Late afternoon, she curls up on the couch with a legal pad, sketching timelines, muttering to herself. I sit at the table, pretending to read emails, but I’m watching her. The way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking. The way she tucks a curl behind her ear. The way she looks peaceful, focused, alive.
I’m happier than I’ve been in years and more terrified. I know the threat is still out there.
Ramsey hasn’t been quiet. His people have been sniffing around. Gray’s intel says they’re getting desperate. The closer Megan gets to publishing, the more reckless they’ll become.
I feel it in my bones.
Tonight we’re on the porch swing again.
She’s curled against my side, legs over my lap, head on my shoulder. The stars are sharp overhead. The night is cool. She’swrapped in a blanket and nothing else. My arm is around her, hand resting on her thigh, thumb stroking slow circles on her skin.
We don’t speak for a long time.
Then she whispers, “I’m almost done.”
I tighten my arm around her. “Good.”
She tilts her head back, looks up at me. “You’re scared.”
I don’t lie. “Yeah.”
She reaches up, touches my jaw. “We’ll be okay.”
I catch her hand, kiss her palm. “I know.”
But I don’t, not really.
She shifts, straddles my lap, and faces me. The swing creaks under us. Her hands frame my face.
“I love you,” she says, simple, sure.
My chest cracks open.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
She kisses me like she’s giving me everything she is.
We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, under the stars, pretending the world outside these gates doesn’t exist.
I hold her tighter. For the first time in my life, I have something worth losing, and I’ll burn the whole damn world down before I let it take her.
Chapter ten
Megan
The cabin feels too quiet without Aaron, the kind of silence that presses in on all sides, heavy and thick like a blanket soaked in water. The air smells of the pine logs crackling in the fireplace, the faint tang of gun oil from the weapons he cleaned earlier, and the lingering warmth of him on the flannel I’m wearing.
He left twenty minutes ago for a perimeter check, just routine, he said. Just making sure the east fence line is still secure after that strange motion-sensor ping Mae flagged this morning. The memory of his kiss before he went lingers. His hand cupped the back of my neck, calloused fingers threading through my hair, forehead pressed to mine as his lips moved against mine, tasting of coffee and him.
“Lock the door,” he murmured, breath warm on my skin. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”
I smiled, teasing to hide the knot of worry in my stomach. “Not even if it’s Symon with more of those cinnamon rolls? They’re warm and gooey, you know.”
His eyes darkened, thumb stroking my cheek. “Especially not Symon.”
I laughed, but it was forced. He kissed me again, harder this time, like he was memorizing the feel of me, then stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed in my chest.
Now I’m alone.
