Page 13 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

T he lights on the dance floor shimmer through the smoky air, and Caison’s hand presses against the small of my back like it was made to rest there.

His other hand holds mine, steady and warm, his fingers rough in a way that makes my skin tingle.

We move with the beat of the music, in swift circles, his boot brushing mine from time to time, like we’ve danced together more than just this once.

I don’t know what I expected when I let him lead me out here. Maybe something stiff or overly rehearsed. But he’s confident, sure of himself—not cocky, not showy. Just easy. Steady. The kind of man who won’t step on your toes or let you fall.

And Lord help me, he smells good. Clean leather and sandalwood, with a hint of something warm and smoky. Whatever it is, I like it.

I shouldn’t be dancing with him. I should be reminding myself of who he is, what he wants. But right now, for the length of this song anyway, I just let myself go with it.

“You’re a good dancer,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes on his shoulder because looking him in the eye feels like it’d be dangerous.

He leans in just enough for his breath to tickle my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re just making me look good.”

The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. He swings me out, raising his wrist and sending me into a dizzying twirl before tugging me back to his chest.

Charli mouths, Oh my God , behind him, and Shelby winks at me over his shoulder. As they dance in a huddle that includes Cabe and Elise McDermott. The poor girl’s looking at my clueless cousin like he hung the moon.

The Soused Cow is a special place, filled with memories of the girl I used to be.

My friends and I spent many nights in this dimly lit bar.

It was where I had my first kiss, which Brent Walker stole in the parking lot the night my friend Misty and I snuck out through my bedroom window.

The kiss was brief and awkward as we waited for my mother to come pick us up after the bouncer, who had known me my entire life, confiscated our fake IDs and called the ranch.

Suffice it to say, it wasn’t one of my finest moments.

However, there were many more nights—once I was of age—spent discovering what drinks I liked, what music I enjoyed, and what boys caught my interest.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I look up to see Caison studying me.

“Just traveling down memory lane,” I reply.

The song changes a moment later, a slower one now.

The kind that makes people pull each other in a bit closer.

I feel him hesitate for half a breath, like he’s asking without using his words.

Then his hand slides further around my waist, drawing me into him until our chests are nearly touching, and there’s nothing casual left about this dance.

I should step back. I should take my ass back to my seat. But I don’t. Because something about this—his nearness, the heat of him, the way my body hums like a live wire—is making me feel like a teenager again. Untethered. A little reckless.

His voice is low when he speaks again. “You ever let go, Matty? Or is the weight of the world always riding on your shoulders?”

I glance up, startled. Not because the question is harsh, but because it’s close to the bone. He’s not flirting now. He’s seeing me. Peeling back a layer.

“I don’t have the luxury of letting go,” I murmur.

“You can tonight,” he says.

His hand is steady at my back, his thumb moving in a lazy circle against the fabric of my dress. It’s intimate. Gentle. I like it. And when he lowers his head, I think—for one wild second—he might kiss my neck.

I close my eyes and tilt my head in anticipation.

But then a different voice cuts through. Deep. Familiar. Sharp.

“Mind if I cut in?”

My head jerks up. Carl stands just to the side of us, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides. He’s not smiling, and his eyes are locked on Caison.

Caison doesn’t move right away. I feel the shift in him though. His shoulders go rigid, his jaw tics, and his fingers tighten on my back—but he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, even though it kind of isn’t. “Really.”

His eyes meet mine for a long second, something unreadable flickering there. Disappointment maybe.

Finally, he nods. “All right.”

He lets go of me slowly, deliberately, like releasing something he doesn’t want to. Then he steps back and disappears in the crowd.

Carl steps in, placing his hand exactly where Caison’s was. The difference is immediate. Like stepping out of sunlight and into a shadow.

“You look beautiful,” he says, pulling me into his chest.

I let him, but not all the way. I keep my hips angled just enough that our bodies don’t fully touch. And I don’t miss the flicker of awareness in his expression when he feels the distance.

“Thanks,” I say, but the word lands flat.

The music swells, and he starts to move us slowly to the music. It’s muscle memory. We used to do this all the time. I used to love dancing with him. Being in his arms felt like home once.

“I miss you,” he whispers. “Miss the feel of you against me.”

I look away.

He leans closer. “Matty, I was miserable. This past year, I tried, I really did. But nothing felt right without you.”

I grit my teeth and force myself to breathe evenly. “I’m sorry you were miserable, Carl. But I didn’t have time to be.”

His grip tightens just a fraction. “I know I messed up. I know I left when I should’ve stayed. But I didn’t know how to fix things.”

“You didn’t need to fix anything,” I say, my voice sharp. “You just had to be patient. Instead, you left me to do everything alone. And the worst part was, you broke our engagement with a damn note scribbled on the back of a work order.”

He exhales like I gut-punched him. “I didn’t know how to help you. You wouldn’t let me in. And every time I tried to talk to you about it, you got upset. I didn’t want to be another burden.”

“So, instead, you made me carry the weight and the guilt of your absence too. ”

The song plays on. But we’re not dancing anymore. We’re just turning in place like ghosts. Memories of who we used to be.

“I’m here now,” he says. “I want to help. I want to make it right.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Matty—”

The song ends, and I step back, putting space between us.

“I’m going to sit down,” I say.

He reaches out and clasps my wrist. I glance back at him, and for a brief second, I fight the urge to step back into his arms. It would be so easy to go backward.

But I just can’t. Not right now. He must see it on my face because he lets go, and I feel the heat of his gaze burning between my shoulder blades as I make my way to our table.

He calls after me, voice loud over the start of the next song, “I’m not giving up on us, Matty.”

I don’t answer.

I just keep walking forward.