“I thought—“ He hesitated. “I thought I was doing the right thing. That you and Sophia would be safer without me and my baggage. My enemies. My complicated life.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
“You’re right.” He didn’t flinch from my anger. “I’ve spent my whole adult life making split-second decisions that determine who lives and who dies. I’m good at it. But with you...” He shook his head. “I made the wrong call.”
The wood in the stove popped, sending a shower of sparks against the iron grate. In that brief flare of light, I could see the raw honesty in his eyes, the way his guard had dropped completely.
I’d spent months imagining this confrontation—all the bitter words I would hurl at him, all the hurt I would lay at his feet. But faced with his vulnerability, my anger felt hollow and insufficient.
My thoughts drifted to the motel room, to what had happened between us before the window shattered, how my anger had turned to need in seconds. We hadn’t talked about it. There hadn’t been time with Carol shooting at us, with Sophia in danger, with the whole town turned into puppets. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Couldn’t stop thinking about him. About us.
Was there an us? Could there be, in the middle of all this?
For so long, my life had been shaped by fear. Fear of Langston’s anger. Fear of the cult leader’s control. Fear of being found. Fear of trusting the wrong person. I’d spent years running, hiding, surviving. But never really living.
And now, watching Trent pace this small cabin, his need to protect us written in every line of his body, I realized I was tired of fear dictating my choices.
“What happened at the motel...”
“We don’t need to talk about that.” His voice was flat, controlled. “It was anger and adrenaline. Stress reaction.”
I let out a small laugh. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”
“It’s the truth.” He shifted away, creating space between us. “We were both on edge. Not thinking clearly.”
“I was thinking very clearly,” I said quietly. “For the first time in months.”
That got his attention. He turned to face me fully, his expression guarded. “Evelyn...”
“Don’t.” I placed my palm against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my fingers. “Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything. Don’t tell me it was just stress or fear or whatever excuse you’ve come up with.”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move away. “Emotions compromise judgment. We can’t afford distractions. Not with Sophia’s life at stake. Not with Langston out there.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” My hand remained on his chest, feeling each breath he took. “You’re not afraid of distractions. You’re afraid of this.” I pressed my palm harder against him. “Of caring. Of letting someone in.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I took a step closer. “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I lived with a man who saw me as property. I survived a cult that tried to erase my identity. I know all about walls people build, Trent.” I moved my hand from his chest to his face, fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve built plenty myself.”
“Evelyn.” My name was half warning, half plea.
I didn’t let him finish whatever excuse he was about to make. Instead, I rose on my toes and pressed my mouth to his. Not gently, not hesitantly, but with all the certainty I felt, all the need I’d been suppressing for months. I poured everything into that kiss: my fear, my hope, my anger at his absence, my relief at his return. Everything.
For one heartbeat, Trent remained frozen against me, his body rigid with shock or resistance. I started to pull away, embarrassment flooding through me. Then his hand caught the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and he was kissing me back with an intensity that stole my breath. His mouth was hot and demanding on mine, the careful control he’d maintained all day shattering in an instant as he pulled me against him.
“Evelyn,” he groaned again against my mouth.
I pressed closer, feeling the solid wall of his chest against mine, the thundering of his heartbeat matching my own frantic pulse. His right arm circled my waist, lifting me slightly, aligning our bodies in a way that sent heat flaring through me. His left arm remained carefully at his side, the injured shoulder still limiting his movement.
“Bedroom,” I whispered, glancing toward the cabin’s small second room.
He nodded, eyes dark with need as he backed toward the narrow hallway, pulling me with him, unwilling to break contact. We stumbled together through the doorway, closing it quietly behind us. The room was small, little more than a glorified closet with a twin bed pushed against one wall, but it felt safe, hidden, ours.
CHAPTER 12
EVELYN
