Margot
I clutch Amelia to my chest, holding her tight against me. All I can do is wait for the tumbling rocks to stop, for the world to become still again so that I might be able to get her out of this.
I can feel the stranger’s body towering over the two of us—his hard muscles press against my back, and I can feel his hot breath against my neck in the small gap we’ve carved out for ourselves beneath the boulders.
Our bodies are constantly brushing against each other, the cotton of his clothes stroking against my skin, and I can feel the pounding of his heart through his chest.
My hair stands on its end—I haven’t been this close to a man since…
Since Boone.
Since before Amelia was born.
Since that one fateful night after he saved me, and I wanted him more than anything—anyone else—in the world.
I’ve never wanted to be that close to another man. But standing here beneath this muscled stranger, I feel a familiar feeling of comfort, of safety.
As the rocks finally stop, and everything goes quiet, I dare to turn around and look into the eyes of the man who has saved us.
I feel my jaw drop open, and my heart leaps into my mouth. It stops for a moment, and then begins to beat furiously, pounding loud enough I swear that he must be able to hear it. He’s always noticed the little things about me.
Boone Masters.
In the flesh.
I’d be lying if I said that he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him in college. He has changed: he’s taller (if that was possible), he’s more muscled, and the beard is a nice touch.
But there’s also something dark about him—in those smoldering eyes, he keeps it hidden, but he’s carrying more than just the weight of these rocks on his shoulders right now.
So, in some ways, I guess he hasn’t changed at all.
What’s he doing here?
I thought that out in the mountains, I’d be miles and miles away from everybody. This place was meant to be remote and isolated, a secluded natural paradise that was untouched by human hands. A place perfect for falling in love with nature, for photography and creating art with my daughter.
I wasn’t supposed to find him out here.
I wasn’t really supposed to find him ever again.
Not because I didn’t want to.
I’d been imagining this moment at least once a day for the last five years—playing every scenario out in my head, trying to guess what we’d say to each other. This is not what I had ever expected at all.
I told myself that I would never see Boone again and that I had to make my peace with it.
It hurt, and I had never really lost those emotions that I felt for him, but I wasn’t given any other choice.
I never expected to see Boone Masters again because my parents didn’t believe that I was safe with him.
My father believed that if we continued to be friends, Boone’s father would use me to get me to manipulate my father. And obviously, my father couldn’t have me being a liability.
All because they were business rivals, and because clearly money was more important to the two of them than knowing that their children were happy.
It broke my heart to lie to Boone back then. Being unable to tell him the real reason I transferred colleges made me feel like I was committing the ultimate betrayal.
I had to let Boone believe that I wanted to leave him behind after he saved my life.
Now he’s here in front of me, and all those emotions that I thought I’d buried come flooding back to the surface.
To make matters worse, I then had his daughter. My beautiful Amelia—the only part of Boone that I was allowed to keep and treasure.
I keep holding her in my arms, between us. My heart is still racing in my chest—my baby, our baby, is unconscious, and it looks as though her leg could be broken. Boone is so close to his daughter, and he doesn’t even know.
Because I couldn’t tell him then.
And now doesn’t feel like a good time either.
“Boone…” I whisper breathlessly.
He’s staring at me, still holding his arms above his head to shield us better from the rocks, but his eyes have never strayed from my face. He knows who I am; he’s recognized me, too. Boone remembers me, he remembers our night together.
He remembers what I did to him.
But I can’t decipher his reaction.
He watches me with those dark eyes, and it feels like he’s staring deep into my soul. But Boone isn’t sharing anything about how he feels with me—there’s nothing to read in his face. His entire body is too focused on protecting me and Amelia for it to reveal anything about him.
“Boone, what are you doing here?” I ask.
There’s no point asking me why I’m here—the camera around my neck is self-explanatory. Boone knew from our college days that I always wanted to be a photographer and that I loved capturing natural beauty.
Boone grunts in response, trying to shift the rocks from his back in a way that it won’t crush us all flat. He’s too busy to really talk to me right now, I understand that.
But I also wouldn’t blame Boone if he never wanted to speak to me again.
Being so close to him sets my skin alight. Everything in my body yearns to throw myself into his arms, to touch him.
A boulder shifts overhead, and I let out a small scream, lifting my hand up to protect Amelia in case it falls. But Boone is already there, his biceps flexing as he strains to keep us both safe.
My fingers brush against his wrist and forearm, tracing along the veins of his arm as I lower my hand back down to my daughter. His golden skin is warm beneath my touch, and I shudder at the sensation. I tear my gaze away from him, forcing my gaze away from those dark eyes into the face of my daughter.
Amelia looks so peaceful, unconscious in my arms. Her breathing is steady and calm, her chest slowly rising and falling. The sound of her breath is the only sound in the air between us.
She’s blissfully ignorant of the presence of her father—and of the emotional turmoil that her mummy is going through right now.
“Boone, I’m not sure if she can walk,” I say shakily, the reality of the situation hitting me.
Amelia is my world—my pride and joy.
She was the only thing I really had that was mine for so long. My father took Boone from me, him and the college of my dreams. The only thing he didn’t take was my photography and Amelia.
Boone grunts again, and the muscles in his shoulders ripple and tense. The rocks begin to shift overhead, cracking and scraping against each other. I shut my eyes and use my body as a shield.
I trust Boone would never let us get hurt, but sometimes accidents still happen.
“Don’t be afraid, Margot,” Boone says in my ear. His voice is low and serious, almost gravelly. But hearing it sets my mind at ease—I’ve waited nearly five years to hear him speak. “I’ll keep you safe.”
I lift my head up again to look at him. As the boulders shift overhead, the light begins to pour in to our little hidey-hole, revealing details about Boone that I hadn’t notice in the low light before.
The t-shirt he’s wearing is too tight for him and clings to his skin as I begin to notice the sheen of sweat. The effort he must have exerted to save Amelia becomes more obvious the longer I look at him. But still, it seems like he could have held those rocks up for hours if Amelia hadn’t been in trouble.
Boone carves a path out of the rocks. I watch as each muscle in his upper body stretches and flexes as he tosses the boulders from above us. They tumble down the pile and out of sight.
The fresh mountain air fills my lungs, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
He works in silence. Saying nothing and barely looking at me as he tosses rocks from above and around us. Clearing a space so that we can escape.
Once we’ve stepped out of the rockslide, I look around. The road is entirely blocked, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, a long way from the path.
If I were alone, I would try to climb over the boulders and head back to the path and ultimately back to my car. But Amelia won’t be going anywhere.
Boone can see this.
In the daylight, the damage to her leg is clear to see.
“I live nearby. Follow me,” Boone says plainly, beginning to walk further from the rock pile. His strides almost encompass two of my steps, and he moves quickly.
I’ve waited so long to see Boone again, and I’d have given anything to see him again, to feel his touch on my skin, to hear his voice say my name. If I go with him down this road—to his house—I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.
But I don’t have a choice.