CHAPTER SEVEN
SADIE
Three days after Derek's arrest, I wake up alone in Wolfe's bed.
This isn't unusual. Wolfe rises before dawn every morning, some internal military clock that refuses to let him sleep past five. Usually I find him in the kitchen making coffee, or by the fire reading one of those thrillers he pretends aren't romance novels, or outside checking his mysterious perimeter things.
But today the cabin is silent. No coffee smell. No fire crackling. No Wolfe.
I pull on his flannel shirt and pad into the main room. Empty. Kitchen, empty. I check the window and see fresh tracks in the snow leading toward the tree line.
He left without telling me.
I tell myself it's fine. He's a grown man with a job and responsibilities. He doesn't need to report his every movement to me. We've been sleeping together for three days, not three years. I don't own him.
But something cold settles in my stomach anyway.
I make my own coffee for the first time since I arrived. It's not as good as his. I burn the toast I attempt. I sit on thecouch wrapped in his quilt, surrounded by his things, and feel suddenly, acutely out of place.
What am I doing here?
The question has been lurking at the edges of my mind since Derek was hauled away in handcuffs. While the threat was active, everything felt urgent and necessary. Staying at the cabin made sense. Being with Wolfe made sense. The intensity of our connection made sense because we were in crisis mode, clinging to each other in the face of danger.
But the danger is gone now. Derek is in custody awaiting trial. Sheriff Parker called yesterday to confirm the federal charges were filed. My stalker is behind bars, probably for years.
So why am I still here?
I pull out my phone. Signal is still garbage, but I've been using Wolfe's satellite setup to check my accounts. My followers have been going crazy. Three days of radio silence, then a vague post about "unexpected adventures" and "finding safety in unexpected places." The comments are full of concern, curiosity, and speculation.
SadieInTheWild, are you okay???
Girl WHERE are you, we've been worried sick
Is this about Derek? I saw his arrest report online. Holy shit.
Please tell us you're safe, we love you
The Derek news has spread, apparently. I scroll through more comments, more messages, more demands for information. My inbox is overflowing. My manager has left six voicemails. Two brand partners are asking about delayed content. The life I put on pause when I drove to Nevada is still out there, waiting for me to come back.
Can I come back? Do I even want to?
I think about San Diego. My apartment with the ocean view. My hiking trails and coffee shops and carefully curated routines.The life I built after leaving Derek, the independence I fought so hard to reclaim.
Then I think about this cabin. The quiet. The snow. The man who speaks in single sentences and looks at me like I hung the moon.
Two completely different worlds. I don't know how to exist in both.
The door opens and Wolfe comes in, stomping snow off his boots, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He's carrying something, a bundle of fabric or maybe fur, and his expression is the usual unreadable mask.
"You're up." He sets the bundle on the table. "I caught breakfast."
I stare at the bundle. It's a rabbit. A dead rabbit, freshly killed, snow still clinging to its fur.
"You caught breakfast," I repeat.
"Snares." He shrugs off his coat. "Protein's been low. Figured fresh meat would help."
He says this so casually. Like catching and killing wild animals is just a normal Tuesday morning activity. Like everyone wakes up before dawn to check their trap lines and bring home dead rabbits for their girlfriend to admire.
