Adrian’s arm is around my waist, Marcus’s hand rests on my hip, and Elijah’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder.
For the first time, this feels real rather than stolen moments in shadows.
“We should talk about what this means,” Adrian says quietly.
“It means we’re a family,” Marcus replies, his voice rough. “Unconventional, maybe. But real.”
Elijah presses a kiss to my temple. “It means we protect each other. No matter what.”
I close my eyes, feeling safer than I have in years, and let myself believe this might actually last.
The next morning, I leave the rectory early, my hair still damp from Adrian’s shower, wearing one of Marcus’s shirts under my cardigan.
The fabric smells like him—cologne and something darker, more masculine—and I pull it closer as I walk to my car.
That’s when I see it.
A gray sedan parked across the street, engine running. A man sits in the driver’s seat, and even from this distance, I can see the camera with a telephoto lens pointed directly at the church entrance.
Our eyes meet for a brief second. My stomach drops.
He starts the engine and speeds away before I can process what I’m seeing, leaving me standing in the parking lot with my heart pounding and my hands shaking.
Later that afternoon, I’m helping Marcus organize donated clothes in the parish hall, trying to focus on folding sweaters instead of the memory of his hands on my body last night.
He’s distracted, sorting through boxes with mechanical efficiency, and I watch the way his tattooed forearms flex with each movement.
“Marcus,” I say finally. “I think someone was watching the church this morning.”
He glances up, his dark eyes finding mine. “What do you mean?”
“There was a man. In a gray sedan. He had a camera pointed at the entrance.”
Marcus sets down the box he’s holding and moves closer. His hand finds my arm, warm and solid. “Charlie, we’ve all been on edge with Victory Life’s tactics. Are you sure you weren’t just?—”
“Paranoid?” I finish, trying not to feel hurt by the dismissal.
“Stressed,” he corrects gently. “You’ve been through a lot. We all have.”
I want to believe him, want to think I’m seeing threats where none exist. But the image of that camera lens haunts me.
“You’re probably right,” I say, forcing a smile.
But I don’t believe it.
Over the next week, I see the sedan three more times. Always parked at a distance, always with the same man behind the wheel. I start taking different routes to my car, varying my schedule, but he seems to anticipate my movements.
I don’t mention it again to Marcus, not wanting to seem irrational. Instead, I begin documenting the sightings in my phone, noting times and locations.
Tuesday at the grocery store. Wednesday near the diner. Friday in the church parking lot again.
Each time, the man watches. Each time, he drives away before I can get close enough to confront him.
The paranoia eats at me. I catch myself constantly checking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows, second-guessing every unfamiliar face. At night, tangled between the three men who’ve become my entire world, I try to forget. But even their touches can’t completely erase the feeling of being hunted.
Thursday evening, I’m in the parish hall kitchen stress-baking when Elijah bursts through the door, his angel face flushed and his breathing hard.
“Someone was outside,” he says, his crystalline blue eyes wide. “Photographing the rectory.”
