And as she drifts to sleep against my chest, I stare into the firelight and plan.
Because family isn’t just the thing you want.
It’s the thing you fight for.
And I’m ready to burn the whole world down to keep mine.
ELEVEN
KAYLEY
A week ago, I was driving through a blizzard with a feverish baby and a heartbeat full of terror.
Now I’m sitting on Gavin Messer’s couch in fuzzy socks, wearing one of his T-shirts like it’s my right, sipping lukewarm coffee I forgot to drink, watching Aidan try to shove a soft fabric book into his mouth like it personally offended him.
It should feel like peace.
And in a lot of ways, it does.
The rhythm here is starting to sink into my bones—morning checks, warm meals, men who act like grumpy mountains but move like a family. Harper and Poppi dropping by like sunshine wrapped in a baby blanket. Eli’s gentle voice reminding me Aidan’s lungs sound strong. Boyd silently fixing things around the cabin without ever announcing it. Chase making dumb jokes until I laugh even when I don’t want to. And all the other men making me feel at home.
And Gavin…
Gavin is the problem.
Not because he’s cruel. He isn’t.
Not because he’s distant. He isn’t that either.
He’s steady. Protective. Warm when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He holds me at night like he’s making a promise with his arms. He kisses my forehead when I’m half-asleep. He watches Aidan like Aidan matters to him—like he already thinks of him ashis.
And I’ve fallen for him so hard it’s almost embarrassing.
I didn’t even know it was possible to fall like this. I didn’t know my heart could do this stupid fluttery thing, like a teenager seeing her crush walk by in the hallway.
But the past few days, something has shifted.
Gavin’s jaw is tighter. His phone is always on him. He steps outside to take calls and comes back looking like he swallowed a storm. He and Silas exchange looks that stop conversations in their tracks. Rhett has been near the perimeter more than usual. Wyatt keeps typing like he’s racing time itself.
And Gavin won’t tell me what’s going on.
I watch him now, stretched out on the couch beside me, one arm thrown along the back cushion, the other holding a mug he hasn’t sipped. His eyes keep flicking toward the corner of the room where the monitor sits.
He’s trying to act normal.
He’s failing.
Aidan squeals at his own toes like he just discovered them.
I smile despite myself. “You’d think feet would be less exciting after the first five minutes.”
Gavin’s mouth twitches, but his eyes stay sharp. “He’s got a curious brain.”
“He’s got his mother’s nose and his father’s…” I stop.
Because I don’t actually know what he got from his father, aside from danger.
Gavin glances at me, and for a second something passes behind his eyes—too fast to name, too heavy to ignore.
