I sit down in the chair across from her. “You want to tell me what happened?”
She nods, slowly. “But not tonight.”
I tilt my head. “Why not?”
“Because I haven’t felt safe in weeks. And tonight—for the first time—I do. And if I have to relive it all now, I’ll shatter.”
That does something to me. Something dangerous.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Then don’t. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She studies me. “You always this kind to strangers?”
“No.”
“Why me?”
I don’t blink. “Still figuring that out.”
She exhales, like maybe she believes me. Then she curls up beside the baby, using one of my throw pillows and blankets like she’s done it a hundred times before.
I watch her. Watch the slow rise and fall of her chest.
I pay attention to the way her hand stays curled around Aidan’s leg, even in sleep.
Something inmesettles when I know she’s safe. And I know it in my bones—whatever she’s running from? It just becamemyproblem. And God help anyone who tries to take her from me.
THREE
KAYLEY
There’s a moment when I wake up that I forget everything.
It’s warm. My body isn’t trembling from cold or fear. The blanket smells like fresh air and soap. Aidan is curled beside me in his makeshift nest of pillows and flannel, his fevered cheeks finally back to a healthy pink. He’s still asleep, soft baby snores puffing from his tiny mouth.
And for one glorious second, I’m just a woman on a couch, waking up to the sound of crackling firewood.
Then the memories return like a freight train.
The blizzard. The car breaking down. The gates.Him.
Gavin.
I blink toward the armchair across from the couch.
Yep. Still here.
He’s slouched low, legs sprawled, arms crossed over his chest. His chin’s tucked against his flannel-covered chest, dark lashes resting against cheeks dusted with stubble. He looks relaxed insleep—less intense than last night—but still very much a man who could bench-press a bear if provoked.
And God help me, he’s stupid hot.
Like, “someone call the fire department” hot.
Dark hair, longer on top and messily sexy like he ran a hand through it a dozen times before passing out. Full beard that makes him look like a woodsy Viking. Broad chest rising and falling beneath a soft gray T-shirt stretched within an inch of its life.
It’s honestlyrudehow attractive he is.
I study him for another second—just one, I swear—and then shift slightly to sit up.
