My thumb skims her cheek. “Sadie…”
Her eyes flicker, then settle on mine with something raw and certain. “I’m yours, Wyatt. Forever,” she whispers. “If you want me.”
I exhale hard. “I want you more than anything,” I say roughly. “But only if you choose it.”
Her breath shudders. “I already chose,” she says. “I’m choosing you.”
She melts into me, warm and real and alive.
And for the first time since that shot rang out, my heartbeat finally slows.
Because she’s here. And she’s safe.
For now.
But whoever took that shot?
They’re already dead.
They just don’t know it yet.
Chapter 16
Sadie
One Month Later
I can almost forget what it felt like to be hunted.
Not because the fear is gone, but because something steadier has taken its place.
Safety. Slowly earned. Carefully built.
My arm still aches if I move wrong, but it’s healing. So am I.
Maisie’s limp has faded, though she still insists on sleeping close enough to touch.
And Wyatt? He never lets his guard down. Not completely.
He checks the locks every night. Walks the perimeter twice a day. Keeps his truck gassed up, his rifle within reach.
Most days, he heads out for a few hours to help Tank and Tex with fence checks, drone flyovers, general “keeping Havenridge secure” things. It’s part habit, part duty, and part quiet vigilance he never quite sets down.
He left again this morning, kissing my temple, tugging gently on a lock of my hair, and giving me his standard instructions:“Doors stay locked. Phone on you. Call me if you need me. For anything.”
The phone is loaded with a simple home screen and a handful of pre-programmed numbers besides his:Shay. Marlie. Tank. Tex. Vet.
I’m getting used to life here. Getting used to the weight of his absence meaning work, not danger. To the sound of his truck rumbling away meaning he’ll come back, not vanish into silence.
There’s an ease to our time together now. Laughter. Mornings that smell like sleep-warmed skin and freedom. Evenings where we fall asleep tangled together while the world remains quiet around us.
He makes me feel wanted without asking for anything I’m not ready to give. Loved, even though neither of us has said it yet. I’ve wanted to every time he sends me over the edge with his hands and mouth. Every time he makes my tea just the way I like it. Every time he catches me watching him with that look that says he sees everything and still chooses me anyway.
Maisie sighs from the rug by the stove, her nose tucked beneath one paw.
Across the room, our Christmas tree glows faintly in the morning light. Wyatt cut down one of the smaller pines outside the cabin with what he claimed was “surgical precision,” then dragged it in like it was a battleground trophy. We decorated it together with tinsel and twinkle lights while holiday songs played in the background.
I’ve had too many years where the joy of Christmas felt like something other people got to experience. But this year, it’s different. Not shiny or loud, but warm and real.
