Chapter 18: Shadows at the Edge

The desert noon blazed fierce, the sun a relentless hammer over the dunes, the resort's glass walls shimmering like a mirage. Zara stood on the terrace, her camera trained on a hawk circling above, its wings slicing the sky. The shot steadied her—focus through the lens, a shield against the tangle in her chest. Last night with Rylan—curled in his bed, his arm a quiet anchor—had settled something, but Grayson's tale of the airstrip lingered, a crack in their fragile trust. She wanted him, needed him, but the past kept clawing, hers and his, and she didn't know how deep they could go before it broke.

Footsteps crunched behind her, and she lowered the camera, expecting Rylan—his voice, his heat—but the figure wasn't him. Tall, lean, dark hair swept back, a face she'd once traced in the dark. Ethan. Her stomach dropped, the air punching out of her lungs, and she froze, the camera slipping in her grip.

"Zara," he said, voice smooth, too familiar, and he stopped a few paces away, hands in his pockets, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Been a while."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, stepping back, the terrace railing cold against her spine. Her pulse roared, a mix of shock and fury, and she gripped the camera tighter, a lifeline.

"Work," he said, shrugging like it was nothing. "Travel piece—desert retreats. Didn't know you'd be here till I saw your name on the booking list. Thought I'd say hi."

"Hi?" She laughed, sharp and bitter, and set the camera down, needing her hands free. "You don't get to just show up, Ethan. Not after—"

"I know," he cut in, stepping closer, his smile fading. "I messed up—bad. I've been trying to reach you, make it right. You never answered."

"Because there's nothing to say!" Her voice rose, cracking the calm, and she saw guests glance over, then away. "You cheated, you lied, you don't get a do-over."

He flinched, but didn't back off, his eyes—blue, too bright—locking on hers. "I was an idiot," he said, low, urgent. "Lost my head, lost you. I've regretted it every day since. Just… hear me out, please."

She stared, the words clawing at old wounds—six months ago, his hands on someone else, her trust shattering in a single night. "No," she said, firm, turning for the door, but his hand caught her arm, gentle but insistent, and she yanked free, spinning on him.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, and that's when Rylan appeared—storming through the glass doors, his face hard, eyes blazing as he clocked Ethan's hand hovering where it'd been.

"Problem?" Rylan asked, voice low, dangerous, stepping between them. His presence was a wall, solid and unyielding, and Zara felt the air shift, tension coiling tight.

Ethan raised his hands, stepping back. "No problem," he said, smooth again, glancing at Zara. "Just talking."

"Doesn't look like she wants to talk," Rylan said, his gaze flicking to her, checking, and she nodded, silent, grateful for the shield. "You a guest?"

"Checking in," Ethan replied, sizing Rylan up, a smirk tugging his lips. "Ethan Pierce. Travel writer. You're Voss, right? Owner?"

"Yeah," Rylan said, curt, his hand brushing Zara's back, a quiet claim. "Check-in's inside. Leave her alone."

Ethan's smirk faltered, but he nodded, brushing past them into the lobby, his scent—cologne, too sharp—trailing like a ghost. Zara exhaled, shaky, and Rylan turned to her, his hand staying, warm through her shirt. "You okay?" he asked, voice softer now, his eyes searching hers.

"No," she admitted, leaning into him, needing the anchor. "That's my ex—the bastard I told you about."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of fury crossing his face, and he pulled her closer, his arm sliding around her waist. "He's not staying long," he said, fierce. "I'll make sure of it."

"Don't," she said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "He's not worth it. Just… stay with me."

He nodded, the anger easing, and led her inside, past the lobby to his lounge, the door shutting out the world. She sank onto the couch, hands trembling, and he sat beside her, close but not crowding, his presence a steady hum against her chaos.

"Want to talk?" he asked, his hand resting on her knee, thumb tracing slow circles.

"Not really," she said, but the words spilled anyway, rough and unfiltered. "Caught him with her—some coworker, in our bed. Six months ago. Walked out, didn't look back. Thought I was done, but seeing him… it's like it's fresh."

Rylan's grip tightened, his voice low, raw. "He's a fool—more than I thought. You didn't deserve that."

She laughed, small and shaky, leaning into him. "No kidding. But it's not just him—it's me. I let him in, trusted him, and now…" She trailed off, meeting his eyes, the question hanging. "What are we, Rylan? After the oasis, after everything—where's this going?"

He stilled, the weight of it settling, and rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow. "I don't know," he said, honest, rough. "But I know I want you—more than a night, more than this place. I'm in, Zara, all the way, if you are."

Her chest ached, his words a mirror to the fall she'd been fighting. "I'm scared," she whispered, her hand finding his, lacing tight. "Ethan broke me. I don't want to break again."

"You won't," he said, fierce, pulling her into his lap, her legs straddling his, his hands framing her face. "I'm not him—I've got my own scars, but I'd never hurt you like that. You're safe with me."

She searched his eyes—green, gold, steady—and felt the truth in it, a tether she could hold. "Promise?" she asked, voice breaking, and he kissed her—hard, deep, a seal on the vow.

"Promise," he murmured against her lips, and she kissed him back, desperate, pouring the fear, the want, the trust into it. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her closer, and she felt him—solid, real, hers—and the chaos stilled, just for a moment.

They stayed like that, tangled, breathing each other in, until a knock jolted them—staff, probably, with another crisis. He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. "Never ends," he muttered, and she smirked, sliding off him, her heart lighter despite the ache.

"Go," she said, brushing his jaw. "I'll be here."

He stood, pulling her up with him, and kissed her again—quick, fierce. "We're good," he said, a question in it, and she nodded, sure this time.

"Yeah," she said, and he left, the door clicking shut. She sank back, Ethan's shadow fading under Rylan's light, and knew they'd defined it—messy, real, theirs. The desert had tested them, and they'd held.