Swim Deeper

by T. S. Joyce

Human. He wished he was human.

  Her heart broke a little more.

  “I love you just the way you are, Holt Lachlan,” she whispered, pulling his shirt over his head.

  He stood smoothly and kissed her, his fingers resting lightly on her neck. There was the rumbling of his animal, the sound she’d learned to love because it was a big part of him.

  When she rested her hand on his chest, he eased back, searched her eyes. “Say it again.”

  Bre smiled, but the motion dislodged a tear. It slipped down her cheek in a tiny river and fell from her jaw. He caught it in his flat hand. The teardrop sat in a little splat in the center of his palm.

  “Is this from sadness?” he asked.

  “No,” she assured him.

  “Then please, say it again.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips softly to his. And when she eased back down, she whispered, “I love you just the way you are.”

  He swallowed hard and wrapped his fingers around her tear, clenched his fist, and let it rest by his side. “It’s enough.”

  He shed his boots and pants smoothly and then stood on the edge of the porch, looking at the water, body tense, ready to dive in deep.

  But before he did, he turned and looked at her with his lips curving up just slightly. “One.”

  And then he dove gracefully into the murky water.

  She rushed to the edge and gripped the railing just as a massive alligator broke the surface and leapt out of the water. She’d never seen anything like him. Scales and power, water flinging from his long, thick head as he opened his mouth and arched to the side. He hit the water so hard, a massive wave rocked the entire houseboat dangerously.

  She should’ve been scared being this close to a monster, but that was the thing about perception. Anyone else would’ve deemed him so, but she didn’t anymore. There was nothing monstrous about him.

  He circled right beside the boat, just feet away from her. She could see the spiked ridges on his back, skimming the surface as he swam right at the top of the water in front of her. He was the size of a great white shark, but she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t swimming so close to hurt her. He was swimming this close to let her in. To let her see him.

  She could see the ripples in the water as he swam away, down the channel and out of the light.

  One.

  The number of girls he’d brought to see his firefly hideaway.

  One.

  The number she’d asked for.

  One.

  A single word that meant three.

  I trust you.

  She didn’t know how she was going to keep him safe from the Lachlan Curse.

  But she would.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Water damage.

  Her cell phone was totally fucked thanks to yesterday’s rainstorm, but at least the guy at the phone store had saved her contacts and pictures and transferred them to her new one. Holt’s was even worse off than hers and had to be completely replaced. She hoped he had backed up his pictures. That was an expensive morning adventure.

  Bre jogged across the street toward a hamburger joint and connected a call to Brian.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit, Hayne! Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

  “Sorry, my phone got water damage in the rain yesterday—”

  “Bullshit. You ghosted me, and you know it. And guess who had to handle the station freaking out when you went MIA? Me!”

  “Can you meet me?” she asked low, smiling at a mother and two kids eating ice cream in front of the restaurant.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the gas station on Main Street that sells burgers.”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  The phone clicked and went dead. Geez, he was pissed, and she got it. She’d handled this all bad, but really, there wasn’t some map on how to ditch your job when your moral compass started suddenly pointing north. She’d always been the steady one. Just did whatever she needed to do to get the story.

  Sitting down at a table, she suddenly felt like a new person. So much had changed over the last week. Her wants and needs had changed. Hell, she wasn’t the same person.

  Made extra clear when Brian made his way through the door and looked her up and down with a deep frown furrowing his brows. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he whispered.

  “Uuuuuh…” Bre looked down at her tank top and cut-off shorts. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left the top two buttons undone on her tank, but it was hot. She cleared her throat and went to buttoning the buttons.

  “You stopped wearing the mic,” he said low, glancing around.

  “I have to talk to you about something important.”

  His dark eyes jerked to hers. “I want a double meat double cheeseburger.”

  “Brian—”

  “And fries. It’s okay, Hayne. We’ll get back on track. All is forgiven. We just need to regroup.”

  “Brian—”

  “The station has given us an extension. You can thank me for that. I covered for you and—”

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Bre inhaled deeply and pushed the microphone pin across the table to him.

  Brian stared at the small contraption, the shackle to her old life. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Because I fell for him. He’s not like what everyone thinks. He’s not a monster.”

  “Bre,” he said on a breath, wrapping his hand around the microphone. “Don’t do this. This story is our big break. It’s my break. It’s getting out of that shitty news van, chasing shitty stories. Shitty hotels, shitty food. The station will treat us like kings after this break. We have a shifter on the hook. A real one. That promotion we’ve been working for is right there. You don’t give a shit about your career anymore, Bre? What about me? It’s my name being connected to a story that matters.”

  “But matters for what?” she asked, leaning forward. “For what, Brian? Do you really want to build your career on a story that ruins a life?”

  “He’s just an animal—”

  “No,” she sternly said, grabbing his hands. “We are.” She released his hands and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, but this is where I get out of the van. I’ll call the station and put in my resignation. I’ll put in a good word for you and try to help as much as I’m able, but I can’t do this anymore. Brian, I’m happy here. Happy. Me.”

  His eyes softened, and he sighed. “Fuck.” He chewed on his bottom lip and stared out the window for a minute, and then he shook his head. “Okay. Okay, you win. We’ve been through a lot, and you’ve never once said that. You’ve never told me you were happy.” He gave her a sad smile. “You deserve it, Bre.” He stood and murmured, “Keep in touch.”

  “Goodbye, Brian,” she said as he walked out.

  She watched him through the window as he got into the old brown news van parked out front and drove away. It was the end of an era for her, and it was a little sad. She and Brian had been through a lot; he was right. So many adventures, so much travelling together. They’d been a team for years, and she’d gone and changed everything up on them.

  “Everything okay?” a man asked from a few tables over.

  When Bre looked over at him, she was struck by recognition. It was the car salesman they’d bought Beetlejuice from. Liam.

  “Hey,” she said, waving. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Liam was frowning at Brian. “Nothin’ fancy about this place. You good?” he asked Bre.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just finishing up lunch.”

  Liam was in casual clothes, jeans, a black T-shirt with a gray logo on the front, and a black baseball cap. He was eating alone.

  “Would you like to join me?” she offered out of politeness.

  “Nah, I’m good.” Liam tossed a wad of cash onto the table and stood, made his way to the door. A bell dinged as he opened it. “You sure you’re good?” he asked again before he left.

  “Of course. Just saying goodbye to a fr
iend. Change is hard sometimes. Hard but worth it.”

  “Mmm. I hope so,” he said.

  She didn’t understand what he meant by that, but everyone she’d met in Uncertain was a little strange, so okay. She shook her head at the rollercoaster of a day and smiled as the waitress came up to take her order.

  A quick lunch was all she needed to clear her head, and then she would meet Holt back at the shop after he returned from his ten o’clock tour. He would have her feeling right as rain again in no time.

  He was magic like that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  This lady was weird. His tour had consisted of three ladies in their thirties on a girl trip, whatever the fuck that was. The blonde had been blinking a lot at him, though, and he was pretty sure she was about three centimeters from a nip slip in that barely-there tank top she was wearing. Why weren’t her friends tucking her titties away for her? He thought human women were supposed to stick together in packs-that-have-their-backs. It sure as hell wasn’t his job to tell her to dress appropriately. The woman had refused sunscreen on account of it making her skin feel slimy. Denied the bug spray, too, for the same reason. And now she was the color of a lobster and itching all the bites she had. But hey, no slimy skin.

  She was blinking at him again as he helped her out of the boat and onto the dock. Lord give him patience not to turn into his gatah and eat the stupid woman.

  “I sure appreciate you taking such good care of us out there,” the woman crooned. Christ, he’d already forgotten her name.

  “My pleasure.”

  Liar. You hate her. She don’t have red hair like our mate.

  “Do you have something in your eye?” he asked as she kept batting them at him.

  The woman giggled and slapped her hand on his chest playfully.

  Eat her.

  Holt backed up a few steps and gave her a tight smile. “I’m glad y’all had fun out there. I’m gonna get ready for the next tour. You have a good day now, Miss.”

  He ignored the pout on her full lips and made his way to the shop where he had big plans to chug a beer before the next tour showed up. Good gah, those women had asked the dumbest questions. What time did he wake up every day? What did he wear to sleep in? Had he ever wrestled an alligator? Where did he get his accent? Why wasn’t he wearing a wedding ring? He was pretty sure they’d been drinking before the tour.

  For fuck’s sake, he felt bad for the gators. They’d gotten about zero attention from the blabbermouths.

  He rounded the corner and nearly ran into Liam Cross.

  “Hoooly shit,” Holt murmured, giving him space fast. “You know the rules, asshole. Stay out of each other’s territory.”

  Kill him. Change and kill him. He knows the rules. He broke the rules.

  Holt shook his head hard to shut the animal up as Liam pushed off the side of the shop where he was leaning.

  “I’m not here for a dominance battle, Holt. I’m here with a concern.”

  Holt hooked his hands on his hips and frowned at the parking lot where the three girls from the tour were loading up into a rental car. “Concern for what?”

  “For you.”

  Holt studied the shifter’s face. His voice held honest notes. He was telling the truth. Liam handed his phone over to Holt. On the screen was a picture of Bre and some man he didn’t recognize, staring at something on the table between them. “The fuck?” he asked, zooming in to the pin on the table, the one that Bre liked to wear. “When was this?”

  “An hour ago. I debated not getting involved. They bought a truck from me last week, and I figured she was answering that stupid ad you put out to The Holler. I told you it was a risk when you did that. I fuckin’ told you too many humans are aware of The Holler now. I really thought you would’ve figured her out, Holt.”

  Holt shook his head. “I don’t understand. Figured out what?”

  “I got a peek in that dude’s van, and he had audio and video equipment.”

  All holt could do was shake his head and repeat, “I don’t understand.” His heart was slithering down his body to his toes right now.

  Liam huffed a breath and yanked his phone back. “I don’t owe you anything, Lachlan. Don’t you forget that, and I’m not gonna go feeling guilty for not warning you just because your head’s too far up your ass to see a snake in your own fuckin’ garden.” He typed something in and handed the phone back to Holt, a deep rumble emanating from him.

  Holt’s gator answered with a challenging growl of his own, but the human side of Holt was busy breaking in half. On the screen, Bre was dressed in a pantsuit, holding an umbrella, being pelted with rain as she talked about the quality of cafeteria food outside of some school named Barksworthy Academy.

  “She’s a reporter, man.”

  Holt shook his head, back and forth, back and forth. This wasn’t happening. He knew Bre. Knew her. She loved him just as he was. He loved her, too. Loved.

  Loved?

  No, no, no. Not our mate. She wouldn’t hurt us. She would protect us. She took the bullet out of us. She kissed us. No flinching away from us. She saw me and she didn’t run. Not our mate. She’s good. Not a snake.

  The phone was burning his hands, so he shoved it at Liam and stumbled backward. “What have I done?”

  And Liam, for all of his asshole tendencies and their rivalry for dominance over the years, wasn’t gloating right now. He wasn’t pointing and laughing at how stupid Holt had been. Instead, he looked sorry. And that was worse.

  He jammed his finger at Liam. “Don’t you pity me.”

  He turned, gave the predator his back, and walked toward the house. And then he jogged. And as the pain of denial warred inside of him with the betrayal he felt, he began to run.

  He ran and ran, pushing his legs harder, past the point of burn, past the point of ache, past the point of exhaustion. He didn’t slow when the ground turned uneven or the swampy woods that separated the shop and the house turned thick. He just ran faster. Faster and faster until he skidded to a stop in front of the guesthouse. He hesitated a moment, chest heaving, and then he ripped the door open and made his way inside.

  And then the search began. The search of her suitcase, her drawers. Of her girl things in the bathroom and the drawers in the kitchen. He ran his fingertips across and over and under every surface of the house until he touched something under the end table in the living room.

  He fell to his knees and looked under it to find the proof of a snake in his own garden, like Liam had said.

  A small black device was taped underneath. A bug.

  He ripped it off and held it in his palm, right where he’d caught Bre’s tear last night.

  Nothing in this world had ever hurt so much. Not the death of Pap, or of his father. Not his mother leaving. Not growing up alone with what he was, or forcing himself to become a man without anyone to look up to. Not a bullet.

  This was a pain he’d never felt before, one that ripped his guts in half. He looked down to see if he was bleeding out, but his chest was still closed. This was love? This? This was love? This was loving him just as he was?

  It hurt. Hurt so bad. So bad.

  He closed his fist around the bug and crushed it as the scream of fury and pain ripped out of him.

  One.

  One.

  The gator was invisible right now, had retreated deep inside of him to escape his pain.

  “Sorry, monster,” Holt murmured, “you’ll have to swim deeper than that.”

  Pain like this didn’t have a bottom.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Huh. The tour must’ve been cancelled because no one was in the parking lot of the shop. And Holt wasn’t here either.

  A little part of her was disappointed because she wouldn’t get to walk home with him.

  She put Beetlejuice back into gear and drove to the house. The second she pulled into the long drive, she smiled to herself. Nothing had ever felt like home quite like this. She’d chosen him. She’d called her boss
and quit her job, and she’d chosen this life with Holt.

  She was filled with such hope now.

  Holt was sitting on the top stair of the porch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth, his baseball cap pulled low. He was wearing her favorite shirt today, a white one with a blue beer logo, that hugged the curves of his muscular chest and broad shoulders.

  “Hey, hot boy,” she called out the window with a wave.

  He didn’t move, though. Something was wrong. Someone had messed with him, or perhaps something bad happened with the tour.

  She parked next to his Bronco in the marks she’d carved into his yard with the truck. Home, home, home.

  The sound of the closing door of the truck echoed through the swamp. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He slowly shook his head back and forth.

  She climbed the stairs but paused right in front of him when she saw her suitcase on the porch behind him. “Holt?” she whispered, reaching for him, but he flinched away.

  “Don’t need your touch,” he murmured in a deep, gravelly voice she’d never heard before.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Holt glared at her, his eyes bright yellow with reptilian pupils. He radiated rage as he took his clenched fist from in front of his face and unfurled his fingers.

  The microphone bug she’d planted in the guest house was in his hand, crushed. She’d completely forgotten about it. She could feel the color draining from her face. “I can explain.”

  “No need.”

  “Holt, that was before I knew you. I came here to—”

  “Trick me, right? You came to find out about me? So you could stand in front of a camera and talk about my personal life. You got me to open up, earned my trust, so you could find out more?” His voice was scary quiet.

  “Holt—”

  “Yes or no?” he yelled. “Is that why you came here?”

  There was no point in lying. He could hear lies. Tears streamed down her face, and she bit her trembling lip hard to try to gain control of her emotions. She’d hurt him.

  “Is that…why you…came here?” he rumbled.