19
1297 Words
The forest air was thick with pine and damp earth, their boots striking the path in a steady rhythm. Salem and Rhea ran side by side, breath syncing naturally, the only sounds the wind and the distant chirr of insects.
“Hold up.”
Rhea skidded to a stop. “Please tell me you’re not about to make me talk about feelings mid-run.”
Salem paced once, fingers tugging at her ponytail. “Something happened earlier.”
Rhea eyes narrowed with interest. “Garage?”
Salem froze. “…How did you—”
“Because you only get that twitch when it involves River and Miles,” Rhea said dryly. “What happened?”
Salem exhaled hard. “They came back while I was working on the Jeep. River said something.”
Rhea waited.
“He said maybe I was letting someone see past the armor.”
Rhea’s brow lifted. “And?”
“They stepped closer,” Salem said quietly. “Both of them. Close enough I could smell them. And I didn’t move away.”
Rhea didn’t interrupt.
“For a second,” Salem admitted, voice rougher now, “it felt like everything narrowed down to just us. Like I forgot how to be guarded.”
Rhea took a step closer. “Salem—”
“I kissed them.”
The words came out fast. Blunt. Like ripping off a bandage.
Rhea stared. “Both?”
“I ran,” Salem blurted. “I literally turned around and walked straight into the house and told you we were going for a run so I didn’t have to deal with it.”
Then Rhea laughed—soft, incredulous, almost fond. “You kissed them and then fled the scene?”
Salem shot her a look. “Don’t.”
Rhea shook her head, smiling. “That is the most you thing you could’ve done.”
“I don’t know what it means,” Salem snapped. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”
Rhea stepped closer. “It means you felt something and didn’t explode. That’s progress.”
Salem scoffed. “It means I lost my damn mind.”
“Or,” Rhea countered, “it means you trust them more than you’re willing to admit.”
Salem didn’t answer. Instead, she turned abruptly, muscles coiling like a spring.
Salem took off down the trail without warning, boots pounding, breath sharp and fast—not from exertion, but from the adrenaline roaring through her chest.
Rhea blinked, then laughed under her breath. “Yep. Definitely kissed them.”
She took off after her.
They reached the clearing overlooking the river, Salem had slowed, hands on her thighs, breathing hard.
Rhea catching up, “For the record,” she said lightly, “running away doesn’t undo the kiss.”
Salem shot her glare. “You’re enjoying this.”
Rhea studied her for a long second, expression softening. “Salem, I’m the only one you’ve ever really let in. I know you’re scared.”
Salem tensed, jaw tightening.
“Yes, you are,” Rhea cut in gently. “You don’t let people in because you think if you do, they’ll either use it against you or walk away. You’ve been doing that since the orphanage.” She stepped closer, voice steady but kind. “But those two? They’re not scared of you. You haven’t managed to chase them off yet — and trust me, you’ve tried.”
Salem looked at her finally, eyes shadowed with something that wasn’t quite denial but not acceptance either.
“They’re attracted to you, Sal,” Rhea said quietly. “Just like you are to them.”
The words hung there, raw and unfiltered.
Salem opened her mouth, closed it again, then kicked at a rock near her boot. “You don’t know that.”
Rhea gave her a knowing smirk. “Please. The way they look at you? I’ve seen less heat in a damn forge. And don’t even try to tell me you don’t feel it — I saw you tense up when River brushed your hand.”
Salem rolled her eyes, but her face was flushing faintly. “You really have to analyze everything, don’t you?”
“Only when you’re being emotionally dense,” Rhea teased. Then, softer, “You deserve something real, Salem. Even if it scares the hell out of you.”
Salem was quiet for a long beat, the wind rustling through the trees around them. Finally, she muttered, “I don’t know if I’m built for that.”
Rhea smiled faintly. “Maybe not before. But you’ve changed. And if they’re smart — which, most days, is debatable — they’ll stick around long enough to prove it to you.”
Salem snorted but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “You’re an ass.”
Rhea grinned, bumping her shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m your ass.”
Salem laughed quietly, shaking her head as they started running again — side by side, the night swallowing their words but not the truth they carried between them.
By the time they circled back toward the river, the moon was higher, silver light shimmering off the dark water. Their breathing had evened out — both of them loose, relaxed, that edge of tension finally bleeding off.
Rhea jogged up beside Salem, brushing sweat from her brow. “You know,” she said between breaths, “for someone who claims to hate emotional conversations, you’re not bad at them.”
Salem gave her a side-eye. “Don’t push it.”
Rhea grinned, opening her mouth to shoot back something smart when the water ahead of them rippled — slow at first, then with a sudden splash.
A huge, dark shape surfaced just a few feet from the riverbank.
Rhea froze mid-step. “Uh… Salem?”
Before Salem could answer, the gator’s head popped up, eyes gleaming and jaws just slightly open.
Rhea let out a very un-warrior-like screech. “Nope—nope—nope!”
She tried to backpedal, but her boot caught a root. The next second was a blur — a yelp, flailing limbs, and then splash!
Rhea and Salem both went tumbling straight into the river.
Cold water slapped Salem in the face as she surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to her cheeks. Across from her, Rhea was spitting river water and glaring murderously at the dark shape still floating lazily nearby.
Salem blinked, wiped her face, and deadpanned, “Graceful as ever.”
Rhea glared. “You’re supposed to help me, not laugh!”
“I would’ve,” Salem said, grinning, “if you didn’t tackle me like a linebacker.”
“That gator came out of nowhere!” Rhea snapped, splashing water in her direction.
Salem ducked, laughing now — a full, unguarded laugh that echoed off the trees. “You grew up in Louisiana, Rhea. You know they live in the river.”
“Doesn’t mean I like being in it with them!” Rhea huffed, but her lips were twitching.
Salem splashed back, just enough to make Rhea yelp again. “Relax — he’s gone. Probably more scared of you than you are of him.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Rhea muttered, but by now both were laughing, the tension of the day melting into the cool night air.
“Next time, maybe don’t scream loud enough to wake the whole swamp?” Salem said
Rhea snorted. “Next time, maybe you can take the gator first.”
“Deal,” Salem said, still laughing as they trudged out of the river, dripping, muddy, and both too amused to care.
It wasn’t the night they planned — but it was exactly the one they needed.
- Writer
