I’ll see you soon.
The memory snapped sharp and sudden—the parking lot lights, the sound of Riley’s breath hitching, the way my body had moved before my mind caught up. The certainty in his eyes. The promise.
He was in a cell tonight. That didn’t mean much.
Men like him treated restraining orders like suggestions. Arrests like inconveniences. Bars and bail and paperwork were delays, not endings. He’d get out. He’d circle back. He always would.
My arm tightened around Riley without waking her. She murmured something soft and unintelligible, her forehead pressing closer to my chest, trusting without knowing why.
I stayed still until her breathing smoothed again.
Whatever it took, I’d keep them safe.
Whatever it costs.
CHAPTER 15
Riley
I had never beenthis happy. It terrified me.
I woke in Liam's bed. Our bed now. The thought still caught me off guard sometimes—the possessive pronoun, the way it implied permanence.Ours.Like this was something that belonged to both of us. Like I had a right to be here.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gold, painting stripes across the quilt his grandmother had made. I didn't move. Didn't want to break the spell of this quiet moment before the day demanded anything from us.
Instead, I watched him sleep.
His face had softened in a way it never quite did when he was awake. The easy smile he wore like armor, the constant awareness, the habit of looking out for everyone else—sleep stripped all of it away.
His sandy hair was a mess against the pillow, darker at the roots. Stubble roughened his jaw, catching the light. Familiar details. Earned ones.
The kind of body that came from work, not effort. Broad shoulders, lean lines, built for lifting, fixing, staying on his feet longer than most people could.
I didn’t thinkcowboy.
I just knew my chest tightened when I looked at him—and I didn’t look away.
There was something about him that made me want to protect him.
The thought didn’t make sense. He was the one who’d been stepping in front of things. Who’d been taking the hits.
Still, lying there, watching him sleep, I felt it. The urge settled low and steady, unfamiliar. The instinct to stand between him and whatever might reach for him next.
I’d always been the one on watch. The one who stayed awake. The one who made herself useful by being necessary.
I didn’t know what to do with wanting both—holding the line and leaning into someone else’s strength at the same time.
Part of me kept waiting for this to fracture. For the moment something would slip, break, prove that this was temporary. I’d learned to expect that.
But each morning I woke up here, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm at the back of my neck, it felt harder to doubt.
Solid.
Staying.
Mine—not claimed, not taken.
Just… there.
