Page 39 of Blindsided
Beside me, Kane lets out a string of creative curses as he plunges deeper. “Holy fucking hell, it’s freezing!”
“Keep going!” I urge, though my teeth have already started to chatter. “We have to get all the way in!”
Another step and the water is at my waist, stealing my breath. My t-shirt clings to my skin as the next wave splashes up to my chest. It’s so cold it feels like knives stabbing into every inch of my submerged body.
Kane is shoulder-deep now, his face contorted in a grimace that’s half-pain, half-laughter. “You’re insane, Kori Blake!”
“Probably,” I agree, then take a deep breath and dive under the next wave.
The cold is absolute, enveloping, shocking. For one suspended moment, all thought vanishes—no Mark, no Lana, no betrayal, no pain—just the primalneed to survive this cold. I surface with a gasp, pushing wet hair from my face.
Kane emerges beside me, water streaming from his hair, his expression wild. “Jesus Christ!”
“Still feel like the same person?” I challenge, treading water.
He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty beach. “I don’t feel like a person at all! I feel like a fucking ice cube!”
I can’t help but laugh too, even as another wave crashes over us. The cold is clarifying, stripping away everything but the essential. I am alive. I am here. I am freezing my ass off in the Irish Sea with a man I barely know.
And for the first time in days, I feel something other than pain.
“Okay, I’m done,” Kane announces after another minute. “Any more of this and you’ll be explaining to Declan why his newly discovered brother turned into a popsicle.”
We wade back to shore, our soaked clothes heavy and clinging. By the time we reach our towels, I’m shivering violently, my fingers numb as I try to wrap the towel around my shoulders.
“That was...” Kane begins, teeth chattering.
“Therapeutic?” I suggest hugging the towel tighter.
I was going to say, ‘borderline suicidal,’ but sure, let’s go with therapeutic.” He gathers his hair at the nape of his neck, twisting to wring out excess water. “Feel any different?”
I consider the question as we gather our shoes and begin the trek back up to the cottage. My body is numb with cold, but my mind feels strangely clear, like the sea has washed away some of the fog of grief and confusion.
“Actually, yes,” I admit. “Like I’ve been reset somehow.”
Kane nods thoughtfully. “Like being buried in wet sand, but more voluntary.”
I laugh, stumbling slightly on the path. Without hesitation, his hand is there, steadying me. Even through the towel, I can feel how cold his fingers are.
Back at the cottage, I light a fire, then we both take a quick shower, separately, of course. Before I hopped in, I left dry clothes outside the door for him—a pair of oversized sweatpants and a hoodie that Jen’s brother left behind years ago.
When he emerges, his hair damp, I notice the clothes fit him perfectly. Almost too perfectly. I groan inwardly.Why, of all things, did I pick out sweatpants?
“Better?” I ask, holding my hands toward the growing fire, trying desperately to avert my eyes from his package.
“Much,” he says, joining me on the hearth rug. “Though I may never regain feeling in certain extremities.”
I snort, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. “Too much information.”
“Not those extremities,” he clarifies with a grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Airplane Girl.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the flames dance. Outside, the wind has picked up, whistling around the eaves of the cottage. The contrast between the howling cold outside and the warmth of the fire makes me feel cocooned, safe in a way I haven’t felt since seeing those photos on my phone.
“So, what happens tomorrow?” I finally ask. “With your family and the riddle?”
Kane sighs, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to tell them all to go to hell—let them solve this. But another part...”
“Wants to know the truth,” I finished for him.
