“Yes, ma’am,” Corbyn replied, a touch of amusement softening his features, and he took the laptop box and Sadie’s coat from Fergus.
Outside, Corbyn’s Range Rover waited at the curb. He helped Sadie into the passenger seat, ensuring she was settled before walking around to the driver’s side. The leather interior still held warmth from the heater, and Sadie sank into it gratefully.
As he pulled away from the curb, she noticed Corbyn hesitate for a moment, then reach across the center console with his left hand. He found hers in the darkness, and he allowed their fingers to intertwine.
The significance wasn’t lost on Sadie. It was the hand he usually kept hidden. It was a physical manifestation of all his vulnerabilities. Yet now, he reached for her with it without hesitation. His grip was different—more cautious, more measured—but the level of trust the action took was profound.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking over at his profile as he drove, taking in the strong angles of his face. “For coming tonight. For everything.”
Corbyn glanced at her briefly, his blue eyes serious in the dim light from the dashboard, and gave a slight nod as his hold on her hand tightened. That simple action had her eyes welling again. Eventually, she knew she’d have to deal with all the emotions that had built up tonight, but the thought wasn’t as terrifying as it once would have been. Mostly because she was no longer navigating this alone.
The weight of Corbyn’s hand in hers, the steady presence of him beside her—it all combined to create a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in years. The crisis had burned away any remaining pretense or hesitation, and there was no going back. They had moved beyond tentative attraction into something deeper—something that felt like a homecoming.
“Sadie?” Corbyn’s voice was soft in the darkness.
“Mm?”
“You’re safe now. You know that, right? Not just tonight, but…” He paused, seeming to search for words. “I won’t let him near you again. None of us will.”
The simple declaration made it hard to speak. She’d felt alone for so long, even when she was with Nate. Alone in her fear, alone in her shame, alone in the careful lies she told to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Even when Jess had offered her help, it hadn’t felt like this. Tonight, a community had rallied around her without question, the people she had come to care for showing up when she needed them the most.
“I know,” she whispered, and realized that she meant it.
March 4, 2025
-Corbyn-
Corbyn couldn’t sit still. He paced the length of the kitchen, glancing at his watch again and again. Nearly an hour had passed since the inn incident, and the panic he’d stifled for Sadie’s sake threatened to boil over. His left hand trembled in his pocket, every tick of the clock tightening something in his chest.
At the kitchen table, Edie sat beside Sadie, gently coaxing her to drink the tea she’d prepared. Sadie held the mug in one hand, occasionally drinking when told, but she mostly stared down at the steaming liquid. Her face was pale, features drawn with tension, and she’d barely spoken since they’d arrived at the manor. She was in shock, and he hated feeling helpless.
“Steady now, love,” Edie murmured, her voice carrying the same tone she’d used when Corbyn and Ellie were children with scraped knees. “Sugar helps with the adrenaline crash, dear. My gran always swore by it.”
Sadie managed a slight nod, taking another sip. Her eyes remained distant and unfocused, sending another wave of worry through Corbyn’s mind.
“You’re making me nervous with all that pacing, lad,” Edie said, casting him a concerned look. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and fetch some biscuits from the pantry? They’re on the second shelf.”
Grateful for an excuse to do something, Corbyn nodded and slipped to the pantry. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the tin. Riley padded over and pressed against Corbyn’s legs, warm fur a comforting anchor.
“Good boy,” Corbyn murmured, running his hand through the dog’s wiry coat. The familiar gesture helped steady him, though his mind kept replaying the scene at the inn, and Sadie’s terrified face as she looked up at him.
He returned with the tin, setting it on the table while trying to keep his hand from causing it to rattle. The sight of Sadie there, looking hollow, arm still in a makeshift sling, and her sleeve cut away to reveal a stark white bandage, sent his chest into a fresh spasm of guilt and protectiveness.
“There we are, love,” Edie said softly, opening the tin and handing a biscuit to Sadie. “Try to eat something.”
“Thank you,” Sadie said quietly, taking the biscuit but not biting into it.
Edie patted her shoulder, soothing, “Nothing to thank me for. We look after our own here.”
The words sent a fierce, unfamiliar rush of heat through Corbyn’s chest. Our own. When was the exact moment Sadie became that? When had she stopped being merely his editor and become someone this household would protect? Someone they considered part of their little family?
Car headlights swept across the kitchen window, and Riley’s ears perked up. Corbyn felt his shoulders drop, and he took a deep breath for the first time since Maggie’s phone call.
“That’ll be Ellie now,” Edie said, rising from her chair. “She’ll set you right, don’t you worry.”
The door opened to reveal Ellie, with her dark hair in a ponytail and a medical bag slung over her shoulder. She was wearing jeans and a thick jumper beneath her winter coat, the lack of scrubs suggesting she had not been at work. She took in the scene, eyes sweeping quickly around the room.
“Evening, all,” she said, shrugging out of her coat and draping it over a chair. She gave Corbyn’s arm a quick squeeze as she passed. “How are we holding up, Corbie?”
