Stoking the Fire (Salus Security #1) - Teodora Kostova Page 0,72

a wet strand of hair away from my forehead, cupping my cheeks. “Everything will be okay, Zach,” he whispers.

To me, it doesn’t sound like a platitude. It sounds like a vow.

Chapter twenty-eight

Alec rows slowly, the muscles on his bare arms flexing with every move. His bandage is gone, the wound just a red scar on his forearm. I’m lying across from him, feet dangling off the boat, hat over my eyes. My only contribution to this afternoon’s activities is ogling Alec as he steers the boat around the lake.

“What day is it?” I ask lazily.

“Wednesday.”

“It’s hard to keep track without the internet.”

Alec hums noncommittally.

“Anything I should know?”

Alec gives me a long look, then shakes his head.

Unlike me, he keeps in touch with the real world. He calls his team every day to check in, and they report any major news to him. He never shares anything with me. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign. However, I choose to believe that if something really bad happens, he’ll tell me.

“When did you buy this house?” I ask.

His eyes don’t meet mine. “I didn’t.”

His voice lacks finality, so I decide to dig in deeper. “You won it at poker?”

His lips twitch. “No.”

“You seduced someone and made them sign it over to you?”

Another shake of his head. “Not quite.”

“Hm…” I tap my lip with a finger, gazing thoughtfully in the distance. “You inherited it?”

Alec eases off the paddles and leaves them hanging loosely off the sides. The boat drifts aimlessly, wobbling gently in the calm water.

“It was my Uncle Jeff’s,” Alec says, propping his elbows on his knees. “My father’s brother.”

I don’t recall Alec mentioning an uncle while we were dating, but we didn’t talk much about family back then. All I know is that his dad died when Alec was a toddler, and his mom raised him with the help of some friends and relatives.

“He was a Marine. Got blown up by a landmine. Most of his team didn’t survive. He was lucky he only lost a leg and most of his hearing.”

I listen, and just like before, I’m scared to make a noise or move in case he stopped talking. This side of Alec is completely new to me; the Alec I used to know rarely shared anything personal.

“He got a payout when he came back. Bought this house and used to spend nearly all his time here. He had no close family left—his brother had died years ago, their parents, too. He never married.” Alec looks out into the lake, his eyes unfocused. “For some reason, the only person he kept in touch with was my mom. She used to send me here in the summer, and I had the best time.” Alec smiles, a dreamy sort of smile that reminds me of the boy he must have been. “I idolized him. He showed me how to start a fire, how to build a shelter, how to swim. How to keep warm and find water if I’m stranded. He taught me how to fight, how to defend myself and stand up for myself. He was my hero. I cried every time summer vacation ended and it was time to leave. Mom had to literally drag me out of here kicking and screaming.” He chuckles at the memory.

“What happened to him?” I ask softly.

He considers my question before he speaks. “The solitude he loved so much turned to loneliness, then to isolation, and in the end it killed him.” Alec reaches for the paddles and starts rowing again. He doesn’t speak for a while. I leave him to his memories.

When we near the dock, Alec slows. The look in his eyes is still a little raw, and he won’t meet my gaze.

Slowly, careful not to rock the boat, I move toward him, kneeling between his open thighs. He rests his hands on my hips, not pulling me closer, just touching me.

With a smile, I bump his nose with mine, then peck his lips. His eyes light up, but he doesn’t smile. So, I do it again. And again. Until Alec’s grinning and we’re kissing, the boat shaking underneath us.

That night, Alec makes a fire on the shore, and we roast hot dogs and marshmallows, and for the first time since I’ve known him, Alec looks carefree. His dark eyes reflect the light of the fire and flames dance inside his gaze as he tells me stories from his childhood. And then stories from his tours in