“Pick a plot. I’ll bring a shovel. I’m sure we can find a place next to the last squealing pig we dealt with.” Kade’s retort forces my brows to furrow, but I haven’t got it in me to question what it means because everything beyond the press of Rhett’s arms and the sound of his breathing feels secondary right now, like background noise I don’t have the energy to process.
Beneath me, Rhett exhales hard. “We can’t be flippant with this, Kade. We need a plan. Bradley is high-profile. People notice when men like him go missing.” Pieces of their conversation bleed in and out. “This isn’t the ranch. Rich folk don’t just vanish into thin air with no questions asked. We need to be strategic.”
Nearby, Sage mentions something about her ex-boyfriend Toby. Recognition flickers in the silence that follows, something shared and unspoken passing between them. I wish I had the strength to dive deeper and question the insanity they’re spewing, but every ounce of energy I have is fighting to keep me from shattering completely.
Rhett’s hand spreads wider against my back. “Noah.” The sorrow lingering in his tone tightens something profound in my chest. Not the way it did earlier, when it hurt to hear it, when it felt pitiful. This time it lands sure, like a line he’s drawn and won’t let anything cross. My body responds without consulting me, curling closer, my leg hitching over his thigh, contact stacking on contact because distance feels unbearable. After all, I don’t trust the world beyond the circle of his arms.
Sage shifts again, closer now, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. “What do you need us to do?” Rhett goes quiet for a beat, the pause heavy with calculation, with decisions being locked into place somewhere just beyond me.
“Damage control.” Brushing the edge of my awareness, my focus stays locked on the reassuring drag of his hand and the way his thumb presses in at my spine when my breathing stutters. I cling to that rhythm, counting it, letting it override everything else.
I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. Earth and dust accompanied by the rich masculinity of weathered woods and spices. From there, I tune it all out, only picking up snippets. Rental car. Leave first thing tomorrow. Grandma Jo. Act as if you know nothing. Those fragments of a conversation brush past without settling, until one word drops heavy enough to sink.
Barbados.
I completely forgot about the fake honeymoon arranged for me and my… can’t even get the thought out.
Rhett’s voice rumbles beneath my ear. “When I came looking for Noah, I saw Bradley getting into the elevator with a redhead. He had a suitcase. I’m betting he’s halfway to the island with his sidepiece.”
“Fucking Annabel,” Sage grunts. “She’s Bradley’s assistant. She gave me bad vibes the day she ambushed Noah into choosing a wedding dress from a batch of over-the-top monstrosities. Not to mention the way she behaved at the rehearsal dinner.” Disgust warps her tone.
“Good riddance to both of them. Gives us more time to devise a solution to our Bradley problem,” Kade quips.
A flash of white light passes behind my eyes, and my fingers jerk, tightening instinctively until all I can feel is the press of Rhett’s arms. Suddenly, I'm overcome by the nauseating certainty that Bradley’s actions weren’t impulsive. What he did to me was planned. Designed. Built so no one would look for me until it was too late. My stomach twists violently as a sour wave coats my tongue, and I press my face harder into Rhett’s chest, breathing him in, letting the familiar scent bring me back to a time before Bradley came into my life, before my own skin felt wrong, foreign.
For the next few minutes, I zone out, solely focused on syncing my breath with Rhett’s as he talks to Kade. His chin tips to my head, resting there as he whisperssoftly, “I need to go get your things from the room. Do you think you’ll be okay with Sage until I get back?”
I nod, but my body contradicts me, clinging to him tighter in hopes I can bottle the safe feeling his arms provide.
He grows quieter, speaking solely to me, lips brushing over the strands of my hair. “I’ll be less than five minutes. I promise. Then I’ll hold you forever.” His fingers tease my chin, drawing my gaze to pools of Belgian chocolate that hold so much pain and sorrow. “Let me mend what he broke, Noah. And let me love you while I do.” His lips lower to my forehead, gently caressing my skin.
I grieve the shift in his weight as he rises to his feet before lowering me back onto the mattress and tugs the comforter up. “I’ll be right back.”
Panic flares, a sharp spike of fear tearing through my chest, and my head jerks without permission, a violent refusal ripping out of my body. My fingers dig into his shirt, nails scraping fabric, like I might tear it if he tries to move. The thought of him leaving—even for a minute—sends my heart slamming against my ribs, breath stuttering painfully on the way in.
He feels it immediately. “I won’t be long.”
The truth in his tone settles something frantic inside my chest, even as my throat burns with everything I can’t make myself say.
I don’t want to need him like this.
The thought flashes sharp and unwanted, followed immediately by a deeper, more terrifying one.
I already do.
Through the pounding in my ears, I hear Rhett murmur to Kade as he moves toward the door, his voice carrying across the room. “I’ll grab her suitcase. Then once you pick up the car, I’ll drive Noah back to the ranch. Think you and Sage can handle Grandma Jo?”
“Nobody handles that woman.” Kade chuckles, his laughter lightening the somber mood. “But yeah. We’ll fill her in on the flight home.”
Home, Black River… endless skies stretching wide overhead, cold air filling my lungs, space enough to breathe without anyone watching. Somewhere I don’t have to perform. Somewhere I don’t have to hide the tremor in my hands or the hollow ache sitting just beneath my ribs.
The idea of being looked at—examined, cataloged, turned into something people gossip about—turns my stomach. Nausea rolls through me, sharp enough that I curl inward instinctively, dragging the covers closer like if I hold on tight enough, I can keep the world from seeing me as something broken.
Before I can slide too far from reality, Sage’s hand settles at the nape of my neck, warm and steady, her thumb pressing slow circles into my skin. The simplecontact anchors me. I cling to the reassurance, breathing shallow and uneven, letting the surge ebb just enough to keep me here.
More words drift past. Then movement. Footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again, and the room quiets.
It’s just Sage and me now.
