Page 15 of Screwed

I was about to make the return trip when the green-rimmed plank under my foot buckled. No, it didn’t just bend. It disintegrated. A wet, splintering crack rent the air as my foot punched straight through the gap, throwing me off balance. I lunged for the rusted side railing, but my hand slipped on the slick moss.

I fell sideways into the dark, smooth lake.

The frigid water hit me like a slab of concrete, freezing the air right out of my lungs. I broke the surface, sputtering, my soaked clothes dragging me under as I flailed against the shock, my limbs fighting against my own dead weight.

Panic clouded my mind almost more than the shock of the cold.

Suddenly, a massive bicep hooked under my armpit. Deacon had slammed his stomach flat against the dock, using his muscular body as a crane to haul me out of the lake. I was pulled up and into his arms with explosive force as he rolled us over, distributing our weight safely across the dock.

I gasped and coughed, shivering against him.

His arms were still tight around me, and his hands slid up and down my back as though to warm me up. His heartbeat was erratic against my chest, but I was in too much shock and freezing my ass off. I didn’t move.

“Shit, Ava. Are you always this much of a hazard to your own safety?” he asked.

I tried to respond, but my teeth were chattering far too hard, and I was also kind of embarrassed by the whole thing. Which only made me even angrier. I wiggled out of his arms and staggered into a crouch, taking off my soaking jacket without disturbing the dock too much.

“Careful now,” he said, and the lilt in his voice made it obvious he was joking around. “If you manage to take us both down this time, we’d be pretty much screwed.”

“F-f-fuck off, Deacon,” I stammered, the wind cutting into my wet skin.

I needed a hot shower, new clothes, and as much distance between me and Deacon as possible. I looked around, trying to figure out a path back, but quickly realized I was much less confident in mapping an exit now than I’d been getting here.

Deacon chuckled. “Need me to help you cross?”

I turned back to him and jabbed my index finger into his chest with just enough force for him to know I was serious, even in my current state. “I’ll have you know I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, folding his arms across his broad chest. I could see the wet stains on the front of his shirt where he’d held me, and felt another rush of shame. And something far less dignified. “If that’s the case, then put on your work boots and meet me back here in five minutes. Let’s see if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

9

Deacon

I held my face up to the sun, whistling while I waited for Ava to get back. I didn’t check, but could tell it’d already been at least ten minutes and not five. In the time she’d been gone, I got the tools from my truck and grabbed a fresh, rough-sawn cedar plank. But I wasn’t complaining. The mountain air was rapidly losing its damp bite, and the smell of steaming pine sap baking out of the wet timber was chasing away the stale lake stink.

It was hot enough for me to ditch my rough canvas jacket and work comfortably in just my thermal undershirt without my muscles locking up from the cold. Finally, the princess herself emerged from the cabin. She wore fleece pants, what looked like an oversized college sweatshirt, and a pair of sturdy but fresh leather work boots that still had that stiff, unbroken-in shine to them. Total city girl trying on the lake vibe.

Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and as she approached me, she looked pissed. I grinned. “You took your time. I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.”

“I considered it,” she said shortly.

“Yeah? What changed your mind?”

She paused, giving me a strange look. “I thought it wouldn’t be very polite to stand you up after you saved my life.”

“Good to see you still have manners,” I said, and she growled under her breath, stalking past me. The scent of strawberries hit my nose, striking amid the less pleasant smells drifting around. I tried not to make it obvious that I was breathing in her scent trail as we walked the rest of the way together until we got to the weak spot on the walkway. “Why do you smell like strawberries?”

Ava smirked. “It’s called a shower.”

“An utter waste of time doing that first, considering I’m going to be working you up to a sweat,” I told her, gripping the toolkit in my hand even tighter.

“What’s wrong with that, Deacon? Not a fan of strawberries?” she replied, testing me.

I scoffed. “I’m allergic. Here.”

I held out a hand to stop her from going any further. She looked from the broken walkway to me with a puzzled look on her face. “So, now what?”

“Now, we’re gonna do a temporary patch job on that half-rotted patch on the dock,” I said. Her eyes widened in surprise.