Chapter Fifteen | Cracks of Armor
There it was again.
That barely-there flicker of vulnerability he let slip when he forgot to guard himself. I’d only seen it a few times—so few I could count them on one hand. And even then, it was always fleeting. A flash of something soft beneath all the sharp edges.
He didn’t do vulnerability. Not openly. Not easily. He wore his distance like a second skin, always defaulting to sarcasm, to detachment. Emotions were inconvenient. Sharing them was a weakness. At least, that’s what he’d taught himself to believe.
But I knew better. That wall he built wasn’t out of indifference—it was protection. He lived in survival mode, always ready for the next disappointment, the next departure. And every now and then, when he was with me, he let the armor crack.
We were still laughing as we stepped through the hotel lobby, salt clinging to our skin, the sun having kissed us both pink. But then—he stopped.
I turned, eyebrows lifted. “What? Forget how to walk?”
He glanced down at our swimsuits. No cover-ups. No towels. Just wet skin, dripping footprints on polished tile.
Of course. The pool.
The heated pool he’d known I’d want. He remembered—I always ran cold. If it hadn’t been warm, I wouldn’t have touched the water.
I started toward the elevator, but he was suddenly behind me. And in one fluid, ridiculous motion, he scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder.
“Seriously?!” I shrieked, half-laughing, half-kicking.
I smacked him playfully, then punched his backside. Neither had any effect. He kept walking like I weighed nothing.
At first, I fought it—out of habit. But then something shifted. I stopped resisting. Let myself be carried.
This was how he said things—without saying them. In the push and pull, the teasing, the contact. He wouldn’t tell me how he felt. He’d show me, quietly, indirectly.
He pushed through the door to the pool.
“Ready?” he asked, eyes lit up with something reckless.
“For what?” I said, even though I already knew.
He adjusted me in his arms—one beneath my legs, the other around my back. Secure. His grip tightened just slightly on my thigh. And then he looked at me with that smirk.
The next second, I felt the cold sting of water swallow us both whole.
We surfaced, separated by the splash.
I swam away, laughing, trying to hide the grin pulling at my mouth. He splashed me again for good measure, just because I’d rolled my eyes—his favorite part of me, though he’d never say that aloud.
I reached the edge of the pool, resting my arms on the ledge, breath catching in my chest as I tried to pretend my heart wasn’t racing.
He drifted closer.
“What happened?” he said, mock-pouting.
I rolled my eyes again.
“Do it again,” he said with a grin.
This time, I turned my back to him, smiling to myself as I did it one more time—knowing he couldn’t see, but hoping he’d feel it anyway.
I felt his hand slide gently along my lower back, slow and sure, until it curved around to my stomach. A shiver passed through me, not from the water—but from how long I’d waited for this kind of touch.
I turned toward him. And that was when he pulled me closer.
His hands found the place just beneath the curve of my thighs, lifting me gently, letting me wrap my legs around his waist. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
We didn’t kiss. We didn’t need to.
This was more intimate than that—an unspoken kind of closeness. His hands at my back. My arms around his neck. The weight of me against him, not resisted, not questioned.
I cupped the back of his neck, pressed my forehead to his shoulder. He floated us to the center of the pool, where it was quieter, further from the world.
His hands moved slowly over my spine, grounding me. I could feel the tension leaving his body in waves. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. It was enough.
I pulled back slightly to look at him. My fingers combed gently through his wet hair, something I’d always wanted to do but never dared.
Then, he said it.
“I’ve missed you.”
Just that. Simple. Soft. Without the usual layer of irony.
It knocked the breath out of me.
This was the version of him I always saw—even when he didn’t want me to.
Before I could say anything back, the spell broke. The pool door opened. A group of kids came barreling in, shouting and splashing. Instantly, we separated. He moved toward the chairs without a word.
He lay back, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed like nothing had happened.
But something had.
I watched him for a moment, then climbed out of the pool and walked toward where he lay. Leaned over him, knee braced between his legs, chest hovering close to his.
He opened his eyes.
His hand slid up—thigh, waist, back, neck—then rested gently against my jaw. His thumb traced along my cheek. We were close enough to kiss.
And then—
“Get a room! This is a family pool!” one of the kids shouted.
He chuckled, let go, and waved me off.
I rolled my eyes for real this time.
We made our way back through the lobby, water still clinging to our skin, hearts beating faster than either of us would admit.
Back to the elevator.
Back to the hotel room.
Back to whatever would—or wouldn’t—happen next.
