Page 29 of Breaking Through

I growled. "Basic documentation." I shoved them into a folder, but not before he'd picked up one detailed study of the shelter's internal structure. His fingers traced the careful shading around the ventilation shafts.

"This isn't basic anything." His voice was soft and appreciative. "You've captured exactly how the light moves through the space. See how you've shown the way it falls across—"

"We're losing prime documentation time." I grabbed my pack, needing to get out of the close confines of the office. I had to putspace between us before some sort of dam broke. I couldn't risk that at the ranger station.

As I turned to leave, my arm brushed his shoulder. Even through two layers of fabric, the contact sent electricity dancing across my skin.

His head tilted slightly. "Wade?"

"The, uh, shelter records." I grabbed my keys. "There are better copies at my cabin. Historical documentation. They might help with the assessment."

Somehow, I'd invited him to visit my home. It was unintentional and happened out of thin air. I waited for him to make an excuse and maintain the professional distance I'd failed to keep all morning.

"Lead the way." He smiled like I'd offered something far more valuable than musty paperwork. Maybe I had.

The drive up the utility road unfolded in slow motion. Holden sat too close in my truck's cab, his knee occasionally brushing mine when we hit rough patches. Each touch sent pulses through my veins. My ranger uniform was too tight, stretched taut across my body.

He filled the silence with quiet observations about the morning light filtering through the trees and how light fog clouds settled in the hollows. "It's like the trees are breathing." He saw beauty where I'd trained myself to look for hazards. The contrast made my chest ache.

The last quarter mile was the worst. The narrow track forced me to drive slower, each curve revealing another slice of my private world. I'd spent three years learning every shadow of these woods, and now Holden was seeing them all. Reading them like he read everything else about me.

Finally, my cabin emerged from the pine shadows. I hadn't brought anyone here since... since Chicago, really.

"Wow, what an awesome place. It's perfect. Looks storybook perfect."

I didn't respond. It was impossible to know what to say. Instead, I led him up the creaking porch steps.

Inside, morning light spilled through the windows I'd enlarged myself. Holden moved through my space like he belonged there, taking in the leather chair worn smooth from sleepless nights and the bookshelves heavy with field guides.

"The records are..." I headed for my desk, but his hand on my arm stopped me.

"Wade." It was just my name, but the way he said it made my skin hum. "Thank you for bringing me here and letting me see this."

I looked down at where his fingers rested just above my wrist, pale against my sun-weathered skin. "It's just a cabin."

"No." He stepped closer, and suddenly, the room was too small for both of us, too intimate. "It's your sanctuary. I know what that means."

His other hand came up, hesitating near my shoulder. I knew I should step back. I should remember all the reasons it was a terrible idea. Instead, I found myself leaning toward him like a pine bending in storm winds.

"The shelter documentation..." My voice sounded rough, foreign. "The papers are in my desk."

He heard me, but neither of us moved. Staring back at Holden, I saw that the damned vest was still crooked.

Without thinking, I reached out to straighten the patch. His breath caught as my fingers brushed the fabric near his collarbone.

"Your scars." His voice was barely a whisper. "Do they still hurt?"

"Not the way you mean." My honesty surprised me. I never talked about them, yet here I was, spilling truths like water running out of a faucet.

He lifted his hand, hovering near my shirt collar. "May I see?"

Of course, he'd seen some of them—the most visible—many times in his photo. Everything in me screamed to run. I suddenly recalled the night terrors and therapy sessions and all the reasons I lived alone in a cabin in the woods, but… I nodded once, sharp and jerky.

His touch was feather-light where one pale scar peeked above my collar. It wasn't clinical curiosity like the doctors. He didn't show any pity like the department shrink. Just... acceptance. Like they were brushstrokes in a larger painting he was trying to understand.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

I barked out a laugh. "Damn, your artistic eye needs checking. There's nothing—"

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