“Fine!” He spun to face the other direction and Zoe slipped an aching arm out of the wet wool. Instantly, the heat of the small fire washed over her skin and she sighed into the warmth.
Sawyer made a different kind of sound. “Can I turn around now or are you gonna just sit there, moaning?”
She wrapped the nasty blanket around herself. “You may turn,” she said and he joined her on the floor in front of the fire.
They spread his clothes out to dry and Zoe waited for the warmth to seep into her bones, for the fear to fade. Or, at the very least, for the ability to fake it, but that must have failed her, too, because after a few minutes, he said, “Are you shaking from the shock or from the cold?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know.” And for some reason, she just shook harder.
“Your teeth are going to break off.” He sounded almost angry as he pulled her to rest between his spread thighs, back to front, his arms wrapped around her. And maybe it was the warmth of his body or the pressure of his arms, but, somehow, Zoe stopped shaking. And for some reason that was almost worse. Because as her body slowed down, her mind sped up and she didn’t like where it went. At all.
“Talk to me, Zoe. Are you—”
“How do you do this?” Her voice cracked, and her nose ran but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “How does Alex? How is this your life?”
But Sawyer only squeezed her tighter. She felt his fingers in her hair, combing through the tangled strands. “Well, to be fair, this is the first time I’ve ever done this. Exactly. Usually, there’s a lot more blood and mud. And vodka.”
Something about the smooth cadence of his voice made her tuck her head and smile into the soft skin of his hard bicep. “Don’t make me laugh, you jerkface.”
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he tossed another piece of wood onto the fire and guided her down to the hard floor, spooning around her, a wall of muscle and bone to keep in the heat.
“You take it one day at a time,” he said slowly. “And if that’s too much, one hour. One minute. One breath. You inhale. Exhale. Repeat.” His finger brushed a strand of wet hair away from her neck, exposing the skin to the fire. “Inhale, Zoe.”
She knew it was an order, so she let the warm air fill her lungs, swearing she’d never take breathing for granted again.
“Now let it out, lady. Let it all out.”
And when she did, she wasn’t shaking anymore. But it was like a lead blanket had settled over her body, pushing her into the floor—into him—and every ounce of energy drained away.
Her eyes were already closed and her mind was already drifting when she felt something soft and warm touch her temple. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Her
The first thing Zoe thought when she heard the screaming was, Oh no. Not again. She was almost disappointed to stir awake and realize that the enemy Sawyer was fighting was himself.
“No!” He tossed on the cold, hard floor. “No!”
“Sawyer.” She reached for his arm.
“No!”
“Saw—”
He grabbed her and slammed her to the ground, so close to the flames that sparks flew up like fireflies.
“Sawyer!” She saw the knife. She felt his rage, and she knew—she just knew—that he wasn’t her Mr. Michaelson then.
“Sawyer, wake up!” she shouted, and the fire crackled and something in him started to fracture—reality seeping through—like they were back in that river and he was slowly floating toward the surface, looking for some air.
“Hey,” she tried softly. “Hey, you’re okay.”
“Zoe.” It wasn’t a question. It was a reminder.
“Yeah.” She hated the look in his eyes. “You’re okay.”
“I know.” He pushed away a little too hard. “Fire’s going out. I’ll get more wood.”
“That’s not why I woke you, and I think you know that.” He looked at her over his shoulder as he pulled on his dry tuxedo pants. “Sawyer. Talk to me.”
But he was busting apart an old chair and tossing the legs on the fire. “That ought to keep us until morning.”
“Sawyer, tell me.”
He hunched low, bare feet on the cold ground, like he might bolt outside and take off through the snow—like anything would be better than being there.