Page 16 of Held-
“Where are we going?” I shout over the wind.
“Somewhere quiet,” he calls back. “Figured you might need a break from the audience.”
He's right. For the first time in weeks, I'm not performing for anyone. Not playing the role of the gracious divorcée, the dutiful daughter, or the victim everyone expects me to be. I'm just Cece,arms wrapped around a man who smells like leather and bad decisions.
We turn down a gravel road I don't recognize, trees closing in on both sides until we emerge into a clearing beside a small lake. Brayden kills the engine, and the sudden silence is almost as jarring as the initial roar had been.
“You can let go now,” he chuckles.
I realize I'm still clinging to him like a koala. Embarrassment heats my face as I quickly unwrap my arms from his waist, fumbling with the helmet strap.
“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to disguise how flustered I am. “Not used to dismounting gracefully.”
“I don't mind.” There's that hint of a smile again as he swings his leg over the bike and reaches to help me with my helmet. His fingers brush against my jaw, sending a jolt through me that has nothing to do with the motorcycle ride.
When the helmet comes off, my hair tumbles down in a tangled mess. I try to smooth it with my fingers, suddenly self-conscious about how I must look after being wind whipped.
“Don't,” Brayden declares quickly. “It looks good like that.”
I drop my hands, unsure what to do with this version of Brayden Cole. The sullen teenager I vaguely remember from high school has been replaced by a man who radiates confidence and danger in equal measure. But there’s something familiar in his gaze—the same steady intensity that always seemed to see right through me.
“Where are we?” I ask, looking around at the secluded clearing. The lake stretches out before us, its surface rippling gently in the winter breeze. Bare trees frame the water, their skeletal branches reaching toward the sky.
“Old swimming hole,” he says, walking toward a fallen log near the shore. “Used to come here when I was a kid. Before my aunt dragged me to San Salona.” He sits on the log, stretchinghis long legs out in front of him. “Not many people remember it’s here.”
I look around with fresh perspective, trying to picture a younger Brayden swimming in these waters before life carved those scars into his skin and that guarded edge into his expression. It’s hard to reconcile the man before me with anyone’s past.
“It's beautiful.” The lake is small but picturesque. “How'd you find it?”
“Followed some older kids here once. They tried to drown me.” He says this so casually that it takes me a moment to process. “I came back anyway. Figured if I was gonna drown, it might as well be somewhere pretty.”
I sit beside him on the log, leaving enough space between us that it doesn't feel presumptuous but close enough that I can still catch the scent of him—leather and something spicy, like cinnamon or cloves.
“That's...a very specific outlook on drowning.”
He shrugs. “I've got specific outlooks on lots of ways to die.” Then he glances at me, that almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. Not the kind of small talk you're used to, I bet.”
“I don't know. Ethan's country club friends had some pretty morbid discussions about their stock portfolios.”
Brayden lets out a short laugh, the sound rougher around the edges than I expected. “Yeah, I bet losing money hurts just as much as a knife to the gut.”
“You'd be surprised how dramatically they react to both.” I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Though I suppose you'd know more about the knife part than I would.”
He turns to look at me, studying my face like he's trying to figure out if I'm serious or making fun of him. “You really want to know about that?”
“I don't know,” I admit. “Maybe? I've spent my whole life in a bubble where the worst thing that happens is someone using the wrong fork at dinner. Part of me is curious about what exists outside of it.”
“Trust me, princess. You don't want to know what's outside your bubble.”
The nickname should annoy me—it's probably meant to—but instead it sends a little thrill through my chest. “Don't call me princess.”
“Why not? That's what you are, isn't it? Preacher's daughter, married to the mayor's wealthy son. I bet you had the biggest house on the block.”
“That big house belongs to my ex-husband now. Along with half of everything else I thought was mine.”
Brayden's expression shifts slightly, something that might be sympathy flickering across his face.
“It's funny how quickly things can change, isn't it? One day you're someone's wife, the next you're the town pariah.”