Page 51 of Wreckage

And just like that, I was fucked.

The warmth of her body seeped into mine, the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing syncing with my own. My ribs still ached from the crash, but I didn’t care. I didn’t move her.

Because I liked this.

I liked her weight against me, the way her breath tickled my neck, the way she just fit.

I liked her needing me.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t push it away.

Not this time.

I let it sit there, simmering beneath my skin as she curled closer, shifting slightly until her head rested on my chest.

My ribs protested at the added weight, but I still didn’t move her.

I couldn’t.

Because for the first time since we crashed, I felt something that wasn’t fear or frustration.

I felt content.

A long time passed, the fire crackling beside us, the snowstorm howling outside. I lost track of time, lost track of everything except her.

Finally, the bathroom door opened.

Adrian stepped out, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges, his shirt clinging to his skin from the cold.

His focus zeroed in on Elena, his green eyes darkening when he saw her curled up against me.

He scowled, his lips pressing into a thin line before he stomped to his spot and sat down heavily, shoulders rigid.

I frowned.

“What’s your problem?” I muttered.

Adrian didn’t look at me. “Nothing.”

I wasn’t buying it.

I pressed again. “Seriously, what’s up with you?”

Adrian snapped.

His voice was sharp, but he kept it at an angry whisper, careful not to wake Elena.

“What the hell is she doing sleeping on you?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the vehemence in his tone.

“She just fell asleep that way,” I said, frowning. “I don’t mind.”

Adrian’s glare hardened. “Why don’t you mind?”

The question left me speechless.

I just sat there for a moment, my throat dry, my mind scrambling for the right words.

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