Page 91 of The Lilac River

It hadn’t been tentative or awkward like that first time all those years ago. It had been fire and fury, teeth and tongue, a collision of everything we'd pent up for a decade. It was desperation in motion.

"You look glorious," I rasped, my voice still wrecked.

Lily cracked a breathless smile. "I think you broke me." Even in the aftermath, her humor shone through. God, I’d always loved that about her.

"Think you’ve been punished enough for leaving?"

She shook her head, mischief dancing in her eyes, and her thighs instinctively pressed together. My heart squeezed in my chest. I could spend the rest of my life touching her and never get enough.

God, she was everything.

I glanced at the hideous ornate clock on the sideboard and grimaced. "Shit I don’t have time for what I want to do to you." And that was the truth.

Disappointment flickered across her face, and she scrambled upright, her hands clutching the edges of the table for balance. Her wide eyes darted around the room like reality was rushing back all at once.

"Where's my dress? My underwear?"

Her panties lay crumpled by my feet. Her dress, ruined, muddy, and missing most of its buttons, hung over the stupidglobe-shaped drinks cabinet Dad loved. I hated it not just because it was ugly. It reminded me of him. Pouring himself a glass of his precious whisky while he gave us a lecture on something that didn’t fucking matter. Memories and nightmares made me realize this room was the wrong place.

I bent down, snatching up her underwear and handing them to her. Her fingers brushed mine and a jolt of something fierce traveled up my arm.

"Thanks," she whispered, avoiding my gaze. The space between us felt fragile now, like it might crack under the weight of unspoken things.

I grabbed her ruined dress, holding it up with a frown. "Not sure you can wear this."

"It's okay," she said hurriedly, trying to pull herself together, but she winced as she struggled with the dress. No. No way was I letting her walk out of here like that, torn, vulnerable, like I’d used her and cast her aside.

"Wait here." I yanked on my jeans and sprinted to the laundry room, grabbing one of my flannel shirts from the dryer.

Jogging back, I found her trying to pull her dress closed with trembling fingers.

"Lila, put this on," I said gruffly, holding out the shirt.

She looked up at me, and something inside me cracked.

The sight of her bare-legged, wild-haired, standing there in my shirt was a sucker punch straight to my soul. It stirred up memories of her sitting in the stands, wearing my jersey, screaming my name like I was her entire world.

Only now, the context was all wrong. Now she was wearing it because I'd shredded her clothes in a rage of lust and heartbreak. Regret settled deep in my gut.

"What's wrong?" she asked, rolling the sleeves up her tiny arms. "Nash?"

I scrubbed a hand over my face, muttering a low, "Fuck." I didn’t have the words to tell her what was tearing me up.

Her face fell.

"I knew it. I knew you'd regret it. I just?—"

"Lily, that's not?—"

"I need my phone," she said, panicked, eyes searching for her purse. "I need to get out of here."

"Lila, please, just listen?—"

She wouldn't. She found her purse, snatched it up, and flung the door open, and…there stood Wilder. Dripping wet, grinning like the asshole little brother he was.

"Woah. Someone’s in a rush," he said, taking in Lily’s wild appearance and my half-dressed, disheveled state with a flick of his eyes. “You okay?”

"I hate to ask you this when you just got back, but can you give me a ride home?" Lily begged, clutching my shirt tighter around her.