“Where am I?” I ask.
“Haven 7.”
“Sounds cozy. Is it a rehab center for ex-assassins or something?”
He snorts. “Close enough.”
He pushes open the front door and warmthblastsme in the face. I might actually cry.
“Guys!” the man bellows.
Five heads turn. Fiveveryattractive heads, attached toveryattractive bodies. It's like someone cast a wilderness calendar and dumped the entire lineup in this living room. There's a fire crackling, flannel everywhere, and the air smells like cedar, leather, and testosterone.
“Oh,” I whisper. “I’ve died. This is heaven. Or a very specific TikTok fantasy.”
The man guiding me inside doesn’t even pause. “Eli, get the med kit. Boyd, clear the table. Rhett, grab dry blankets. Rafe, Chase—get hot water, now.”
The others move like a well-oiled team. Within seconds, I’m being ushered to the giant farmhouse table in the middle of the room. They peel off my wet coat, toss the diaper bag aside, and someone lifts Aidan from my arms with practiced gentleness.
“Don’t—he’s—” I panic, reaching for him.
Gavin puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s safe. Eli’s a medic.”
I glance at the man examining Aidan now. He’s got kind eyes and a calm voice, already checking the baby’s pulse and skin tone.
“Fever’s high,” Eli says. “But not seizure level. Let’s get him stripped, cooled, and hydrated.”
I sway, relief and adrenaline mixing into a dizzy cocktail. “He—he’s not mine,” I mumble. “He’s my nephew. My sister—she died. Someone’s after him. I don’t even know who. Or why.”
“You’re safe now,” Gavin says. “We’ll handle it.”
“You say that like you do this kind of thing often.”
He looks down at me with those glacial eyes and says, “We do.”
And I believe him.
Because this man? He doesn’t just look like he could survive the apocalypse—he looks like heisthe apocalypse. Calm. Capable. And hot enough to melt the snow right off my boots.
Rhett wraps me in a blanket while someone hands me a steaming mug of what smells like cider. I don’t even remember asking for it, but I clutch it like it’s holy.
“You’ve got blood on your jeans,” Rafe says gently, crouching beside me.
“Oh. Yeah. I fell earlier.” I motion toward Aidan. “I’m okay.”
Chase gives a low whistle. “Rough night.”
“Understatement of the year.”
Boyd, the silent giant, hands me a fresh pair of socks and disappears again like a ghost.
I sip the cider, watching as they work on Aidan. Eli’s got him down to a diaper, using a damp cloth to cool him. His cries are softer now, more tired than pained.
“Why would someone be chasing a baby?” I whisper.
Gavin’s eyes meet mine. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
A pause stretches between us. He studies me like he’s trying to read all the secrets I haven’t said yet. The way his jaw ticks, the tension in his broad shoulders… it’s clear this man doesn’t take lightly to anyone being in danger. Especially not women holding feverish babies.
