Page 80 of Defensive Desire

Still, I follow her out.

We end up on the lake’s edge with fishing rods propped against logs, a puck balanced on a flat patch of frozen ground from a shaded corner that hasn’t fully thawed.

Nate’s already cracking open a beer, and Cole’s calling it “drunken preseason conditioning.”

Emma laughs in all the right places. She throws back a swig of beer and claps when Cole tries to slapshot the puck into an old tree stump and misses by a mile.

From the outside, she looks relaxed. Normal.

But every time I glance at her, her shoulders are too still. Her face too tight. Her laughs a littletoopolished.

And I know that version of her.

The one who performs when she’s not okay.

I’ve seen her throw on her “Chapter and Grind queen” persona when dealing with a shitty customer, or when she talks about her mom’s passive-aggressive jabs.

I know what it looks like when Emma’s beingfineinstead ofreal.

And today she’s acting.

About an hour later, Cole’s starting to talk about lunch, Nate’s packing up the rods, and Emma stands, brushing off her hands.

“I’m gonna go change real quick,” she says, voice light.

I watch her walk back toward the cabin and decide… fuck it. I toss my stick onto the ground and follow her up the trail.

Inside the cabin, the door creaks behind me as I step into the bedroom just as she’s digging through her weekend bag.

“Alright,” I say, quietly shutting the door behind me. My voice is steady, but it costs me. “Talk to me.”

Emma freezes, her back still to me.

“What have I done?” I prompt again.

Emma stands near the dresser, her back to me, arms now crossed tight like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower.

But I know something’s coming.

I canfeelit.

“Come on, Em,” I say, my voice low. “Talk to me. What have I done?”

She turns, and when our eyes meet, I feel it in my gut. Like I've just been hit mid-ice without my gear, the wind knocked clean out of me, that terrifying moment of suspension before the pain actually registers.

“You didn’t even tell me,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell you? Tell you what?"

“About the trade.”

And just like that, realization crashes through me. My eyes snap wide. The final puzzle piece clicks into place.

Nate. Or Cole. Or both.

I’m going to kill them for opening their big fucking mouths.

But first, I have to fix this.