“Hang on,” he says.
He disappears down the hall and comes back a moment later with a small stack of clothes folded over his arm. He holds them out to me.
“A long sleeve shirt, sweats, and socks,” he says. “They’ll be big on you, but they’re clean.”
The fabric looks impossibly soft. Warm. Mine for the night.
Emotion swells in my chest, tight and unexpected. No one has taken care of me like this in… I don’t even know how long.
“Thank you,” I whisper again, and this time the words feel heavier. Fuller.
He nods like it’s nothing. Like handing me clothes and a safe place to sleep is the most natural thing in the world.
“I’ll be in the living room,” he says. “Take your time.”
The bathroom fills with steam as the shower heats. I peel off my clothes and step under the spray, and the hot water nearly buckles my knees. It pours over me in a steady sheet, washing away the day. The fear. The cold. Alex’s voice echoing in my head.
I scrub my skin until it’s pink, until I feel like I’m shedding a layer of something dark and sticky. I let the water run over my face and breathe in the clean, soapy air.
When I finally step out, my limbs feel heavy and loose. I pull on Calder’s clothes. The shirt hangs past my hips. The sweats bunch at my ankles. The socks swallow my feet whole.
I’ve never worn anything that feels this safe.
The guest room is dim and quiet when I slip back inside. The storm is a distant roar beyond the walls. The bed waits, piled high with blankets.
I crawl under them and sink into the mattress. The sheets are cool and clean against my skin. I pull the blankets up to my chin and stare at the ceiling for a second, my mind trying to catch up with everything that’s happened.
This morning I was running from my stepbrother in a diner parking lot.
Now I’m in a mountain house behind locked gates, wrapped in borrowed clothes that smell faintly like cedar and smoke, with a big dog snoring somewhere down the hall and a man who barely knows me making sure I’m warm and fed.
I should be terrified.
Instead, a deep, steady calm settles over me.
Safe.
The word drifts through my mind as my eyes slide closed. My body melts into the bed, every muscle finally releasing its grip.
Sleep takes me fast and gentle, and I fall into it without fighting, wrapped in warmth and the unfamiliar, precious feeling of being protected.
I’m standing in Calder’s living room again, the storm pressing white and silent against the windows. The air is thick and warm, heavy with the scent of smoke and cedar. He’s sitting in the armchair near the fire, legs spread, forearms resting on his thighs, watching me like he’s been waiting.
The look in his eyes makes my breath hitch.
It isn’t soft. It’s focused. Intent. Like he sees straight through me to the part that’s been shaking all day and knows exactly how to steady it.
“Come here,” he says.
It isn’t loud. It isn’t harsh. But it isn’t a request either.
My body moves before my mind catches up. I cross the space between us on bare feet, the floor warm under my skin. His gaze tracks every step. When I stop in front of him, he reachesout and grips my hips, guiding me closer until I’m standing between his knees.
The size of him surrounds me. Grounds me. His hands are big and warm where they rest on my waist, thumbs pressing lightly like he’s checking that I’m real.
“You’ve been running all day,” he murmurs. “Haven’t you?”
The way he says it isn’t accusing. It’s knowing. I nod, my throat tight.
