Sometimes it felt like I had so many ideas but never enough time to make them happen.

“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked, and I realised he’d been watching me.

“Oh, you know, the usual. How our lives are finite and we’ll only ever get to fit so much into them. How it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Jack gave me a thoughtful look and was silent a moment before he spoke. “Would it make you feel better to know that we all get the same number of hours in a day, days in a year? Some people might be rich and some might be poor, but none of them can buy time. It is one of the fairest systems in the world.”

“Yeah, but most rich people live longer lives than the poor.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m not talking about lifespans. I’m talking about time. And what makes you a good judge of what is enough? Maybe stop thinking of enough and just live in the moment. Then you won’t worry — you’ll just be experiencing.”

“It’s hard to change the way you think when you were raised to measure everything in comparison to everything else.”

“Well, that sounds like a depressing way to live your life.”

“It is.”

“Change, then.”

There was a forcefulness to his words, like he really cared. I stopped walking, my hand slipping from his. He paused two steps ahead of me and turned, arching a questioning brow. He was so beautiful. I loved looking at him in the dark and then in the light, noting the contrasts, realising that he was exquisite in every setting.

“Jack,” I breathed.

He looked wary. “Lille?”

“You’re kind of beautiful, you know that?”

Staring at me, he seemed caught off guard. He definitely hadn’t expected me to say that. His face appeared to be battling a war within itself over whether or not to smile or frown. In the end, I got something that was neither one nor the other.

“Only kind of?”

I let out a loud bark of a laugh and teased, “Well, you’re no Gandy.”

Jack shot me a confused glance. “And thank fuck for that. Who wants to look like a little old bald man with John Lennon glasses?”

My laughter spilled out and was impossible to control. When I finally regained the ability to speak, I said, “David Gandy the male model, not Gandhi the father of Independence in India. And technically, John Lennon stole the spectacles from him, since Gandhi came before Lennon.”

His face was what I could only describe as amused affection. “So, let me get this straight: I don’t look like a male model. Okay, I think I can live with that.” He said this with such a deadpan tone that I began laughing all over again, and it had just started to die down. What was even funnier was the fact that my comment was intended to tease and rile him up, but it hadn’t riled him up at all. And the truth of the matter was that he could’ve wiped the floor with a whole room full of male models. Jack’s beauty was far beyond anything quite so flat and one-dimensional.

I took two steps towards him and placed my hands on his chest. He watched my every move intently, like I was a strange animal and he didn’t know what I was going to do next.

“No, you don’t. You’re still beautiful, though,” I whispered before rising up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his. I was being uncharacteristically forward. There was something about being out in the dark that made me feel less inhibited than usual. Jack stood still, an immovable living statue, letting me kiss him. I got a vibe of curiosity, like he was waiting to see where I was going with this.

Good luck with that.

I didn’t even know where I was going.

I was trying to live in the moment, like he said. Experience rather than measure. My hands explored his hard, warm chest before moving up to his neck and sliding around to sink into his hair. All the while he did nothing, and there was some sort of triumph in that. I felt like he was surrendering, letting me take what I wanted. It was a gift, I knew, because Jack McCabe wasn’t a man to surrender often.

Pressing my body along the length of his and feeling just how much he wasn’t indifferent towards me by the thick hardness at his crotch, I slid my tongue into his mouth and felt him shudder. Wow. I tugged on his hair a little and was rewarded with a deep, masculine groan that originated in the back of his throat and made every tiny hair on my body stand on end.

I broke away from his mouth long enough to whisper, “Touch me back.”

He didn’t give in immediately, but after a moment or two, his arms went around my waist, tightening and pulling me closer. His mouth began to move, his tongue tangling with mine in a soft, sensual dance. I felt like I was trying to drink him in but would never quite get enough. My hands were everywhere, feeling every place I could reach, while his remained in place, never venturing anywhere other than my waist. His hands were balled at my hips, fisting my shirt tightly. I adored how solid he was, how immovable.

Just as I was falling into him, getting lost out here in the dark, a sharp, violent scream rang out, and I pulled away, startled.

“What was that?” I asked, breathless, right before a second scream sounded. Jack grabbed my hand and tugged me forward, my body propelling faster than I’d be capable of on my own. The screaming continued and it made my heart pound, my skin growing tight. We followed the noise right to Violet’s camper. The light was dim, but it was bright enough for us to make out a figure leaving through the door in a hurry. It was definitely male.

“Hey!” Jack shouted, letting go of my hand to chase after him. I hurried inside to find Lola crouched over, tears streaming down her face. The covers had been yanked off the bed, and it looked like someone had kicked a hole in the wall. Blood was running down her chin from her lip, and there was a look of terror in her eyes that I knew I’d never forget.

“Lola, what happened?” I asked, breathless and frantic as I went to sit by her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. The moment I touched her, she instantly jumped away, her hands shaking and tears filling her eyes.

“Don’t,” was all she said.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, moving away and picking the blanket up off the floor. Carefully, I draped it around her shoulders, and she gripped it tight. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she continued to shake. I wanted to ask her what had happened again, but I didn’t feel like I’d get an answer. Leaving her for a moment, I went outside to find Jack walking back towards the camper, breathing hurriedly.

“Fucking lost him,” he said between breaths, and nodded to the van. “Who’s inside?”

“Lola. She won’t answer when I ask her what happened, but it looks like someone assaulted her. She won’t stop shaking, Jack.”

He swore and slammed his hand into the side of the camper in frustration. Over his shoulder, I saw a shadow move in the darkness a moment before King stumbled forward, his trademark bottle of liquor in his hand.

“Keep the noise down, would ya?” he grumbled, and brought the bottle to his mouth for a drink. Jack swiped it away from him and held it out of reach.

“You been hanging around here all night?” Jack asked.

“Hey! Give that back,” King complained, trying to grab for it.

“Answer me and then I’ll give it back,” said Jack, voice stern.

“Been around, yeah.”

“Did you see anyone go inside this camper?”

King frowned, his brows drawn together as he thought about it. “Nah, don’t think so.”

“Yes or no, King.”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I didn’t see anyone,” he shouted then, words slicing from his lips like razor blades. His arctic-blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and for a moment I was frightened. What if King was the one who attacked Lola? He had been hanging around all night. But then, we did see someone running away, someone fast enough to outrun Jack, and I didn’t think King was capable of that in his current state.