WHEN I WOKE the next morning in the guest bedroom of August's beach house, I nearly threw the covers off and raced to hopefully find my favorite retired football player still in bed so I could join him in it.

But then I sat up and stared straight into my reflection, thanks to the mirror on the wall opposite the bed. And that was when I realized that I absolutely could not jump into bed with August. Not when I looked this bad.

A shower. I should take a shower. I should shave every inch of my body and lather myself in good-smelling soaps. I should make myself look presentable before I burst into August Fletcher's bedroom with the intent of letting him keep me there all day.

A shiver wracked my body at the thought of feeling him again. Of having his hands on me, feeling my curves, and dipping between my legs.

I slipped out of bed on shaky feet, already feeling the effect of August's heat running through my veins. Padding across the bedroom, I made my way to the bathroom and slipped inside, only to spend the next forty-five minutes scrubbing and shaving every inch of my body.

Once I was clean, I threw on my Warriors T-shirt with August's name on the back–because he seemed to like it that first day I wore it–and nothing else.

The house was quiet when I emerged from the guest room. Since it was a bit later than when I first woke up, I checked the kitchen and the living room. When he wasn't anywhere to be found on the first floor, and I doubted he'd be on the second floor when he never seemed to go up there, I waltzed toward his bedroom, hesitating only when I reached the semi-closed door.

I'd been pretty bold yesterday, and while I didn't regret anything that happened in the moment, now we weren't in the moment. Could I still summon that same energy and jump right back into bed with him?

I inhaled shakily, feeling jittery with nerves–a combination of anticipation and a touch of anxiety. But God, I wanted him. And that feeling of want was one I didn't know how to shake.

Nudging the door, I called August's name softly. When he didn't reply, I repeated myself a little louder.

Nothing.

In fact, the house was eerily quiet.

With a frown, I pushed the door open further and–

The bed was empty.

My frown deepened as I did a quick turn around his room, noting that his bathroom door was open, revealing a bathroom just as vacant as his bedroom.

Where was he? Did he leave?

My stomach sank, and my anxiety quickly overrode anything else I'd been feeling when I woke this morning.

Retracing my steps to the kitchen, I searched for a note or anything indicating that August might have stepped out of the house this morning. When I didn't see anything, I made my way to large windows overlooking the ocean. Maybe August was drinking his coffee on the deck. I'd noticed that anytime he could be outside, he was.

But August wasn't on the deck.

No, he was sitting in the sand some fifty yards away from the house, the waves licking at his feet. He was shirtless with his surfboard resting next to him, and a sigh of relief flew out of me.

That is, until I walked out of the house and realized he was hunched over. And not moving.

"August?"

He didn't respond. Didn't turn around, didn't answer my call. I told myself it was just because I was still far away, but every step I took closer to him made it that much more apparent that something was wrong. I couldn't exactly describe how I knew, but I knew.

"August!" I called again, hoping I'd get a reaction this time since I was closer.

And I did.

Still seated in the sand, August twisted to look back at me, his expression pained.

"Castle." That was all he said. Just my name. And then, "Fuck."

I picked up my speed, running across the beach, and August dipped his head back with a groan.

"What?" I asked breathlessly, crashing into the sand next to him. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" His voice was twisted in obvious distress, and I held my breath while waiting for his reply. "You're clearly wearing nothing but that Warriors shirt and I bet you were going to let me fuck you in it."

"You can still fuck me in it," I said in a half-laugh, all while trailing my gaze over him, looking for signs of injury. Because there was definitely something else wrong. Something he hadn't said, something thinly veiled in his expression.

A rough curse exploded from August's lips as he tipped his head back in frustration.

"What's wrong?" I repeated, started to feel desperate when I couldn't actually locate anything wrong. No blood, no scrapes, no gaping shark bites. Jellyfish sting? Had he stepped on something? God, I hated the ocean. There was so much that could go wrong in it.

I was about to push to my feet so I could look at the bottom of his feet when an answer exploded from August.

"It's my fucking knee," he grunted, his head still tipped back and eyes squeezed shut.

My stomach dropped. His knee. His injured knee.

"My board twisted out from under me while riding a wave, and my foot stuck with it while the rest of my body jerked the other way. And–shit." He broke off with another curse as he tried to adjust his leg.

"Don't." I put my hand out, urging him not to move. I didn't know much about sports injuries, but I had to guess that it was better not to aggravate it. "Don't move. Let me...let me help you."

"Castle." August lifted his head, pinning me with a look. His lips were pulled tight in pain, and his face was ghostly pale. "Castle, no offense, but I'm not sure you'll be able to do much."

"Don't underestimate me," I warned with a frown.

"I'd never," he said softly. "But I don't want you to get hurt, too."

"Do you want me to call Finny?" I offered. "Sunny?"

"Fuck no." His brows pulled together tightly. "I don't want them seeing you like that. Are you kidding me?"

I rolled my eyes. "I can change before they get here."

"Looking at you wearing that shirt and nothing else is the only thing keeping me together right now, Castle. You're not changing." August pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "I'll be okay. Just...just give me a minute. Just sit with me."

I nodded before settling myself in the sand next to him. I'd sit with him as long as he wanted me to.

"It's not as bad." He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone. "It doesn't hurt the way it did the first time. It's not as bad. I think I just tweaked something. Pulled it. But it's not torn. Not like last time."

"You should still get it looked at, August," I said, worry coating my words. I had a feeling that if it was painful enough to have August grounded in the sand when we'd made plans for this morning, it was bad enough that a doctor should look at it.

"It's fine, Quinn. I just need to..." He slowly extended his leg, wincing in a way that made me wince. "I just need some ice and elevation."

"Do you want me to bring the ice out here? Build you a sand pillow to rest it on?"

He chuckled, and I was relieved to see a lighter expression on his face. "No. I'll make it inside. Just give me a few."

"No rush," I assured. Tucking my legs up against my body, I wrapped my arms around my knees.

Even though there wasn't anyone out on the beach, and August's neighbors were a considerable distance away, I couldn't help but feel slightly exposed as I sat in the sand in nothing but a T-shirt. I should have at least put on a pair of underwear before running outside, but I'd been too eager to find August.

I ran my gaze over his leg again, worrying my lip between my teeth as I tried to assess the damage. Tried being the operative word considering my minimal medical background. And by minimal, I meant zero to none.

My eyes flicked back up to August's face, figuring I could learn more about how bad it was by judging his expression, only to find him staring at me.

He blinked once when he realized he'd be caught, clearly not caring. In fact, his lips curved in a tight smile as he raked his hand through dripping wet hair. The water ran over his tanned shoulders, following a path through his muscles.

"It's unbelievable how gorgeous you are, Castle."

My stomach flipped at the unexpected compliment. Mainly because even though he was clearly in pain and obviously worried about whatever he had just done to his knee, he was thinking...about me.

The sweetness of it overwhelmed me, and then it pained me, making my heart clench. Because I didn't know how long this would last.

"August..." I choked.

He shook his head. "After yesterday, I no longer know how to keep my thoughts to myself."

I swallowed, uncertain how to respond. While I wanted to hear his thoughts–desperately wanted to hear them–I also worried what they'd do to me.

But I wasn't about to back out now. Not after what happened yesterday. Not after the things I knew that mouth of his could say and do. Not after what I'd said yesterday. What I'd done.

So I said, "I like your thoughts, Fletcher."

His grin grew, even though it was still slightly pained.

I grabbed his hand, intending to give it a quick, reassuring squeeze, but August refused to let go as soon as my fingers slipped into his. He pulled my hand into his lap, keeping it there as we sat together.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before August cleared his throat and declared he was ready to return to the house. And even though I wasn't sure that was the best idea, I nodded and stood, holding out my arm for him to grab.

He looked at it uneasily as if he was wholly unconvinced it would do anything to hold up his weight. Which was likely true, considering that August had a lot of pounds and inches on me. But I liked to think I could hold my own.

"At least let me help you up," I said, and August sighed before grabbing my forearm and using it to help him stand, wobbling on one foot. I tried not to let my expression betray how unsteady I was with his weight threatening to topple me, and since August didn't immediately let go, I figured I must have been somewhat successful.

I stayed next to August, ready to help as we returned to the house. His expression was pulled tight, but he seemed to get more comfortable the more he walked–or rather, limped. It was almost like he needed to shake out his leg a little to get it to work again. I watched him carefully the whole way, looking for any signs of distress.

As we got close to the house, he chuckled, noticing. "I'm okay, Quinn."

I smiled–mostly because he used my first name.

"Straight to bed," I ordered, ignoring him. Because he was not okay.

"Only if you're coming with me," he said, his lips cocking to one side.

I raised a brow.

"And then come for me," he added.

"No." I shook my head. "I will come with you to bed, but you're going to lay down and not move like a good boy."

"My knee hurts, not my fingers or mouth," he argued with a quick roll of his eyes.

"Do you want me to come with you in the bedroom or not?"

"Fine," he huffed. "I'll be good."

And then, as he hobbled past me toward the bedroom while I stopped to get ice in the kitchen, he called back over his shoulder.

"For now."

My stomach clenched tightly in anticipation.

For now.

☀️

a/n:

okay so not the morning you might have been expecting but now we get some caretaking, which is one of my favorite things 🫶🫶

xoxo amelie