He woke slowly, that snore cutting off mid-rumble, his body tensing until he realized where he was, that I was safe.
"Hi," I said, smiling.
"Hi. Did I fall asleep?"
"Out cold. Snoring like a chainsaw."
"I don't snore."
"You absolutely snore. It's my favorite sound in the world. Means you're relaxed. Means we're safe."
He studied my face. "You're really okay?"
I brushed his hair off his forehead. “I will be. We both will be.” And I believed it with every piece of me.
The doctor arrived then, all business and kindness. After a thorough examination, she agreed to discharge me with strict instructions for follow-up care.
Liam helped me change into the soft clothes Louisa had brought—his flannel shirt that smelled like home, sweatpants that didn't bind, fuzzy socks that didn't match.
Before I could even take a step, he was already lifting me, cradling me against his chest.
“I can walk, Lee,” I chuckled.
"I know, but I can't stand to be even one step away from you. Not yet."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, understanding. This wasn't about my weakness—I wasn't weak. This was about his need to hold me, to feel me breathing, to know with his whole body that I was alive and safe.
He carried me through the hospital like I weighed nothing, past nurses who smiled knowingly, past other patients who looked away politely. Out into sunshine that felt like benediction.
"We're going home," I said, not a question.
"We're going home," he confirmed, settling me into his truck like precious cargo. "Where you belong. Where we both belong."
As we drove toward the ranch, toward our life, I knew things would be different now. The innocence was gone. But in its place was something stronger—the knowledge that we could survive anything. That love wasn't just about the easy times but about showing up for the impossible ones.
That sometimes being saved wasn't about being weak.
Sometimes it was about being strong enough to hold on until help arrived.
And sometimes it was about being loved enough that someone would burn down the world to find you.
Chapter 21
Stephanie
Three days had passed since the hospital. Three days of existing in a bubble where nothing mattered except being alive, being together, being safe.
The ranch had become our cocoon. Liam hadn't let me out of his sight for more than minutes at a time—he'd watch me sleep, his fingers tracing the fading bruises on my wrists like he could erase them with touch alone. Sometimes I'd wake to find him propped on one elbow, just staring at me in the moonlight, his hand resting on my ribs as if confirming with each breath that I was real, alive, there.
We'd whispered "I love you" a hundred times—in the morning over coffee when he'd pull me into his lap at the kitchen table, in the afternoon while feeding Poet, her golden coat gleaming in the sun as she nickered for treats, at night when his body curved around mine like armor against the world. The words had become a litany, a prayer, a promise repeated until they wore grooves in our hearts.
"You sure you're okay?" had become his refrain, asked while he brushed my hair with infinite gentleness, while he watched me write in my notebook at the kitchen table, while I laughed at something someone said at dinner. He'd search my face each time, looking for cracks, for damage he might have missed.
"I'm okay," I'd answer every time, and meant it.
Because I was. The kidnapping hadn't broken me—it had crystallized something I'd been discovering for months. All those weeks before, healing at the ranch, finding my voice again, remembering who I was beneath the manufactured pop star—they'd made me strong enough to survive Marcus. Strong enough to know with bone-deep certainty that Liam would come. Strong enough to hold on until he did.
The clarity was almost startling. For the first time in a decade, I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted.
