Bryan's POV

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner. Just when I thought I might finally drift off, a muffled noise shattered the quiet.

At first, I thought it was the wind or the faint creak of the bed. But then I heard it again—a low, broken sound, like someone trying to scream but unable to.

I sat up instantly, my chest tightening. The sound was coming from the bed. From Amber.

She was moving restlessly, her body twisting under the blanket. Her hands clutched at the sheets, her fingers digging into the fabric like she was trying to anchor herself. The sounds coming from her were soft but gut-wrenching—muffled whimpers, broken and filled with fear.

"Amber?" I called softly, but she didn't respond.

I stood, moving closer, my pulse quickening as I watched her. Her head turned from side to side, her breathing shallow and erratic. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear.

"Amber," I said louder, crouching beside the bed. "Hey, wake up."

Her body jerked slightly, her hands tightening their grip on the sheets. The noises grew louder, and I caught fragments of what she was saying—no, stop, please—but her voice was so faint it sent a chill down my spine.

I didn't know what to do. I reached out, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Amber," I said again, giving her a gentle shake. "You're dreaming. Wake up."

She didn't stir, her face twisting in an expression of pure terror. Her whimpers turned into quiet sobs, her body trembling under the blanket.

My chest tightened. I'd seen her fiery, stubborn, and even vulnerable, but this? This was different. This was raw, unfiltered fear, and it scared the hell out of me.

Her voice broke through again, this time louder. "No," she whispered, her tone desperate. "Please, no."

I froze, my mind racing. The scar on her hip flashed in my memory, and my stomach twisted. Was this why she was so guarded? Why she'd shut me out every time I tried to get close?

"Amber," I said firmly, shaking her shoulder a little harder. "Wake up."

Her eyes flew open with a gasp, her body jerking upright as she clutched the blanket to her chest. Her breathing was erratic, her eyes wide and glassy as they darted around the room.

"Hey," I said softly, raising my hands to show I wasn't a threat. "It's okay. You're safe."

She blinked, her gaze finally landing on me. For a moment, she just stared, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Then, as if realizing where she was, she shook her head quickly.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice shaky. She wiped at her face, trying to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's nothing."

"Amber," I said, crouching down so I was at her level. "That didn't look like nothing."

"I said I'm fine," she snapped, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her. She turned away, pulling the blanket tighter around herself like it could shield her from whatever had haunted her.

"This isn't the first time, is it?" I asked softly, watching her carefully.

She froze, her shoulders tensing. "What are you talking about?"

"That night during tutoring," I said. "You fell asleep on the couch, and... you had a nightmare then too. You didn't want to talk about it."

She turned her head slightly, just enough for me to see the flash of panic in her eyes before she quickly looked away. "It's nothing," she muttered. "Just a bad dream."

"Amber," I said, my voice soft but firm. "That wasn't just a bad dream. You were terrified."

Her hands tightened around the blanket, her knuckles white. "It's none of your business."

"It is when you're waking up like that," I argued, my voice rising slightly. "You were crying, Amber. You were begging someone to stop. How is that 'nothing'?"

She flinched, and guilt immediately washed over me. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice softer now. "I just... I don't like seeing you like this."

She let out a shaky breath, her gaze still fixed on the floor. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I'm fine now."

"Amber—"

"Just drop it, Bryan," she snapped, her voice cracking. Her hands trembled as she wiped at her face again, her vulnerability slipping through the cracks of her defenses.

I hesitated, my chest aching as I watched her. "Okay," I said finally. "But if it ever does matter... I'm here."

She didn't respond. Instead, she lay back down, turning away from me as she curled into herself under the blanket. Her body was still trembling slightly, and her breathing was uneven.

As I settled back onto the floor, the memory of her scar flashed in my mind again. That jagged mark, so out of place on someone like her, and the way she'd shut down completely when I asked about it.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing with questions I didn't have answers to. Who hurt her? Why wouldn't she let anyone in? And why did I care so damn much?

And then the kiss. God, that kiss.

I rubbed a hand over my face, groaning softly. Why the hell had I kissed her? Why couldn't I stop myself? It wasn't just the heat of the moment—it was her. The way she looked at me, angry and vulnerable all at once, like she hated me but couldn't help but need me at the same time. It was intoxicating.

And she'd kissed me back. That wasn't something I imagined. Her hands had clung to me like I was the only steady thing in her world, her lips moving with mine like she didn't want it to end. But then I'd pulled away, and the look on her face... It had gutted me.

Because I knew I'd hurt her. And because, deep down, I didn't think it was a mistake at all.

Amber's POV

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my foot. The second was Bryan.

He was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, his phone in his hand as his thumb scrolled lazily across the screen. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains made his dark hair look messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it. His expression was relaxed, but the tension in his jaw told me he wasn't as calm as he looked.

And then it hit me.

The nightmare. The scar. The kiss.

I felt a flush of heat crawl up my neck and spread to my cheeks as everything from last night came flooding back. My heart raced as I remembered the way his lips had felt on mine, the way his hands had held me like I was something fragile and precious. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could rewind time and undo every second of it.

Why did I kiss him? Why couldn't I stop myself? And why, why, was I thinking about it now, when I should've been focused on keeping things normal?

Bryan's voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. "You awake?" he asked, his tone softer than I expected.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before looking away quickly. "Yeah," I mumbled, my voice still groggy.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his voice still carrying that uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Fine," I lied, shifting to sit up. My foot throbbed in protest, and I winced as I tried to move it.

"Fine?" Bryan asked, one eyebrow raised, clearly unconvinced. "You sure about that?"

I ignored him, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and trying to stand. As soon as I put weight on my injured foot, a sharp pain shot up my leg, making me stumble.

"Whoa, hold on," Bryan said, standing and catching my arm before I could fall. "Sit down."

"I'm fine," I muttered, though the pain was still radiating through my foot.

"You're stubborn," he said, his tone exasperated. "Sit."

Reluctantly, I sat back down on the bed, avoiding his gaze. My cheeks burned as he knelt in front of me, his hands reaching for my injured foot. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice more defensive than I intended.

"Helping," he said simply, glancing up at me. "Unless you want to hobble around like that all day?"

I didn't answer, my words caught in my throat as his hands gently cradled my foot. His fingers were warm against my skin, his touch firm but careful as he began to guide my foot through soft stretches.

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the occasional creak of the bed. My heart pounded in my chest as his hands moved, his touch sending sparks of warmth through me. Every time his fingers brushed against my ankle or the curve of my arch, I felt my breath hitch, memories of last night flooding back uninvited.

The kiss. The way his lips had pressed against mine, the heat and desperation behind it. The way I'd wanted more, even though I knew I shouldn't.

I stole a glance at him, and my stomach did a flip. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his dark eyes focused on my foot like it was the most important thing in the world. His jaw was set, the faint stubble along his chin catching the light.

Why did he have to look so good? Why did this have to be him?

I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension. "So... last night," I started hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. The intensity in his gaze made my pulse quicken. "What about it?" he asked, his voice low.

"The kiss," I said, my cheeks heating. "What... what was that?"

For a moment, he didn't say anything. His hands stilled against my skin, and I thought I saw a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even guilt. "It shouldn't have happened," he said finally, his voice quieter than before.

My chest tightened at his words, though I wasn't sure why. "But it did," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why?"

He sighed, his hand still resting lightly on my ankle. "I don't know," he admitted. "You were... I was just..." He shook his head, letting out a frustrated breath. "It was a mistake."

The words stung more than I wanted to admit, but I forced myself to nod. "Right," I said, trying to sound indifferent. "A mistake."

His grip on my foot tightened slightly, just for a moment, before he let go and stood. "You should keep stretching," he said, his tone clipped as he turned away.

I watched him, my heart still racing, my mind swirling with unanswered questions. A mistake. That's what he called it. But the way he'd kissed me, the way he'd looked at me—it didn't feel like a mistake. Not to me.

As soon as Bryan left the room, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My foot still tingled from where his hands had been, and my mind was racing with the whirlwind of everything that had happened. The kiss, the scar, his words this morning—it was all too much.

There was only one person who could help me process this: Isabella.

Grabbing my phone, I plopped onto the bed, carefully propping my foot up on a pillow. I hit Izzy's contact and waited, chewing on my lip as the line rang.

"Amber!" she answered on the third ring, her voice chipper. "How's Costa Rica? Are you sipping margaritas and flirting with sexy locals yet?"

I groaned, already regretting this decision. "Izzy, I need help."

Her tone immediately shifted, a mix of concern and excitement. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Well... not exactly."

"That's always a good start," she said dryly. "Spill."

I took a deep breath and launched into the story, starting with the nightmare and Bryan seeing the scar again. I hesitated before mentioning the kiss, but Izzy was quick to catch on.

"Wait, wait, wait," she interrupted. "You kissed him again? Again?"

"It wasn't like that!" I hissed, already feeling my face heat up. "It just... happened."

"Amber, people don't just 'happen' to kiss Bryan Munzo. You have to explain this."

I groaned, covering my face with my free hand. "Okay, fine. I kissed him because he wouldn't stop asking about the scar, and I panicked. But he kissed me first !"

There was silence on the other end for a moment before Izzy burst out laughing. "You panicked? So your solution was to kiss him?"

"It wasn't a solution! It was a reflex! And it was his fault too. He was... close, and his voice was all... I don't know, gravelly, and he just—ugh!"

"Gravelly?" she repeated, her laughter only getting louder. "Oh my God, Amber, you're blushing, aren't you? I can hear it through the phone."

I groaned louder, flopping back onto the bed. "This isn't funny, Izzy!"

"It's hilarious," she corrected, still giggling. "Okay, so you kissed him. Then what?"

I launched into the details of this morning—the awkward tension, him helping me stretch, and the question about the kiss. By the time I finished, Izzy was cackling so hard I was sure she'd fallen off her bed.

"So let me get this straight," she said, finally catching her breath. "You kissed him, then he called it a mistake, but he also massaged your injured foot and was, like, weirdly gentle about it?"

"Basically," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "And now I don't know what to think. He's hot and cold. One minute he's sweet, the next he's back to being... Bryan."

Izzy let out a dreamy sigh. "Sweet and brooding? Sounds like someone's got it bad."

"I do not have it bad," I snapped, sitting up. "This is a disaster. I'm supposed to hate him, Izzy. He's Bryan. He's mean and arrogant and—"

"And he makes your heart race," she finished smugly. "Admit it."

"No," I said stubbornly, though my traitorous cheeks warmed at her words.

Izzy chuckled. "Fine, don't admit it. But let's circle back to the whole 'he saw your scar' thing. How are you holding up with that?"

My stomach twisted at the reminder, and I sighed. "I don't know. He keeps asking about it, and I just... I don't want to talk about it, Izzy. Not with him."

Her tone softened. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to. That's your story to tell, not his to demand. But... do you think he's asking because he cares?"

I paused, the question hanging in the air. Did he care? I didn't know. And that uncertainty was almost worse than the kiss.

"Anyway," Izzy said, breaking the silence, "what's your plan now? Avoid him for the rest of the trip? Or, I don't know, kiss him again and see what happens?"

"Absolutely not," I said firmly. "I'm focusing on my project, my recovery, and—"

"Ethan," she interjected. "You didn't mention him yet. Please tell me you're still spending time with him because that man is gorgeous."

I laughed despite myself. "He's nice. And yes, we're hanging out. But he's just a friend, Izzy."

"Well, let me know if that changes," she teased. "In the meantime, try not to overthink the whole Bryan thing."

"That's literally all I've been doing," I grumbled.

"And that's why I'm here," she said cheerfully. "Now, go get some fresh air or do whatever people in Costa Rica do. You'll feel better."

"Thanks, Izzy," I said, rolling my eyes but smiling nonetheless. "I'll call you later."

"You better. And Amber?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't kiss him again—unless you mean it this time."

I hung up before she could hear my groan, already regretting calling her. But as I set the phone down, I couldn't help but feel a little lighter. Izzy had a way of making everything seem a little less impossible—even if she did enjoy embarrassing me far too much.

The warm sun kissed my skin as I sat on the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore soothing and rhythmic. It was a beautiful day—clear skies, golden sand, and everyone laughing and enjoying themselves. Ethan and some of his friends were throwing a frisbee, their laughter echoing over the shore. A few others were splashing in the water, the carefree energy of the day infectious.

But not for me.

I tried to smile, to blend in, but the weight of everything over the past few days pressed heavily on my chest. The nightmare. The scar. The kiss. Bryan. It all felt like too much, like it was unraveling a part of me I wasn't ready to face.

And then it hit me—a sudden, overwhelming wave of sadness. It came out of nowhere, sharp and unrelenting, like the tide pulling me under. My eyes stung as tears welled up, and before I could stop it, they spilled over, sliding down my cheeks.

I quickly ducked my head, wiping at my face as if that would make the tears disappear. But they kept coming, relentless and unyielding. I felt exposed, sitting there in the open, vulnerable in a way I hated.

I didn't want anyone to see me like this. Not here, not now.

I wrapped my arms around my knees, pretending to watch the waves. The salty breeze tickled my skin, but it did nothing to ease the ache in my chest. My breathing hitched, and I bit my lip hard, hoping the sting would snap me out of it.

"Amber?"

I froze, hastily wiping at my cheeks before turning to see Ethan standing a few feet away, his brows furrowed in concern. His friend Kevin was trailing behind him, looking equally worried.

"Hey," Ethan said gently, crouching down beside me. "You okay?"

I forced a smile, though it felt like it was cracking at the edges. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... tired."

Kevin gave me a skeptical look. "You sure? You look like something's bothering you."

"I'm good," I insisted, trying to sound convincing. "Really."

Ethan tilted his head, studying me for a moment. His soft, sandy-blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and his kind blue eyes searched mine like he was trying to figure out if I was telling the truth.

"Okay," he said finally, his tone cautious. "But if you need to talk or anything... we're here."

"Thanks," I murmured, grateful but also eager for them to leave before I broke down completely. "I appreciate it."

He hesitated for a moment longer before nodding, giving me a small smile. "Come join us when you're ready."

I nodded quickly, watching as they walked back to their group. As soon as they were out of earshot, I let out a shaky breath, burying my face in my hands. I felt stupid, weak, and so utterly overwhelmed.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I managed to pull myself together, hiding my emotions behind polite smiles and laughter that didn't quite reach my eyes. The beach was lively, and while I stayed on the fringes of the group, no one seemed to notice my lingering sadness.

By the time evening rolled around, we'd packed up and were heading to the campsite nearby. The plan was to roast marshmallows, tell stories, and sleep under the stars. It sounded picturesque, but my stomach churned at the thought of spending another night in close quarters with Bryan.

When we reached the campsite, the teacher handed out tent assignments. My stomach dropped the second I saw my name paired with his.

Bryan.

Of course.

As we set up the tent, the tension between us was palpable. Bryan was quiet, his expression unreadable as he worked. I kept stealing glances at him, trying to gauge his mood, but his face gave nothing away.

"Hand me the poles," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

I handed them over without a word, my fingers brushing his for a brief moment. The contact sent a jolt up my arm, and I quickly pulled my hand back, pretending to focus on unrolling the fabric.

"Are you going to avoid looking at me the entire time?" he asked after a moment, his tone laced with frustration.

"I'm not avoiding you," I said quickly, though I knew it wasn't convincing.

"Right," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

We worked in silence after that, the unspoken tension between us building with each passing minute. When the tent was finally up, I let out a breath of relief, stepping back to admire our work.

"Good enough," Bryan said, brushing his hands off. He glanced at me, his dark eyes unreadable. "You okay with this setup?"

"Yeah," I said softly, avoiding his gaze.

The campsite buzzed with energy as everyone gathered around the fire. The golden glow lit up the night, and laughter echoed through the trees. I sat with the group, my mind drifting as Bryan's presence loomed in the back of my thoughts.

The fire crackled softly as the teacher clapped their hands, grabbing everyone's attention. The warm glow of the flames danced across the faces of the group, and the scent of toasted marshmallows lingered in the air.

"We're running low on wood," the teacher announced, pointing toward the stack of logs near the fire pit. "Bryan, Amber, why don't you two head out and grab some from the storage pile by the main cabin? It's a quick walk, and you'll find plenty there."

My stomach sank. I shot him a quick glance, and his face was unreadable, though I swore I caught the faintest twitch of annoyance at the corners of his mouth.

"Sure," he said, standing with his usual effortless confidence. His dark eyes flicked to me. "You coming, or should I do all the work?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and stood, brushing the dirt off my pants. "Let's just get it over with."