Like he doesn’t want to let go either.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he says, his voice low, steady, unbreakable. “Not now. Not ever again.”
My breath catches. Again. The feeling of leaning into his chest floods my heart with all the emotions of that night two years ago. I clutch him tightly. Half because I’m suspended in air; half because the warmth and comfort of his chest are the only place I’ve ever wanted to be.
Because standing here, wrapped in his arms with the storm raging around us—I’ve never felt safer in my life.
CHAPTER
FOUR
WILLOW—THE NEXT DAY
I wake up slowly.It’s softer than that—like I’m floating somewhere between sleep and reality, warm and still and… safe. Which doesn’t make any sense. Because the last thing I remember is cold rain and rushing water and fear so sharp it felt like it might split me in half.
But this? This feels… different. There’s something brushing through my hair. Slow. Careful. Like whoever’s doing it is trying not to wake me. My brow furrows slightly, my eyes fluttering open—And everything comes rushing back.
The storm. The water. The roof. The helicopter.
“Hey,” a low voice murmurs.
My breath catches.
Garrison.
He’s sitting beside me on a narrow cot, one hand still lightly tangled in my hair, the other holding a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes are on me, softer than I’ve ever seen them, like he’s been watching me for a while.
“You’re awake.”
I blink up at him, disoriented for half a second before I push myself up slightly on my elbows. The room comes into focusaround us—rows of cots, people moving quietly, the low hum of voices.
A shelter. Right.
I swallow, my throat dry. “How long was I out?”
“Few hours,” he says. “You needed it.”
His hand lingers in my hair for just a second longer before he seems to catch himself and pulls it back, like he’s crossing a line he shouldn’t.
I miss it instantly. Which is… a problem.
“Here,” he says, holding out the cup. “Careful. It’s hot.”
I take it from him, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. That same spark. It’s still there. Just like before.
I wrap both hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my skin. “Thank you.”
He nods once, watching me like he’s making sure I’m really okay.
And then it hits me. Everything else.
I sit up straighter, panic flaring. “My dad?—”
“We’re going to find him,” Garrison says immediately, cutting me off before I can spiral.
His voice is steady. Certain.
I latch onto it without hesitation. “You don’t know that.”
