Igrip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, staring at the darkened windows of Pike's Perk as I sit in my idling truck. My lips still burn from her kiss. I can still taste her. Air rushes in and out of my lungs too fast, like I've just flat-out sprinted and somehow ended up right back here.
That wasn't just a kiss. That was Sadie Calloway letting me in, if only for a moment.
"Holy shit," I whisper to the empty cab.
I start driving, not really seeing the road. My mind keeps replaying the moment she leaned forward, the slight tremor in her fingers against my shirt, the soft gasp when our lips met. How she kissed me like she was drowning and I was air.
And then how quickly she pulled back, walls slamming into place.
This isn't some casual flirtation. This is a woman carrying something so heavy it's crushing her. Court papers. Someone dangerous. Someone she's running from.
The protectiveness that surges through me is almost painful in its intensity. I've never felt this way, this fierce, primal need to stand between someone and whatever's threatening them.
I pull into my driveway and cut the engine but don't get out. The dark truck cab feels safer somehow, a confessional space where I can admit what I'm feeling.
My phone glows on the seat beside me. I want to text her. I want to hear her voice, remind her she belongs safe, with me. I can still taste her on my lips, still feel the heat of her body pressed along mine. My cock is hard, insistent. I want her, need her, but I force myself to wait. She needs space, not my hunger.
"Don't push," I tell myself firmly. "Don't make this about you."
I always use humor to keep shit from getting real. Make everything safe, easy, never let anyone get close enough to see what I actually want. But with her, none of that works. With Sadie, all I want is to pull her in, make her mine, keep her locked down and safe where nobody can hurt her. Not this time. Not with her.
I stare at my darkened house. For the first time, I wonder if this is what it feels like to grow up, this certainty that someone else's well-being matters more than my own comfort.
Tomorrow, I'll start quietly looking into Oregon court procedures. Family law. Resources for women dealing with custody issues. I'll be prepared when she's ready to talk more. I'll have answers, not just comfort.
I finally exit the truck, the cool night air clearing my head. I won't tell the family about the kiss, about her fear. I won't turn her life into brewery gossip.
My phone buzzes just as I push open my front door. Sadie's name lights up the screen, and the air seems to thin around me, my stomach dropping hard.
Sadie: Rowan found the court papers in my car. Opened them. Custody hearing in Oregon. Three weeks from now. If I don't show up, I lose Poppy by default.
I freeze in my darkened entryway, reading the message twice. Three weeks. The urgency of it hits me like a physical blow. This isn't some vague future threat; it's happening now.
I type back carefully: Are you okay?
The dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Sadie: No. But at least I know what I'm facing now.
Me: Can I help?
Another long pause.
Sadie: I don't know. I need to call my lawyer tomorrow. Rowan says we need a plan.
Me: Whatever you need. I'm here.
Sadie: Thank you. For tonight. For everything.
I set my phone down, my mind racing. Sleep is out of the question now. I grab my laptop and settle onto the couch, pulling up search engines and legal sites. Oregon family court. Custody hearings. Default judgments.
Page after page of legal jargon fills my screen. I read everything I can find, taking notes, building an understanding of what she's facing. The more I learn, the colder I feel. Default judgments are serious. If she doesn't appear, the court will likely grant full custody to the father without considering her side.
She'd lose Poppy. The thought makes me physically ill.
As the sun creeps over the horizon, I finally close my laptop. My eyes burn from exhaustion, but my mind is clear and the one person I know I can trust with this just happens to be my lawyer sister.
The morning light filters through the brewery windows as I drag myself in, running on two hours of sleep and enough caffeine to kill a small animal. The digital clock on the wall reads 8:17 a.m. Three weeks. Twenty-one days until Sadie has to appear in court or lose her daughter.
