She snuggles closer, her head finding that perfect spot on my shoulder like it was made to fit there. “I should probably give notice at my apartment. And figure out what to do with my furniture.”
“We can store anything you want to keep,” I offer. “Or sell it, donate it. Whatever you want.”
“I don’t need much,” she says thoughtfully. “Most of it was just temporary stuff anyway. Things to fill the space until I found something that I really liked. A lot of it was from thrift stores, and I paid next to nothing for it.”
The simplicity of her statement hits me hard. That’s exactly what this cabin was for me too—a temporary sanctuary, a place to heal and hide until I figured out what came next. Neither of us realized that what came next would be each other.
“We can take our time,” I tell her, running my hand up and down her spine. “No rush. You can bring over whatever makes this feel like home to you.”
She lifts her head, looking around the cabin with new eyes. “It already feels like home,” she says softly. “Because you’re here.”
Something fierce and protective swells in my chest. Whatever happens with Noah and Morrison, whatever trouble comes our way, I will keep this woman safe. I will protect what we’ve built together—this fragile, beautiful thing that somehow sprouted in the ruins of both our pasts.
“I was thinking,” I say, threading my fingers through hers. “Maybe we could fix up the back porch a bit more. Add some string lights, maybe a swing for the summer.”
Her whole face lights up at the suggestion. “I’d love that.”
“And maybe we could plant some flowers come spring,” I continue, warming to the idea of building a future with her, project by project. “Or even a small vegetable garden, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”
“I’ve always wanted to grow tomatoes,” she admits, a shy smile playing at her lips. “And maybe some herbs for cooking.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I promise her. “This place is ours now, Atlee. We can make it whatever we want it to be.”
She kisses me then, soft and sweet, full of promise. “Our home,” she whispers against my lips. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me too,” I whisper back, holding her close, this woman who’s somehow become my future, my heart, my everything.
Outside, the world keeps turning. Noah and Morrison are still out there, still plotting. Our troubles aren’t over. But in this moment, with Atlee in my arms and plans for our future taking shape between us, none of that seems to matter quite as much.
We’ve found something worth fighting for. I’ll be damned if anyone rips it from me.
NINETEEN
ATLEE
I’ve spentmost of the day watching Devlin build the shelving units for me. There’s something about watching the man you love use his hands to make a piece of furniture for you. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve seen. Lying on the couch, I watch him, and since we have all this time together, I decide to ask a few questions.
“What happened to you and Noah Sanchez’s girlfriend? Did you really steal her away from him in high school?”
He gives me a smirk, his eyebrows raising as he bends over and makes a cut on one of his pieces of wood. “Yeah, I did, but there’s more to it than that. He was a dickhead to her, and both of us were on the football team. He was the quarterback, and I was the tight end. I saw what he was doing to her.”
“And what was that?” I ask, putting my chin in my palm, giving him my full attention.
His face goes hard, and I wonder if this is what it looked like when he was performing a mission in the military. “He was a bully, even back then. One night, I was out with some friends, and when I was driving home, I saw her walking on the side of the road.”
“Why was she walking?” I ask, my stomach clenching because I have a feeling I know why, but it’s horrible, so I don’t want to give voice to it.
Devlin sets down his tools, wiping sawdust from his hands onto his jeans. The playful mood from earlier has evaporated, replaced by one that’s decidedly heavier and darker.
“Her name was Jessalyn,” he says, leaning against the workbench he’s created in the middle of our living room. “She was walking because Noah had kicked her out of his truck after some party. It was about two miles outside of town, pitch black, middle of nowhere.”
My heart sinks. “That’s awful.”
“That’s not even the worst part,” Devlin continues, his voice tight with controlled anger. “When I pulled over to see if she needed help, I could see she’d been hit. Hard. Across the face. Her cheek was swollen, her lip split. Her shirt was ripped too.”
I sit up straighter on the couch, my hands curling into fists without me even realizing it. “Noah did that to her?”
Devlin nods, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. Apparently, they’d been arguing about something—she never did tell me exactly what—and he just…snapped. Hit her, ripped her shirt trying to grab her when she tried to get away, then dumped her on the side of the road when she wouldn’t stop crying. Keep in mind this is him as a teenager, not the adult cop he is now with more power.”
