Page 87 of Pack Frenzy
After a few minutes, Rowan returns with a fistful of shells and smooth stones, weighing down the last two corners.
Cassian flops on his stomach and wiggles his shoulders like he’s ready for a massage. “Be delicate. I bruise easy.”
“Uh-huh. You’re built like a tank.”
He laughs.
The sun hits the ink winding up his arm—thorns, skulls, sharp edges that shouldn’t fit him but somehow do. My handglides over the black sweep of ink across his upper back, thorns curling from shoulder to shoulder
His skin radiates heat. When my palm slides lower down his back, he shivers.
“Cold?”
“Nope.” His voice drops an octave. “Definitely not cold.”
I draw a tiny smiley face in lotion just to break the tension, rubbing it away before he can catch me.
“Did you—” He twists to look, laughing. “You menace.”
“I’m efficient,” I say, echoing Rowan, and Eli snorts behind me.
“Want to get my back now?” Rowan asks.
It’s not a question so much as permission to step closer.
“Yeah.”
His skin is sun-warm, the muscles under my palms shifting as he breathes. Soap and salt and a faint trace of sandalwood cling to him. He doesn’t speak, but he relaxes like I’ve found a switch he didn’t know existed.
“Thanks,” he says, tone rougher than usual.
Eli hands him a water bottle, and Rowan catches his hand; his thumb traces Eli’s knuckles before they pull apart. It’s small, practiced, and my chest does something complicated—soft, a little jealous, mostly awe.
Eli clears his throat and opens the cooler like a magician revealing treasure: grapes frosty with condensation, slices of melon, sandwiches in wax paper, and something wrapped in foil. He taps a bigger container. “Contingency plan for Cassian’s imaginary fish and a special dessert, no peeking.”
“Slander,” Cassian protests. “I can’t help it if the fish won’t bite.”
“Semantics,” Eli shakes his head.
Laughter bubbles out of me before I even know why. Sunlight seeps through my skin; the surf hums against the edges of mythoughts. For the first time in forever, it feels safe to just exist—sticky with salt, full of warmth, surrounded by people who keep showing up even when I’m still figuring out how to let them.
Cass shields his eyes and nods toward a fadedRENTALSsign down the beach.
“Board time. Anyone want to learn how to fall with style?”
Something in me tightens, then loosens. The water stretches out in shades of teal and green, the surface rucked by wind. I’m not afraid of water. I’m afraid oftryingin front of people who matter and pretending it doesn’t matter if I fail.
But then I think about Eli handing me coffee exactly how I like it this morning, about Rowan’s eyes going soft when he looks at me like I’m not a problem to solve, about the way they touch each other without fanfare—like love’s just another fluent language they speak. How Cassian says my name now like he’s saying it with every positive emotion attached to it.
Dad’s voice rattles in my head—Mancinis don’t show weakness.
“Me.” I stand up, brushing off a bit of sand.
Cassian’s grin flares, bright and wicked. “Deal. Try to keep up, trouble.”
After he checks out a bright yellow board, we head to the water.
The first lick of bay water shocks up my legs—cold that turns good fast. Sand molds around my toes, warm on top, cool underneath. Cassian plants the board sideways to the chop, palm flat, scanning the surface like he’s reading it.
