Chapter 17

chapter

seventeen

Oh.

Oh.

Every nerve in her body tingled to life.

She was hyper-aware of the feel of his firm thighs under her, of the hand that still held hers, and the other that came to rest on her hip. His breath was warm against her neck, steady and reassuring. She swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest.

She was excited. And nervous. And… wasn't ready to go there yet.

"Can we… talk about something else?" Stupid of her to have brought it up in the first place.

He just kept smiling at her. "Sure. Like what?"

She scrambled for something… anything. "Can you… tell me what it's like being blind? If that's not rude to ask."

"It's not rude. I like when people ask questions instead of just assuming I can't see anything at all."

"What do you see?"

Sawyer was silent a moment, then held up the ball. "When you look at a tennis ball, you see a round, brightly colored object, and your brain tells you ‘that's a tennis ball.' When I look at it, I can see something is there, but my brain can't interpret what it is because of the damage to my occipital lobe. Until it moves…" He threw the ball up and caught it. "Then my brain gets with the program again, and I can see. Just for a second, and it's not clear—nothing like how I used to be able to see. But it's enough that I can tell by sight what something is. When it stops moving, it's just a blur of light and shadows and color… and usually, it's not even the right color. Like this ball? I know it's bright green, but to me, it looks blue. Or sometimes it's green, but like a dark green. I have to use my other senses to fill in the blanks. Hearing. Smell. Touch." He dragged his fingers over the surface of the ball. "Taste—which obviously I'm not going to do because this has been in Zelda's mouth." He flashed a crooked smile, and she laughed. "But in this case, touch is enough to tell me this is a tennis ball. They feel different from a rubber ball or a baseball. They smell different, too, but I don't often go around sniffing things. That would be weird."

He handed the ball to her, and she dragged her fingers over the fuzzy felt, trying to imagine navigating the world the same way he did. It was fascinating. "Is it true your other senses are heightened now?"

He tilted his head in the approximation of a shrug. "Partially. I don't have superhero hearing now, but since I rely more on my hearing than other people, I've learned to pick up on cues that most people overlook."

"I hear you clicking your tongue when you're out on the trail."

He nodded. "I can tell by the way the sound bounces if there's a drop-off nearby or if something big is in my path. It doesn't always stop me from running into things, but it's enough to keep me from walking over a cliff."

The thought of finding him at the bottom of a cliff, twisted and broken, sent ice water splashing through Lucy's veins. She'd seen it time and again with careless hikers who disregarded the marked paths, who thought they were invincible against nature's wrath. One false step, one misplaced trust in the stability of a rock, and even familiar terrain could become fatally treacherous.

"Does that scare you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"What? Falling off a cliff? I can't say it's high on my list of pleasant experiences," he joked, then grew serious. "I guess it does scare me. But living in fear isn't really living, is it?"

"No," she agreed, "I suppose it isn't."

The silence between them stretched, only broken by the distant hooting of an owl and the crackling of the fire. She watched as he leaned back against the rough bark of the redwood tree behind him and closed his eyes. Zelda set her head on his thigh, and his hand stroked over her brown fur.

"I wish I could see the stars again," he said softly.

Lucy looked up. Through the branches overhead, the sky was ablaze with a multitude of stars, close enough to touch. The moon hung low, bathing the forest floor with an ethereal glow that caught on every leaf and twig.

"I wish you could see them too," she whispered, aching to somehow give him this sight. "They're beautiful tonight."

"Describe them for me?" he asked.

She hesitated for a second before speaking. "The sky's clear. Like black velvet strewn with diamond dust." Her eyes traced the constellations she knew by heart. "There's Orion. The hunter. And there." She pointed upwards. "Is Cassiopeia, the queen on her throne. The moon is full and yellow, hanging so low it feels like we could reach out and touch it."

His lips twisted into a wistful smile. "I've always loved the outdoors… The stars. It's strange to think that they're still there, but I can't find them anymore."

Emotion welled up inside her as she quietly listened to the nocturnal symphony of the surrounding forest. She glanced at Sawyer, his face warm in the flickering firelight, his hand still absently caressing Zelda's ear. Lucy's heart ached with a kind of fondness that was more than mere friendship.

God. She was falling for this man. This sweet, smart, nerdy man.

She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. "Sometimes I feel like we're just unimportant specks in this vast universe, spinning on this tiny planet under these infinite stars." She looked at him then, his face bathed in soft moonlight, his eyes closed as he listened to her describe what he could no longer see. "But when I'm with you… suddenly, it's not just me alone under these stars. It's us. And the universe doesn't seem so big anymore."

He turned his head toward her, his gaze hot. "I wish I could see you, Luce."

"Do you want to?" she asked softly. At his nod, she lifted his hand to her cheek. "My eyes are two different colors—one a light brown, like coffee with creamer, and one blue, like a clear summer sky. I've always liked that about myself. My hair is brown and wavy, always a bit messy from being outside all day. I usually keep it up in a ponytail or a braid, but when it's down, it brushes my collarbones. I'm not much for makeup. I wear it occasionally, but mostly just lip balm. My lips are kind of big."

His fingers moved down, tracing lightly over her lips, and a thrill of heat shot straight down her middle, tightening her nipples. "You have gorgeous lips."

She released a shaky exhale. "My mom always told me I had a Julia Roberts smile—big and playful and lights up a room."

"I bet you're more beautiful than any actress when you smile." His thumb slid down the indent in her chin. "You have a dimple."

"Yeah, I have a butt chin."

He gave a genuine laugh, and her heart did a funny little dance inside her chest. "I… um." She shook her head slightly, trying to regain her train of thought. "There's a small mole on my left shoulder blade, a scar on my right knee from when I fell off a bike as a kid. Another scar, just here." She guided his hand to touch the faded line on her forearm. "From wrestling with a thorny bush on one of my first ranger assignments."

She watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His fingertips pressed into the scar tissue before dropping down to trace the veins in her wrist. His touch was gentle, attentive, almost reverent.

"Another scar on my thigh from?—"

He shook his head. "I don't want you reliving that."

Neither did she. She didn't want to think about the man who had shot her and left her for dead deep in a cave. Didn't want to think of the darkness, so absolute it had been like a living thing all on its own. Didn't want to think of the cold. The endless hours of fear. But she would never forget how it had felt to see the flashlight, and then Sawyer was there, and she wasn't alone anymore. Under normal circumstances—if they'd met in a bar—she would've thought him handsome, but when his sweaty, mud-streaked face appeared from a crevasse in the cave's wall, he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

She took a deep breath and shook off the haunting memories, focusing instead on his face in front of her.

"Do you want me to keep going?"

"Yes." His voice was rough. "Please."

Lucy let her hands fall into his, their fingers intertwining. "My hands are rough from working. I have calluses here." She pressed his thumb into the most worn spots. "And here."

His fingers were rough against hers. He had a strength in his grip that was comforting and frightening all at once, reminding her of the danger he was always so willing to walk into without hesitation.

"My hands aren't soft either." A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he held up his own hand, palm facing outwards so she could see the worn ridges and scars crisscrossing along his skin. "But I like your hands. They feel… strong. Capable."

Lucy smiled at that, her heart fluttering in her chest. "I suppose they are. I'm always climbing or handling various tools. My job demands it." She paused, trying to think of what else she could tell him. "I prefer jeans and a flannel shirt over dresses and heels. I'm tall for a woman and I've got broad shoulders from years of rowing. My legs are strong from hiking." She guided his hand over her arm muscles, then to her thigh. His touch sent sparks through her blood.

"And yet," he murmured, running his hand back up to rest on her waist, "you fit perfectly right here." His grip tightened slightly, drawing her closer until she was sitting on his lap.

"Sawyer," she whispered.

His name hung in the air between them, a quiet plea for something she didn't quite dare articulate.

"Lucy," he whispered back, his own voice thick with longing.

His fingers traced the curve of her waist, then upwards along the column of her spine, taking care around the bandage. Her body felt like a live wire, electricity humming through her veins.

"You have goosebumps," he murmured, his tone dancing between teasing and serious. "Cold?"

God, no. She was on fire, burning up with a desire she had been trying to ignore for months. But it was Sawyer. It was always Sawyer. From the moment he had saved her, she had felt an unparalleled connection to him, a bond that went beyond gratitude into something deeper, wilder, more intimate.

"No, not cold," she said, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire. She leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest. "Just… excited."

He froze for a second and then his touch moved again, tracing the line of her neck up to cup her face once more. He leaned in slowly until their lips were scant inches apart.

"Can I?" he asked softly.