Me:She’s shaken. But holding it together.
Me:I’m not okay until whoever did this is gone.
Three dots. Then:
Tex:We’ll find the fucker. Sadie is one of ours now.
Something inside me eases a fraction.
Yeah. She is.
And she’s not running anymore.
I tuck the phone away and look back toward the couch.
Sadie is curled under the quilt, hair mussed, face pale. But her eyes track me the moment she senses movement, as if I’m the only solid thing in the room.
And hell… maybe I am.
After the adrenaline fades and we’ve eaten a little, I make another sweep of the perimeter, scanning every tree line and ridge break for anything out of place.
When I return, Sadie is still curled on the couch, Maisie pressed tight against her side, the firelight flickering over her skin. She’s dozing lightly, but her hand is curled protectively around the dog’s paw.
My throat tightens.
Christ, this woman. I didn’t stand a chance. Not against this kind of quiet strength.
I sit down beside her, careful with her injured arm.
She stirs, blinking up at me. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”
“You needed it.”
She nods slowly, pushing herself upright. “Wyatt…”
“I know.”
I already know what she’s going to say—fear trying to take the wheel again.
Her eyes fill, and she blinks fast.
I open my arms.
She doesn’t hesitate.
I help her climb onto my lap, one hand firm at her back, the other sliding up to cradle the base of her skull.
She shifts closer, tucking her face into my neck. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to be,” I murmur. “Not with me.”
She lifts her head, searching my face like she’s trying to decide whether she’s allowed to want this much.
Then she kisses me. Soft. Gentle.
I pull her closer, careful of her arm, angling her against me so she’s fully supported.
She breathes into my mouth, a small, wrecked sound that goes straight to my spine.
