That’s not jealousy.
That’s a fucking promise.
My lips kiss the back of her head. “You’re safe,” I whisper into the night as she wiggles against me. “I’ve got you.”
They’re the same words I said in the kitchen, but I’ll say them over and over again until the end of time. With her breathing next to me, my resolve locks in place. The knowledge settles deep in my bones that whatever this becomes—whatever it costs—I’ll protect her through it.
Always.
Chapter twenty-nine
Abigail
Iwakeslowly.
For a few hazy seconds, I’m still suspended in that soft, half-dream space where everything feels safe, close, and unhurried. The light filters through the curtains in golden streams, the kind of morning light that only exists on the weekends when the world is practically screaming at you to rest.
Saturday mornings have come to be my favorites. The first slow rise at the end of a long, hard-worked week is something I find myself craving. The guys hire ranch hands so the four of them can have weekends off, and that includes me now, too. Judging by how light it is outside, it’s safe to assume they’re well through morning chores, hence why it’s so quiet.
I love it.
Then I reach out, and the bed beside me is empty.
My heart stutters, a sharp little jolt of panic cutting through the calm. I push myself up on one elbow, scanning the room like maybe he’s just stepped into the bathroom, like I’ll hear the creak of the door or the sound of running water.
Nothing.
The space where Lawson slept wrapped around me is cool now, the sheets only faintly rumpled, and a knot tightens in my chest before I can stop it.
He left, right?
The thought lands heavy. I know it doesn’t make sense. He told me he wasn’t leaving, not until morning. But old instincts don’t care about logic. They care about patterns. About the past. About what usually happens when something good feels too close.
I’m just starting to spiral when I hear it.
A low voice, warm and familiar, drifting from down the hallway. “Easy there, Lucy. I see you, girl. You don’t get people food, so don’t even bother lookin’ at me like that.”
There’s the soft clink of ceramic, the low hum of the coffee maker, and Lucy’s tail thumps against something hard enough that I can hear the even beat from here.
Relief washes through me so fast it makes my eyes sting.
He’s here.
I sink back into the pillows for a moment, letting my breathing even out as the reality of last night settles in. The tightness in my chest dissipates and warmth takes its place.
Lawson didn’t just stay.
He chose me. Every step. Every pause. Every kiss. Everytouch.
The intimacy of last night hits me harder now than it did in the moment. Not just the closeness of our bodies, or the way my body came alive beneath his hands. But the way he listened. The way he waited. The way he made space for me to decide what I wanted, and then stood steady when I did.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t taken.
It wasshared.
Eventually, I roll out of bed, the hardwood cold under my feet, so I tug on a pair of fuzzy socks from my dresser and twist myhair up into a messy bun, not bothering with anything else. This version of me feels oddly right this morning.
When I step into the kitchen, Lawson’s standing at the counter with his back to me, mug in hand. He’s already showered, hair still a little damp at the nape of his neck, and dressed in the now dry clothes he had on last night. Lucy is planted firmly at his feet, tail wagging like she’s won the lottery with him being here this morning.
