“Someone came,” I say.
His entire body goes still. “Where is he?”
“Gone,” I answer. “Sheriff McLeod took him in.”
His face clouds, eyes storming. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, and I can hear the strain in his voice, like he’s about to break.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I fought back,” I say quietly. “Had him on his knees when the deputies came.”
I rub one shoulder, knowing I’ll be sore tomorrow. But I’m still standing—standing next to Donovan. That’s all that matters.
“If he laid one finger on you. Hurt you in any?—”
“I protected myself. I used your weapon. We’re good now. I promise.”
Something shifts in his expression, still torn, but working to suppress rage. “You did good,” he says, eyes reddening, voice raw. The words hit deeper than they should.
“I didn’t freeze,” I add. I don’t know why I need him to know that. But I do.
His hand comes up, closing over mine—the one that held the gun.
“You didn’t,” he says.
My breath stutters. Because I didn’t. And this time, I didn’t run or beg, either.
The adrenaline hasn’t left yet. It’s still there. Buzzing under my skin. And now it’s mixing with something else. Something that’s been building since Vegas.
Since the auction floor at the high school.
“You stayed,” he says.
“I said I would.”
“People say a lot of things.”
“Not me.” My voice comes out rougher now. More honest.
His gaze sharpens, then softens. “Good.”
Quiet creeps in between us. The kind that hums with everything we haven’t said yet. Things I don’t know if I can yet express in words.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him into me.
“You should shower,” I say. The words come out dark and dangerous. Like everything about last night.
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The space between us is gone. Has been. But now? There’s nothing holding it back.
“I thought about leaving,” I admit.
His jaw tightens.
