Page 40 of Worth the Shot

“Hot cocoa?” he asks, pulling a thermos from the bag followed by two mugs.

“You really think of everything, don’t you?” I say, accepting one of the mugs as I watch him fill it with homemade cocoa and mini marshmallows. Something about the little gesture makes my insides melt. He doesn’t do a damn thing halfway, that’s for sure.

“Not really, but I always try to when it comes to you.”

God, I think I just died and went to heaven.

Butterflies settle low again in my stomach, as if they ever left. He looks up at me, winking, as he throws another log on the fire. I swear my entire body vibrates, because that thing he does? The simple, stupid little wink? It drives me absolutely wild.

We stay there for a while, the fire crackling and the warmth of the mug in my hands grounding me in ways that feel absolutely pertinent to my mental well-being. We trade stories about our childhood, embarrassing teenage screw-ups, moments that are engraved in our brains forever and some we wish we could forget. It feels easy, like we’ve been friends forever and our hearts have never known that not to be true.

By the time the fire finally dies out, the sun is dipping down behind the pine trees and the sky stretches wide and quiet over the frozen pond. Warm amber and pink streaks blanket the ice, and the air is cold enough that every breath hangs for a moment before disappearing. I’m so mesmerized by it all.

My eyes are glued to the beautiful backdrop that I’m lucky enough to witness, and just as my mouth opens to voice it all I look over and realize that Brennan isn’t watching the sunset. He’s watching me. Except, when I catch him staring, he doesn’t try to hide it. He doesn’t even play it off like he didn’t mean to or act like he was focused on something else. Instead, he just meets my gaze as he says, “You know, it’s really intoxicating to watch you stare at something you find beautiful.” And for a second I find myself wondering if he feels that way when I’m looking at him.

“Tell me something, Laney,” he says, a smirk spreading across his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He pours more hot cocoa into my mug, and I watch his hands move like they were made for quietly taking care of me.

“Okay,” I breathe out, trying to come up with something worthy of that powerful question. Panic flickers, just a little, because this is the part that gets me in trouble. Vulnerability. Letting myself open back up again, for real. So I go with a very Delaney answer first.

“I can be a pretty picky eater sometimes,” I admit, like it’s serious.

“Delaney.” He sighs, half smiling as he cocks his head to the side. He sees right through me, every time.

I search for something I’ve never told anyone before—something that could belong to only us. I think he’s earned that.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if my dad were still here,” I admit, and I can even tell Brennan can sense that what I’m about to say isn’t what he expected. “I wonder if he never got sick, would Shayne and Emma have gotten close? Would I have gone into nursing? Would we have stayed in Hartwell, trying to hold onto everything we can that still has pieces of him?” Brennan’s locked in, his gaze on me like nothing else exists, and suddenly I feel so vulnerable I could vomit. But I say it anyway. “Would I have met…you? Or would I have known a different life where none of this exists? The life that I’m so grateful for every day because it feels like everything, even if it’s missing him, the one person I thought I couldn’t bear to lose. But would I trade it?” My voice softens, barely more than a whisper. “I’m not sure.” I blink, and his eyes never leave mine. “Is that selfish?”

He shakes his head, his mouth drawn into a soft line. “I think it’s admirable. I think you’re brave, and courageous, and so strong. I think he’d be so proud of you.”

My chest tightens at that, something warm and aching spreading through me all at once. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod, blinking a little too fast, hoping the cold air explains the sting behind my eyes. Brennan shifts closer, not enough to crowd me, just enough that the heat from him seeps through the layers between us. His shoulder brushes mine, and it feels intentional, like he’s reminding me he’s here without making a big deal of it.

“He sounds like the kind of guy who raised someone impossible not to be proud of,” he adds quietly.

I let out a soft laugh, and it’s shaky and uneven. “He would’ve liked you,” I say before I can stop myself. “And a hell of a lot quicker than I did,” I add, retreating straight back to the sarcasm I’m only just starting to loosen my grip on when I’m with him.

His brows lift slightly, surprise flickering across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I glance over at the ice, the surface scratched and dull from where we’d stumbled and laughed our way across it earlier. “He had a thing for good people. And you…” I trail off, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting, how easy it would be to just lean in that last inch. “You’re for sure one of the good ones, aren’t you?”

His gaze softens in a way that makes my stomach flip. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, like it matters more than it should.

The quiet stretches between us, but it isn’t awkward. It’s heavy, warm, and filled with everything neither of us are quite ready to say out loud. Snow crunches faintly in the distance, and somewhere nearby, the wind rustles through the pines, the sound soft and steady. I shift my weight, my boots scraping lightly across the snow.

“You know,” I say, trying to lighten the mood before I drown in it, “for someone who claimed he was tiny and not that great, you turned out alright.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Alright, huh?”

“Alright,” I confirm, glancing up at him. “Decent skating instructor. Mildly tolerable company.”

“Mildly?” he repeats, mock offense flickering across his face.

“Don’t push your luck,” I tease, nudging his shoulder with mine.

His smile lingers, slow and easy, like he’s savoring the moment just as much as I am. “I’ll take mildly,” he says quietly.

The cold finally starts to creep through my boots, and I tuck my hands deeper into my sleeves, reluctant to admit the night’s winding down. Brennan notices, because he always does.

“You ready to head back?” he asks gently.