Page 139 of Found by the Pack

And it’s stunning.

White hull gleaming, lines sleek, sails furled but ready. It’s not massive like the ones you see in magazines, but it’s big enough that it feels like a different world.

The deck stretches out in polished wood, ropes coiled neat, chrome fittings flashing in the sun. The water slaps gently against the side, green and blue and endless.

“Holy hell,” I whisper.

“Not bad, right?” Shepard’s smirk is small, but he’s proud.

Gabe offers his hand as I step down onto the dock, steadying me even though I don’t wobble. His palm is warm, his thumb brushing mine before he lets go. The gesture feels more intimate than it should.

Julian waves toward the deck. “Crew’ll look after you. We’ve got a skipper running the boat and one deckhand. They’ll stay out of your way unless you need them.”

We climb aboard. The crew greets us politely, all crisp polos and easy smiles, showing us the layout. There’s a small lounge inside, cool and shaded. A galley. A table already laid with cold drinks and fruit. The upper deck wide and gleaming.

The harbor falls away behind us as the engines rumble to life. Soon, the yacht is slipping out past the breakwater, the town shrinking into a blur of rooftops and scaffolds.

The water is gorgeous, a jewel spread wide under the sun. Clear enough that I can see flashes of fish darting below, the wake frothing white behind us. The horizon stretches endless, and I breathe deeper than I have in weeks.

I slip below deck to change, tugging on the bikini I shoved into my bag that morning. Black, simple, nothing flashy—but when I come back up, the way their eyes flick to me makes my skin hum.

Boone whistles low, and Shepard coughs into his drink like he wasn’t staring. Gabe doesn’t say anything, but the heat in his gaze says enough.

I stretch my arms over my head, pretending like I don’t notice the way they’re looking at me, and laugh. “God, this is perfect.”

The boat cuts across the waves, smooth and steady. The wind tangles my hair, sprays cool against my skin. I lean over the railing, soaking in the sunlight, before the temptation becomes too much.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, then dive.

The water closes around me, cold and shocking, and I laugh into the salt as I break the surface again. My limbs burn with the sudden chill, but it’s freeing, my body weightless in the blue.

Boone strips his shirt off and dives after me, his splash bigger, louder. When he surfaces, shaking water from his hair, I grin at him.

“You’re insane,” he says, but he’s laughing.

“You followed me,” I shoot back, splashing at him.

We tread water together, the yacht floating like a dream behind us, the sun beating down. Gabe leans over the railing, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. Shepard watches too, arms crossed, but even he can’t hide the way his gaze softens.

For once, it isn’t complicated. It isn’t heavy. It’s just this: the sea around us, the laughter in my chest, Boone grabbing me around the waist to dunk me under, me coming up sputtering and shrieking.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this light.

And as the boat drifts, as the water sparkles and the men’s voices call down to us, I think—this is exactly what I needed.

Boone floats on his back beside me, the sun sharp on his chest, droplets running down the muscles of his arms. He kicks lazily, eyes half-closed, completely at peace.

It makes me smile because I don’t think I’ve seen him like this since the day I met him—unguarded, unhurried.

I splash water at him. “You’re too comfortable.”

His grin spreads wide. “Maybe I finally deserve to be.”

I roll to float beside him, sky endless above us, water holding us up. “I’ve been thinking,” I say, voice small because suddenly this feels big. “When the mural project’s done… I might stay.”

He jerks upright, water sliding off his skin, eyes locking on mine. “Stay? Here? In Driftwood?”

I nod, half-nervous. “I haven’t told the others yet. But I will.”