Once she’s in, I shut the door and circle around to my side. With my height advantage, it’s a quick step up into the Silverado. I slide into the driver’s seat and take a second before starting the truck—just long enough to steal a glance at Raelynn. She’s buckled in, hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the dashboard like she’s not sure where to rest them.
I turn the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles awake, deep and familiar, and the rock station I always keep on blasts straight into the cab—Slipknot’s “Duality” roaring through the speakers like it’s ready to shake the bolts loose. Raelynn jumpsin her seat, a startled gasp slipping out before she catches herself.
I can’t help chuckling as I reach over and turn the volume down to something that won’t rattle her bones.
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m still smiling. “Forgot I had it up that loud.”
She shakes her head, a small huff of a laugh escaping. “It’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Where am I heading?” I ask after a few seconds, glancing between the windshield and her.
She rattles it off, and I punch it into the GPS mounted on the dash. Her complex pops up a few miles away, tucked off a quieter stretch of road.
The system chirps out directions, and I shift into reverse, easing us out of the parking spot. Raelynn keeps her gaze trained out the passenger window, fingers brushing absently over her knee, like she’s replaying everything that happened tonight and trying not to let it show.
The drive to her apartment isn’t long, ten minutes, maybe less, with most of the city asleep by now. Streetlights smear orange across the pavement, and the buildings loom like silhouettes against the night sky. Aside from the occasional car cutting through an intersection, the roads are empty—just stretches of asphalt and the low hum of the engine beneath us.
Raelynn stares out the window, one leg tucked up under her, the other bouncing lightly in rhythm with the alt-rock playing on the radio. Every now and then, I catch her sneaking glances at me, her lip rolled into her mouth.
I grip the wheel a little tighter, jaw clenched as I try to focus on the road instead of the lingering heat in my veins, or the scent of her perfume still clinging to my shirt, or the ghost of her lips against mine.
I want her—more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
After an agonizingly long ten minutes, I finally pull into Catalina Crest, Raelynn’s apartment complex. Tucked just off a quieter stretch of Broadway Boulevard, the buildings are a warm, sandy beige with clean stucco and crisp white trim. The landscaping is neat and desert-friendly, featuring smooth gravel paths, well-placed mesquite trees, and a few flowering bushes that add a pop of color under the soft glow of the walkway lights. Everything looks maintained, cared for. Even the parking lot is freshly striped and free of trash, which is saying something for this part of town.
I follow her directions once the GPS leads me into the complex, rolling past the first row of buildings until the lot opens up toward the back. At her cue, I slow near the fire hydrant she mentioned and turn left, the headlights sweeping over parked cars and trimmed shrubs.
Her building is set back a bit, providing it with some extra privacy. It’s a two-story structure with dark, sturdy metal railings and evenly spaced porch lights casting a warm amber hue across the balconies. It feels… quiet, but in a good way. Peaceful. Safe.
I roll past a row of clean sedans and newer-model SUVs, finally pulling into an empty space beneath a palo verde tree that sways gently in the night breeze. In the center of the complex, I catch a glimpse of the pool—clear water lit from the automatic pool lights, shimmering in the dark like a glass mirror. The gate is shut, the pool deck tidy, the loungers neatly arranged along the fence line. Someone clearly takes pride in keeping this place together.
It’s the kind of complex people stay in longer than they planned, because it feels like home. And I don’t hate that for her.
I kill the engine and lean back in my seat, exhaling slowly as I glance toward Raelynn out of the corner of my eye. She hasn’t moved. Her body is angled slightly toward the door, but herhands fidget with the straps of her bag, twisting them between her fingers like she’s trying to keep them busy.
I turn slightly in my seat, voice low. “You okay?”
She finally lets go of the strap and meets my gaze. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip (something she’s been doing all night), and she gives a small nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”
But I can hear the hesitation in her voice. I know there’s a “but” in there, but she doesn’t say, and I don’t push.
After a few moments of silent eye contact, she breaks free and finally props open her door. I don’t waste a second, and I’m out of the truck and at her side before she even has her bag on.
I hold my hand out to Raelynn in offering, and she takes it. I help her out of the truck, and she gives me a grateful smile. She probably knew that if she jumped out of the cabin while wearing these damned heels, she would end up twisting an ankle and eating the only patch of grass stubborn enough to grow through a sidewalk crack. Weeds and grass are resilient as fuck. They can grow out of everything, but god forbid you plant a flower or vegetable in the wrong type of fucking soil.
I let go of her hand once she’s steady and close the door behind her, the heavythunkof it echoing a little too loud in the quiet of the complex. She turns toward me, the words “thank you” forming on her lips, but I cut her off by gently retaking her hand.
“You can say it at the door.”
She smirks, mouth closing, and we start walking toward her building. I’d parked as close as I could get, but we still have a bit of a walk down the path. Her heels click softly on the concrete with every step, the only sound in the stillness of the night.
After a few minutes, we are at her door, and I take in the area. A stack of plastic pumpkins is tucked in the corner, and fake spider webs hang from the stairs that create this little corner of privacy. Releasing my hand, she shoves it into her bag and fishesout her house key. It is attached to a Ghostface lanyard, and I can’t help but snort in amusement, which, to my surprise, she doesn’t notice. She is definitely obsessed with the character (or at least the mask). Fisting the key, she jams it into the deadbolt, wiggling it until it finally clicks. The second the door cracks open, barking explodes from inside.
Before I can react, a black labrador barrels toward us like a furry missile.
“Hi, bud!” Raelynn laughs as the dog launches himself at her, his whole body wiggling like he might fall apart from excitement. She crouches and smooshes his face between her hands, pressing kiss after kiss to his snout. “I missed you, too. Yes, I did. Yes, I did,” she says in a baby voice.
I chuckle softly, and she looks up at me before releasing the dog’s face. The dog immediately turns his focus to me, his nose sniffing away to ensure I wasn’t a threat to his mother. Once he determines I’m not one, the dog jumps up, catching me off guard and nearly knocking me onto my ass as his wet tongue drags across my cheek.
