I laid my hand over hers. “Hey. We’ll figure this thing out, okay? I won’t be your patient forever. Hope not, anyway.” I winked. She laughed. “One day at a time, okay?”
“One day at a time,” she repeated and nodded, giving me that smile again. A moment passed as she stared at me, then seemed to decide something. “Want to come with me?”
“To work?”
“No. To the thing I have to do before work.”
“Yes,” I said instantly, and it was that moment I realized I’d do anything, whatever, whenever, Rose asked of me.
“Good.” She pushed off the couch. “We’ll leave in thirty minutes.”
“Who takes thirty minutes to get ready?”
She stopped on a dime and spun on her heel—a more dramatic reaction than when I suggested a tattoo. “I do. Longer, even. And I always will. Understood?”
Grinning, I said, “Okay. Noted. Glad we got that established.” I pushed out of the chair and pulled her to me, kissed that nose. “Where are we going?”
“Breakfast.”
As if the morning couldn’t get any better. Wait… yes it could. I followed her into the bathroom.
“Guess I need a shower too, then.”
An hour later, we pulled onto a long driveway that cut between two misty pastures, drenched in early morning rain. Even through the haze, I recognized the place. The same ranch house I’d tracked her to a few nights ago. The house I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since.
June Massey.
I glanced at Rose. Her smile had bloomed—bright, real, the kind of smile I’d do damn near anything to see again.
“I hope you brought your appetite,” she said. “Park under the oak tree.”
I eased the SUV under the wide-branched tree, rain ticking against the windshield. We'd taken her vehicle, but I’d insisted on driving. She hadn’t argued. That quiet surrender—her letting me take the wheel—meant more than I’d admit out loud. It meant trust. And that meant everything.
She was out of the car before I could kill the engine, bounding up the steps like a kid on Christmas morning. My chest tightened watching her fall into the arms of a womanwearing khakis, a pale blue sweater, and a pair of trail-worn boots. This was the woman who'd saved Rose—nursed her out of hell and built her into the warrior she was now. And judging by the steel behind her eyes, June Massey was still every bit the force of nature she must’ve been back then.
Even with her arms around Rose, her eyes locked onto me. Sharp. Calculating. Protective. Like a wolf clocking a threat from fifty yards.
They whispered something to each other—Rose's hand briefly squeezed June’s arm—and then, together, they turned to face me.
I stepped out of the SUV into the light drizzle, but for a second, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t used to feeling... nervous. I’d spent my life walking into rooms that smelled like blood and betrayal, facing enemies without flinching. But this—this was different.
June wasn’t just anyone. She was Rose’s lifeline. An anchor. And now I stood there—bed-headed, slightly bruised, deeply in love, and very aware that she likely knew exactly who I was... and what I'd done the night before.
For the first time in a long time, I shoved my hands into my pockets. I didn’t know what the hell I was walking into.
But for Rose, I’d walk into anything.
“June, meet Phoenix Steele.”
June’s head tilted as she reached out her hand. “Phoenix.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Massey.” I sounded like a high school kid meeting his date’s parents.
“We’ll see about that,” June responded cooly.
Make thatvery protectiveparents.
The women turned and walked into the house. My cue to follow, I guess.
