being able to say it at all. And the look in his eyes says he knows it, too.

His jaw flexes, tension written all over his face. “You said we’d stick together,” he says, and it’s not just a callout—it’s personal. Like I broke more than a promise. Like I broke something fragile he wasn’t ready to admit he’d handed me.

“I got excited,” I say, the words falling out somewhere between apology and defense. It sounds hollow even to me. Not enough to cover the truth—how I let the thrill take over, how I followed the rush instead of the plan. I sound like a kid trying to justify touching the hot stove twice.

He steps closer, heat rolling off him in waves. “You got reckless,” he says, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through my adrenaline haze. Not loud, not dramatic—just honest. Controlled.

The air between us tightens, thick with all the things we’re not saying. My breath hitches, catching somewhere between fight and surrender. His is already shallow, controlled like he’s hanging onto his last thread of restraint. We’re not touching, but it feels like we are—like the space between us is electric, humming with something we both feel but aren’t ready to name.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, voice low—less command, more confession. It’s not anger that sharpens his tone; it’s something heavier. Protective. Possessive. Rough around the edges like gravel, thick with meaning he hasn’t put into words yet. But I hear it. I feel it. And it lands harder than if he’d shouted.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say, and it comes out softer than I expect—not sarcastic, not defensive. Just a truth I cling to. But even as I say it, I know it's not really what I mean. What I want… is someone who shows up. And he did.

“No,” he says, stepping in until there’s barely a breath between us. “But you’ve got me. And if we’re going to survive this—hell, if we’re going to find anything worth dragging out of that water—we do ittogether.No solo acts. No rogue missions. Just you and me, side by side.”

I nod. Not because I agree. But because he’s close—too close—and my brain is busy replaying the way his hand just brushed mine as I climbed up. How he didn’t pull away. How neither did I.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and everything inside me short-circuits. The air thickens, heat crawling up my spine like a warning—or a dare. I swear I forget how to breathe. One more second and I’m not sure I’d even remember my own name.

“Promise me, Crystal.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “I promise.”

I rarely make promises—they come with expectations, with weight. But I almost mean this one. Almost because part of me still wants to keep one foot out the door. But looking at him, the way he’s all steady fire and quiet steel, I want to mean it. I really do.

And the way he looks at me then? Like I’m not just part of the mission—but the whole damn reason he's still standing here, fighting the pull to run like hell from everything complicated and dangerous. Like maybe finding this treasure isn’t the actual risk—maybe trusting me is. And he’s willing to take it, anyway.

That’s going to be a problem.

Because the second he steps back, the second that connection breaks, I already know—this isn’t just an expedition anymore. It’s a collision course. And neither of us is walking away without damage.

6

CRUZ

By the time we get back toSerenity, the sun’s burning low on the horizon and everything’s soaked in gold, like the world itself is holding its breath.

Crystal’s a mess—dirt streaked across her cheek, sandals caked in dried mud, hair wild from the wind and effort. She's still catching her breath, but there’s a fire in her eyes that won’t quit. She’s wearing one of my shirts—an old gray henley she knotted at the waist like it’s hers now. The sleeves hang past her hands, and the collar's stretched wide enough to slip off one shoulder. It should look ridiculous. It doesn’t.

It looks like she belongs here. Onmyboat. Inmyclothes. Tangled up inmylife.

And that thought? Hits harder than any roundhouse I ever took in the teams.

She hums to herself as she scrapes mud off her sandals with the kind of focus usually reserved for life-or-death operations. Like she didn’t just scare the hell out of me. Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me without even trying.

I cross my arms, lean against the rail, and watch her like an idiot. “You know you gave me a heart attack today, right?”

She doesn’t look up. “Pretty sure you’ve survived worse.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Combat. Shipwrecks. Sharks. But none of them dove headfirst into a collapsing tunnel without backup.”

Her shoulders tense, just for a second. Then she straightens up and turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “If I waited for backup every time I found something groundbreaking, I’d still be waiting.”

“You almost didn’t make it out.”

“But I did.”

I push off the rail and close the space between us. “That’s not the point.”

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