But now, I had a fresh start, a new beginning—and I vowed to never spend another moment being dishonest with myself. It may have been easier to do so, more comfortable and judge-free, but it didn’t serve me.
I was ready to live again.
Or maybe it was for the first time ever.
And it was then that I realized that though I was bruised, and maybe a little fractured, I was not broken.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, crying softly and silently as I tried to fully understand how small my problems really were and yet how large my life could be. But after a while, Anderson’s warm hands found the sliver of exposed skin on my hip and I turned into his touch, into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and stepping closer as I faced him.
And then my heart stopped.
Because his cheeks were damp, too.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, leaning into me, his head dipping as it met mine. He kept his eyes closed, breathing as steadily as he could, and I ran my hands back through his hair to soothe him.
“It’s okay, Anderson. You’ve been sick.”
We both knew it was a lie now. He’d never been sick, but something had been infecting him all the same. It was the demon of his past, the dark ghost that encompassed all the thoughts he’d never speak out loud. Whatever the reason, he’d needed to stay away from me, and I understood.
Anderson winced, his hands gripping my hips hard as he pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine. It was the final spark to my already over-stimulated senses and my knees buckled at the touch. He caught me easily, holding me tight against him, my feet just barely touching the ground as he kissed me with an intention so pure and powerful I knew I’d never experience it again—not in all my life.
It was one of those singular moments, the ones that tattoo themselves on our hearts, embed themselves under our skin and further down still until they exist as part of our blood stream. They connect to our hearts, our brains, our organs that we rely on, and in turn they become a very source of life, themselves.
The kiss I shared with Anderson on top of Haybrook Tower wasn’t a kiss at all—it was a state of awakening.
For the first time in my life, I was completely aware of my existence. I felt my heart beating, pumping blood, pushing me forward despite the inadequacy and thoughts of failure that had been trying so desperately to cripple me.
I was alive. I was okay.
And I knew I’d never be the same again.
I went back to Wren’s cabin with her after the hike. There was no other option, we both knew it, because something had happened at the top of Haybrook Tower. I didn’t have words for it, neither did she, but then again, words weren’t necessary now.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, dropping her small backpack, and I simply stripped my shirt up and over my head and let it fall on her bottom stair before I started making my way up. My shorts came next, left abandoned at the top of the stairs, and I smirked when I looked down to find Wren following suit. I let myself watch her peel her still-damp tank top off and toss it over the railing before I ducked into her bathroom.
It turned out trying to ignore my feelings for Wren was impossible. Sarah had been in my head, her words on a constant repeat telling me I was stupid for opening myself to Wren. But seeing Wren today had reminded me that we both knew what we were getting ourselves into. No, I didn’t have the answers for what would happen at the end of the summer, but I knew I didn’t want to waste the time I did have with her.
And when I’d seen Tucker with her, something inside me had snapped. I didn’t have a right to feel possessive over her, but it didn’t change the fact that I did. So I’d lea her up to the top of the tower, mostly because I wanted her alone.
I couldn’t have known what would happen up there.
There weren’t words to tell Wren what today had meant to me, so I’d show her with my hands, instead.
I started her shower, turning the knob as far right as it would go. By the time Wren rounded the top of the stairs and kicked her panties off the ankles they’d fallen around, steam was already gathering. She walked straight through it, eyes still a little red from her tears but laced with hunger, nonetheless. Her arms wrapped around my neck just as mine found the backs of her thighs and I lifted, turning enough to pin her to the wall opposite the shower.
Her legs wrapped, hooking at the ankles behind me as I grabbed her wrists and lifted them above her head. I pinned them there with one hand, leaning into her to hold her weight, mouth greedy on hers, and my free hand trailed down her arm, her neck, her chilled ribs, grazing just the side of her rounded breast before it dipped between her thighs.
She gasped into my mouth, the sound a direct link to my cock and I hardened against her stomach as I thrusted two fingers inside. She was so tight, opening for me just marginally, and I groaned at the feel of her already pulsing around my fingers.
Touching Wren was like taking ecstasy, every sense enhanced. My skin was almost too sensitive to her touch, my ears too aware of her breaths, my tongue too tender for the taste of her. If she really was a drug, addiction wasn’t just a possibility—it was a certainty.
My mouth moved to her neck next, kissing and sucking in time with my hand. I wanted her to feel how I’d tried to stay away from her and failed. I wanted her to understand. But I couldn’t tell her, so I showed her.
I licked my way down to her nipple, soft pink and pebbled. When I pulled it between my teeth with a gentle bite and sucked hard, she moaned even louder, back arching off the wall and wrists squirming in my grip. I held her tighter, letting her weight rest completely on me—on my hands, my legs, my arms. I wanted to take it all, leave her weightless, let her feel everything I was doing to her.
Slowly, I lowered her legs to the ground, dropping to my knees in front of her and pressing one, feather light kiss on her lower left hip.
“Yes,” she pleaded, hands weaving into my hair. She pulled it gently, guiding me, and I obliged with a smile against her skin as I lifted her leg. She hooked it around my shoulder as my mouth found her clit, tongue swirling with a firm pressure before I sucked it between my teeth. She arched, breaths hard and unsteady, gasps lost in the steam as it covered both of us.
I loved her like this—no makeup, no filter as she cursed, no embarrassment as she pulled my mouth down to her clit even harder.
One hand held her shaking thigh steady over my shoulder while the other slid up beneath my tongue, two fingers pressed inside again, and the combination of my hand and mouth tilted her. Her knee buckled, arms wrapping around my neck as she fell a little. I caught her, pulling her into my arms as I lifted from my knees and kissed her hard, the taste of her still on my tongue.
Sex with Wren was unlike any sex I’d ever had. It wasn’t just about getting off, it was about connecting. Our hands touched and gripped and pulled. Our eyes searched and closed and searched again. Our tongues tasted every inch, like one might be different than the other, like no single part of us should be left untouched. It was the most intense sexual experience of my life, every single time.
We stepped blindly into the shower, lips still locked together, and as soon as the curtain was closed behind us she turned, hands planted on the back wall and back arched, wet hair dripping, body waiting.
She was beautiful, pale and slight, and somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that I had no idea how long I would get to touch her like this. Neither of us asked for tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Neither of us promised them, either. But right now, right here, today and tonight, Wren was mine.