Trigger Warnings for this part include: Overt stalking; voyeurism; threats of physical domestic violence

River

The house stayed quiet after Kieran left.

I wandered around for a little while with my coffee mug, straightening things that didn’t need straightening, opening the fridge and closing it again like I’d forgotten what I was looking for. The sunlight eventually pushed through the windows and filled the kitchen with that soft, pale gold that only happens early in the morning.

Eventually I carried my coffee to the couch and curled up under a blanket with my newest book.

My phone buzzed a little after eight.

I grabbed it instantly.

Kieran: Still alive. Coffee was necessary.

I smiled.

Me: I’m glad my efforts saved you.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Kieran: It absolutely did. Whole crew is jealous.

I could practically hear the smug tone in his voice.

Me: You told them?

Kieran: I told them someone loves me enough to make coffee at 5:30am.

I laughed quietly and typed back.

Me: Someone felt bad for you.

Kieran: Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.

The little warmth in my chest stayed long after the conversation ended.

The rest of the morning drifted by slowly. I read for a while. I folded a couple loads of laundry. I wandered into the bedroom and stood there for a minute, staring at the bed like it held some kind of gravitational pull.

It still smelled like him.

I climbed back in for a minute, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders before forcing myself back out again.

My phone buzzed around ten.

Kieran: False alarm call. Everyone disappointed.

Me: You’re disappointed you didn’t get to save the day?

Kieran: I’m disappointed I had to listen to Mateo complain about the coffee.

Me: You’re very welcome for your superior coffee.

Kieran: Don’t start thinking you’re irreplaceable.

Me: Too late.

Kieran: Dangerous attitude for a woman who lives in my house.

My cheeks warmed a little.

I stared at the screen for a second before replying.

Me: Oh? Why’s that?

Three dots appeared again.

Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Kieran: Because I already like having you in my kitchen.

My stomach did a slow flip.

I bit my lip.

Me: No, I think you liked “having me” in your kitchen, sir.

Kieran: well… you aren’t wrong.

Me: Oh I know.

Kieran: Keep talking like that and I’m going to have to do something about it.

My heart sped up a little.

Me: You’re at work.

Kieran: Temporary problem.

I groaned and pressed my phone against my forehead. That man.

Before I could come up with a response, another message came through.

Kieran: Also you left your hair tie on my nightstand.

Me: Tragic.

Kieran: Guess you’ll have to stay there forever.

My face warmed, and I shook my head, smiling to myself like an idiot.

We texted back and forth for a while after that, nothing important. Just little things. His crew teasing him. Me telling him about folding his laundry. Him pretending to be deeply offended that I reorganized his spice rack.

By noon, I felt lighter.

Grounded.

Like there was an invisible thread between us, even with him miles away.

Around one in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

I already knew who it was.

“Coming!” I called. When I opened the door, Cade was standing there with a takeout bag in one hand.

“You look comfortable,” he said, eyeing the bulky sweatshirt and leggings.

“I am comfortable.”

“Does Kier know you’re stealing his clothes?” I just grinned. He stepped inside and handed me the bag. “I brought lunch.”

“You’re my favorite person.”

“That’s a dangerous title when you’re living with Donovan.”

I laughed and shut the door behind him.

We spent most of the afternoon talking. About work. About the upcoming move of the rest of my stuff. About absolutely nothing important.

Cade sprawled on the couch while I sat cross-legged on the floor sorting through a small box of random things that had already made their way over to Kieran’s apartment.

At one point my phone buzzed and Cade immediately narrowed his eyes.

“Donovan?”

“Maybe.” I said reaching for my phone, and knowing full well it was Kier.

“You’re smiling.”

“I am not.”

Cade snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, you are.”

I rolled my eyes and checked the message.

Kieran: Lunch break. Thinking about you, beautiful.

My cheeks warmed. I didn’t respond right away.

“Is he behaving?” Cade asked.

I looked up at him, tilting my head to the side. “Define behaving.”

Cade groaned and leaned back into the couch cushions. “You two are exhausting.”

I laughed. “Thank you.”

We ordered dinner around six and ate at the kitchen table like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Cade helped me clean up afterward. Eventually he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest while I wiped down the counters.

“You’re really happy,” he said quietly.

I paused for a second, looking up at him, surprised. “Yeah,” I said. “I really am.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

He left around eight. “Text me if you need anything,” he said as he stepped onto the porch.

“I will.”

“And if Donovan starts acting weird—”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Lock the door behind me, Bug.”

“Cade, stop calling me that,” I said on a groan.

He gave me one last look and then headed to his car.

The house felt quiet again once the door shut behind him.

It wasn’t lonely, just… quiet.

I wandered around for a little while longer before getting ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and pulled on one of Kieran’s old T-shirts that hung almost to my thighs.

Then I crawled into bed.

Without thinking, I slid over to his side.

The pillow smelled like him.

Soap. Laundry detergent. A little bit of his cologne with the hints of cedar that I loved. Something warm and familiar that made my chest soften.

I pulled the blanket up and curled into the pillow.

My phone glowed in the dim room as I sent one last message.

Me: Heading to bed. Miss you. Be safe tonight ❤️

I waited a minute.

No response. I smiled to myself and set the phone on the nightstand.

He was probably on a call.

Saving someone. Doing the thing he did that made the world a little safer.

I buried my face deeper into his pillow and closed my eyes.

And somehow, even with him gone, it still felt like home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Morning came slowly.

I surfaced from sleep in that hazy, warm space between dreaming and waking, wrapped in tangled blankets and the lingering comfort of a night that still felt close. The room was quiet, dim gray light filtering through the curtains and painting everything in muted shadows.

For a few seconds, I didn’t open my eyes. I just lay there, breathing, listening, waiting for the familiar weight of Kieran beside me.

The realization that he wasn’t there hit before I was fully awake.

My eyes opened slowly, finding the empty side of the bed. The sheets were cool, the space beside me untouched. Something in my chest tugged unexpectedly.

It was ridiculous, really.

Without thinking, I rolled toward his side of the bed and buried my face in his pillow. It still smelled like him.

Masculine and cedar and the faint trace of his laundry detergent. Warm, comfortingly familiar. Familiar enough that my chest ached a little. For a moment, I just stayed there, eyes closed again, holding his pillow against me and letting myself have it. Letting myself miss him.

Missing him shouldn’t have been this intense, I knew that. We’d only been an item a few weeks, I knew feeling this strongly about him, missing him this much, probably wasn’t smart. Probably not healthy, either, but it didn’t make it less true.

Because I did miss him. Terribly.

The thought made a small smile tug at my mouth despite myself.

Somewhere over the last few weeks, Kieran had become home in a way I hadn’t seen coming. Not his apartment, not the routines. Him. His laugh in the kitchen. The warmth of his hand finding mine without thinking. The steady certainty of him beside me at the end of a bad day.

And now, lying alone in the bed we’d shared, I could already feel the absence of it.

The absence of him. With a quiet sigh, I finally reached toward the nightstand and fumbled blindly for my phone.

The screen lit up, and a bolt of excitement surged through me. I had seven new messages.

All from Kieran.

I pushed myself upright against the headboard immediately, pulling the blanket around my waist as I opened them.

Kieran: 1:14 AM – Sorry baby, its been a busy night.

Kieran: 1:16 AM – Nothing bad though. Just stupid stuff.

Kieran: 1:18 AM – Wish I was home with you.

My chest tightened a little.

I kept reading.

Kieran: 1:19 AM – I would rather be asleep with you.

My throat felt thick suddenly.

Kieran: 1:21 AM – Miss you, sweetheart.

I swallowed hard.

Kieran: 1:30 AM – wishing you were in my arms right now.

Kieran: 1:35 AM – I love you, sweetheart. Hope you’re getting some real rest. message me when you wake up. ❤️

Tears stung my eyes before I even realized it was happening. I sat there for a moment, staring at the messages.

He’d sent them in the middle of the night, between calls. Probably exhausted. Probably sitting on the tailboard of the engine with his phone in his hands.

Thinking about me.

I wiped at my eyes quickly and typed back.

River: Good morning.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering.

River: I love you. I miss you, too.

The truth pushed its way out before I could stop it.

River: A lot. I’m hugging your pillow because it smells like you.

I set the phone down on the bed beside me and pressed my hands over my face for a second, breathing out slowly.

Forty-eight hours suddenly felt like a very long time.

The rest of the morning moved quietly. I made coffee. Ate a piece of toast standing at the counter. Ran a broom through the kitchen, even though there was nothing to clean up. Eventually I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed out to the grocery store.

I walked slowly, enjoying the late morning air. It was cool and crisp, the sky bright and blue in that sharp early summer way that made everything feel clearer. I walked slowly, enjoying myself, breathing in the warmth of the day.

I wandered the aisles slowly, thinking about what Kieran would want after two straight days at the station.

Something warm and comforting. Something that tasted like home.

By the time I reached the checkout, my cart held ingredients for a full dinner: steak, potatoes, fresh green beans, a loaf of crusty bread, and the chocolate cake mix I knew he liked because he’d once eaten half a pan of it straight from the cake pan with a fork.

Of course, he’d been seventeen at the time, which meant he treated food like a competitive sport. If something existed in the kitchen, Kieran would eat it. Leftover pasta, sandwich meat straight from the container, an entire sleeve of Oreos at two in the morning, it honestly hadn’t mattered. Cade used to joke that feeding Kieran during high school was like trying to financially support a starving bear.

The thought made me smile to myself as I carried the grocery bags inside.

The apartment was quiet when I got home. Not empty exactly, Kieran’s presence lingered in the little things now. His hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. But without him physically there, the silence settled differently.

I unpacked everything carefully, organizing vegetables into the fridge drawer and stacking pantry items where they belonged. It was such a painfully domestic thing to do that every so often I’d catch myself smiling for no reason.

When I finished, the apartment slipped back into stillness.

Late morning slowly blurred into afternoon, sunlight stretching warmer across the hardwood floors inch by inch. I curled up on the couch with my laptop balanced across my knees, half-reading an article about curriculum development and half staring out the window while my thoughts wandered somewhere entirely different.

It had been months.

Months of applications.

Months of carefully rewritten cover letters and polished resumes and hopeful emails sent out into the void. Months of waiting for responses that either never came or politely told me they had “decided to move forward with other candidates.”

Months of trying not to let rejection chip away at me.

Teaching wasn’t just a job to me. It never had been. I missed the classroom in a way that physically hurt sometimes. I missed seeing that look when something finally made sense to a student, when it finally clicked in the right ways.

I missed feeling like I was making a difference.

I missed feeling useful.

My inbox pinged softly. I glanced down automatically, expecting spam or another rejection email.

Then I froze, my heartbeat stumbled hard against my ribs.

St. Matthew’s Preparatory Academy.

For a second, I just stared at the sender name like my brain couldn’t quite process it. My hands suddenly felt shaky as I clicked the email open.

I read the first sentence once.

Then again.

Then a third time because surely I was misunderstanding something.

They wanted an interview.

A real interview.

Not a screening call. Not a generic HR meeting.

An actual interview with the principal and the board of directors for the open English teaching position. My pulse started hammering instantly as my eyes scanned the rest of the email.

Two AP English classes.

Four regular English courses.

Two senior, one junior and one freshman classes.

My literal dream schedule.

“Oh my god,” I whispered into the empty apartment.

The words came out breathless.

My chest felt tight in the best possible way, adrenaline rushing so hard I could hear my pulse in my ears. I reread the email immediately just to make sure it was still real.

It was.

There was even a direct phone number listed at the bottom to schedule the interview.

I didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed my phone so fast I nearly dropped it and dialed before I could overthink anything.

The line rang twice.

“St. Matthew’s Preparatory Academy, this is Mrs. Harper.”

“Hi,” I said quickly, suddenly nervous despite being completely alone. “My name is River—River Scout. I just received an email about scheduling an interview?”

“Oh yes!” the woman replied warmly, like she’d genuinely been expecting my call. “We were hoping you’d reach out today.”

My stomach flipped violently.

We talked for several minutes, flipping through schedules and availability while I tried very hard not to sound as excited as I felt. I tucked one leg beneath me on the couch, gripping the phone tighter every time she mentioned how impressed they’d been with my application materials.

Finally she paused.

“Would Thursday at ten in the morning work for you, Ms. Scout?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately. Too immediately. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I can make that work.”

“Perfect,” she said pleasantly. “We’ll have the principal and several members of the board there. We’re very excited to meet you, Ms. Scout.”

Excited to meet me.

Me!

I thanked her probably three separate times before we finally ended the call.

Then I just sat there, completely still.

The apartment around me felt oddly unreal for a second, sunlight spilling across the floor while my brain struggled to catch up with what had just happened.

I had an interview.

At St. Matthew’s.

My literal dream job. Granted, it wasn’t teaching elementary school, like I had been, but teaching literature, that had been the dream since… well, forever.

I pressed my hand against my mouth, laughing once in disbelief as tears suddenly burned behind my eyes.

After everything that happened in the last year.

After Tim, after losing my job, after months of feeling stuck and terrified and untethered from the person I used to be.

This felt like hope.

Real hope.

I grabbed my phone again without even thinking about it, because there was only one person I wanted to tell first.

River: I got an interview.

I hit send before I could overthink it.

River: Private school.

River: 2 AP English classes, 4 regular English classes

My heart was racing again.

River: Thursday @ 10.

I expected to wait. I knew he was at work, probably on a call, but I hadn’t been able to not tell him, but my phone buzzed less than a minute later.

Kieran: I’m so fucking proud of you.

My throat tightened again.

Kieran: Dream job?

I wiped at my eyes quickly, laughing breathlessly.

River: Dream job!

There was a pause.

Kieran: We’re celebrating tomorrow.

I smiled through the blur of happy tears.

River: We are?

Kieran: Absolutely.

Kieran: I’m not missing that.

And suddenly tomorrow morning couldn’t come fast enough.

My phone buzzed again before I could even think of what to say back.

Kieran: Tell me everything.

I laughed softly, wiping the last of the tears off my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

River: It’s at St. Matthew’s Prep.

The three dots appeared immediately.

Kieran: The private school near downtown?

River: Yes.

Kieran: The one with the insane college acceptance rate?

I grinned.

River: The very same.

Kieran: Jesus, River.

My chest tightened a little.

Kieran: That’s huge, babe.

I curled deeper into the corner of the couch, tucking my feet under me.

River: I know.

River: I’m kind of freaking out.

Kieran: Don’t freak out.

Kieran: You’re going to crush it.

I bit my lip.

River: You’re very confident in me.

His response came almost instantly.

Kieran: Of course I am.

Then another.

Kieran: Have you met you?

I laughed again.

River: I’m serious.

River: It’s with the principal AND the board.

River: That’s terrifying.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared twice before he sent his next message.

Kieran: River.

Kieran: You will walk into a classroom full of teenagers your first week at that school and had them reading Shakespeare by Wednesday.

My stomach flipped.

Kieran: You’re smart.

Kieran: You’re patient.

Kieran: And you care more about those kids than half the teachers they’ve probably had.

My eyes stung again.

Kieran: That school would be lucky to have you.

I swallowed hard.

River: You’re very good at pep talks.

Kieran: I’m a professional.

River: Are firefighters known for motivational speeches now?

Kieran: Only when the women we love get their dream job interviews.

My breath caught a little at that. I stared at the screen for a second before typing back.

River: I really wish you were here right now.

The response came slower this time.

Kieran: Me too.

Kieran: I’d kiss you stupid and then make you tell me the whole story from the beginning.

Heat spread across my cheeks.

River: You’re ridiculous.

Kieran: You like it.

I couldn’t argue with that.

Kieran: You said the interview is on Thursday?

River: yeah, at ten in the morning.

There was a short pause before his next message.

Kieran: I’m on shift that day.

My shoulders sagged just a little, though I tried not to let it bother me.

River: I figured you might be.

Another message appeared.

Kieran: But I want a full report immediately after.

I smiled.

River: Obviously.

Kieran: Call me, don’t text me, the second you walk out of that building.

River: Deal.

Kieran: And if they don’t hire you I’m fighting them.

I laughed out loud.

River: I’m sure that will help.

Kieran: I mean it, like all of them. Even the old ladies.

Kieran: I’ll be very persuasive.

River: Please do not threaten the board of directors.

Kieran: No promises, sweetheart.

I leaned my head back against the couch and closed my eyes for a second, still smiling.

My phone buzzed again.

Kieran: What are you doing the rest of the day?

River: I went grocery shopping earlier.

River: I’m making dinner tomorrow.

There was a pause.

Kieran: For me?

I smirked.

River: No.

River: For the random firefighter who wanders into my apartment Tuesday morning.

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Kieran: Careful.

Kieran: I hear those kind of firefighters are feral.

My stomach flipped.

River: I hope so.

A minute passed before his next message. When it came, it was simpler. Quieter.

Kieran: I miss you, Riv.

I stared at the words for a second.

River: I miss you too, Kier.

And somehow, even though he was miles away at the station, it still felt like he was sitting right there beside me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

The station had settled into that slow, middle-of-the-day rhythm when nothing urgent was happening but nobody was actually relaxing either. Tools clinked faintly out in the bay where Jon was finishing something on Engine 2, and the television murmured quietly in the corner where someone had left a baseball game running with the volume low. The smell of coffee and motor oil hung in the air, familiar and steady.

I was sitting at the long wooden table in the day room with my phone in my hand, staring down at the last message River had sent.

I miss you too, Kier.

It had been a simple text. Simple words, but something about it had landed deep enough that I’d read it twice before locking my phone.

Forty-eight hour shifts never bothered me much before. They were just part of the job: sleep when you could, run calls when the tones dropped, live half your life inside these walls.

And damn if that didn’t pull at me in a way I wasn’t used to.

“You’re doing it again.” Mateo’s voice came from the kitchen behind me.

I looked up just in time to see him leaning into the fridge like he was searching for buried treasure.

“Doing what?” I asked.

He straightened slowly, a soda already in his hand, and gave me a look that was way too knowing.

“That weird thing where you stare at your phone like it’s going to whisper sweet nothings back to you.”

I snorted. “You’re imagining things.”

Mateo popped the tab on the soda and took a long drink before answering.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Totally normal behavior from a man who has checked his phone every three minutes since lunch.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

I shoved my phone into my pocket and leaned back in my chair. “Mind your business.”

Mateo grinned like he’d already won the argument. “River?”

I didn’t bother denying it. “River,” I said.

He nodded like that confirmed everything he’d suspected. “What’d she do now?”

I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck before answering. “She got an interview.”

Mateo paused halfway through another sip of his drink. “An interview?”

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

I shrugged. “Teaching job.”

His eyebrows lifted a little. “Oh damn.”

Across the room, Jon walked in from the apparatus bay wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

“What’s ‘oh damn’?” he asked.

Mateo jerked his chin toward me. “Donovan’s girl got a job interview.”

Jon looked at me.

“Good interview or just… interview interview?”

I considered that for a second. “Pretty big one, I think.”

Jon tossed the rag onto the counter and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “Well hell, that’s good news,” he said as he poured himself coffee. “She excited?”

“Terrified,” I admitted.

Mateo laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Lucas poked his head out of the hallway that led to the bunk rooms.

“What’s happening?”

“Donovan’s girlfriend might become a productive member of society,” Mateo said helpfully.

Lucas leaned against the doorframe. “She wasn’t before?”

I rolled my eyes. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Jon chuckled. “So when’s the interview?”

“Thursday morning.”

Lucas nodded thoughtfully.

“During your shift.”

“Yeah.”

Mateo tilted his head at me. “You gonna be able to focus knowing she’s doing that?”

“I always focus,” I said.

Mateo gave me a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second. “Right,” he said slowly.

I ignored him and pulled my phone back out of my pocket. River’s text thread was still open. Her messages about the interview sat there between our earlier back-and-forth.

I felt that same swell of pride again just looking at it.

Seeing her excited, even if it was mixed with nerves, felt like watching something important settle into place.

I typed out a quick message before I could overthink it.

Kieran: When you get that job we’re celebrating again. Because you are getting it.

I hit send. Across the room Jon stirred sugar into his coffee and glanced over at me.

“You realize if she gets that job you’re stuck here, right?” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, leaning against the counter, “if she lands something good here, you’re not going anywhere. That’s it. You’re a permanent Portland man.”

Mateo snorted. “He already is.”

Jon looked at me. “Bro is from Boston, and if his girl gets a job here, he’s never getting back there.”

I leaned back in my chair again, folding my arms across my chest. For a second the thought actually settled in my head. I had only ever half considered ever going back to Boston. The few family members I had left, one aunt, a couple of cousins, none of whom I talked with, still lived there, but Portland had become home.

The only family I really had we’re my “found” family. The guys here. Cade… River.

I tried not to smile when I thought of River living in my apartment for real. Not just her clothes in the closet and a toothbrush by the sink.

Her books on the shelves. Her voice filling the rooms every single day. Her coming home at night and kicking her shoes off by the door like she already belonged there.

“Yeah,” I said after a second. “Maybe.”

Mateo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Holy shit.”

I looked over at him. “What?”

He pointed his soda at me like he’d just spotted a rare animal. “You’re gone.”

Jon laughed quietly into his coffee. Lucas grinned from the doorway. “I’ve never seen it happen this fast before.”

“Nothing happened,” I said.

Mateo leaned back against the counter. “You’ve been dating this girl what—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” I warned.

“—a month?”

I sighed. “A few weeks.”

“And she’s already living with you.”

I nodded. “And?”

Mateo nodded slowly. “Right.”

Lucas chimed in. “And you’re smiling at your phone like a Hallmark movie.”

Jon added, “And you just said you’re fine never leaving Portland.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and my phone buzzed in my hand.

River. Her name lit up the screen.

My chest did that stupid tight thing again.

Mateo saw it immediately. “There it is,” he said.

I ignored him and opened the message.

Behind me, I could hear them still talking, still teasing, the normal background noise of the station carrying on around us, but for a second none of it mattered.

Because River was texting me back.

And apparently that was all it took these days to make my entire damn day better.

Trigger Warnings for this part include: Overt stalking; voyeurism; threats of physical domestic violence

Kieran

I rubbed my neck as we stepped out of the store, arms loaded with boxes, tape, bubble wrap, and every packing supply we could find. River was ahead of me, arms full of medium-sized boxes, her ponytail swinging with each step. I was carrying half a cart’s worth of stuff in my arms like a dumbass, already regretting not renting a dolly.

“Need a hand with that?” I asked, jogging up to her.

She shook her head, grinning. “I got it. You take the heavy ones.”

I groaned. “Everything’s heavy.”

She laughed, and I had to admit, it was the kind of laugh that made everything lighter, even the boxes. Even the thought of spending the next several hours in cramped hallways and elevators.

Back at her apartment, we made an assembly line. I taped boxes, she labeled them. I hauled stuff to the living room, she wrapped fragile things in bubble wrap. It was domestic chaos, but it was ours.

“You know,” I said as I lifted a box of books, “you could’ve just hired movers.”

“I like this,” she said, carefully stacking some plates in a box. “Feels… real. Like we’re doing it together.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Fine, it’s cute. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I brought my portable speaker and connected her phone so we had some music to listen to. I don’t do well in silence, I learned that about myself when I was still in the throws of my addiction. Silence made me itchy, so I rarely allowed it in my life.

She pulled up a playlist on her YouTube Music app, and shrugged. “Don’t judge me, but this is my favorite playlist. It’s got about 300 songs, so we’ll be good for the entire afternoon.”

Oh, I was judging, but I’d never tell her that.

It was eclectic, I’ll give her that. Slow sweet love songs mixed with some 90s country, some songs that made me stop and listen, and with one of them blush. Yeah, I didn’t know they made sex music, or that it was something my girlfriend listened to.

Wait, wait, wait… Did this singer just talk about his cock? I tilted my head and listened. Yup, he really was.

Fuck me sideways, it was like musical porn.

She didn’t seem to be listening, moving from room to room with her hands full. After a while, I realized I hadn’t seen her in a while, and moved to her bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, a box next to her, sorting things.

I leaned on the doorway, crossing my arms and ankles and just watched her. The summer sunshine outside her window fell on her soft brown curls, giving it an almost halo effect. My chest tightened in that now familiar way that only she caused.

The song on the speaker in the next room changed, a soft song the male singer crooning about finding his perfect match. She sighed at the papers in her hand, dropping them into her trash pile. She looked up and smiled when she saw me. “Hey, handsome.”

I pushed off the door frame and held my hand out to her. She raised an eyebrow, but slipped her hand into mine, and I pulled her to her feet. I pulled her close, putting her hand on my shoulder and wrapping my arms around her waist. “What are you doing?” She asked, playfully, her other hand coming up on my shoulder.

“Dancing with my girlfriend.” I said simply. She laughed, and the sound hit me low in the gut. How had I ever lived this long without this woman? In the few weeks we’d been together, my life had made a 180, and all while nothing had really changed. She made her mark on my life in a million small ways.

She leaned forward, her forehead resting on my collarbone as we swayed slowly to the song. “It kind of feels like high school all over again,” she said on a sigh. “Only I never had anyone to go to the dances with.”

I pulled away enough that she looked up at me. “You didn’t have a date to your own prom?” She shook her head.

She shook her head. “Nope, I never even dated. No one was interested, and the guy I liked had moved away to go to Stanford with my brother.”

I stopped swaying and stared down at her. “Wait, say that again?”

She laughed brightly. “Did you seriously not know I had a crush on you?”

I blinked. “No, I didn’t know.” A grin plastered itself across my face and I couldn’t make it stop. “You had a crush on me? Like for how long?”

She groaned and dropped her head back to my chest. “I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”

I chuckled, “But you did, so spill, beautiful.”

She sighed. “I first noticed you, like that, when I was twelve.”

“Twelve,” I repeated slowly.

She looked up at me and nodded. “I remember you had your dad’s car, and you got out in this white tank top, your hair was all spiked up.” She smiled up at me, her eyes soft at the memory. “Looking back, you were so lanky and skinny.” She gripped my shoulders and looked at my lips. “I never would have guessed in a million years you’d turn out like this.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Like what?”

She smiled again, laughing. “Like you finally filled into your body’s potential.”

We stood there, staring at each other for a long time, but it was probably only seconds. “I love you, River.” I said slowly, “But I’m going to be honest, sweetheart,” I sighed, looking away. “I never noticed you like that.”

She laughed high and bright. “God, I hope not. That would be… gross.”

“But, I noticed you the second you walked back into my life,” I said softly. “I couldn’t help it, walking around Cade’s backyard with this banging body.” I slapped her ass playfully. She laughed and pushed at me.

I laughed with her, pulling her tighter against me. I glanced at her bed, still made, the box she’d been sorting sitting on the end. “You know, we’ve never had sex here. Seems a shame.” I glanced back at her, her eyes twinkling up at me.

She smiled, biting her lip. “Yeah, what a waste of a perfectly good day.”

“I mean, I almost climbed in your window that last time, but… somehow I managed not to.” I laughed as I lowered my mouth to hers, kissing her gently at first. Her hands tightened on my shoulders, and I slanted my mouth over hers, running my tongue over hers, pulling her tighter against me.

I don’t know when or how it happened, but we were both tearing at our clothes, shirts and shoes flying every direction, impatience winning out as we tumbled on to her made bed. I feasted on her body, her soft skin, her tight nipples. I kissed down her body, pushing her thighs apart as I kissed lower.

She stiffened lightly as I kissed her inner thigh. “Kieran, you don’t have to do that.” It wasn’t the words, but the tone in which she said them that gave me pause.

“Oh baby, I want to.” I grinned up at her. “I’ve been dying to taste you.”

I didn’t give her time to protest further, I dipped my head, and slid my tongue against her. Her hips bucked up to my face, a groan ripping out form her chest. I pressed my tongue into her entrance, then licked up slowly until I found her clit. I lapped at it, savoring her taste, sweet and salty and uniquely River.

Her hands gripped my hair, pulling and holding me in place at the same time. I glanced up at her, and saw her head whipping back and forth, her mouth wide. It was like fuel to my fire. I lifted a finger, and slipped it inside her. She moaned loudly, hips bucking against my face again. I focused on pleasuring her, I wasn’t going to stop until she came. I didn’t know how long I was going to last once I was inside her, so I would be damned if she didn’t come at least once.

I slipped another finger inside her, and rotated my hand until I felt that special spot that drove her crazy. I pressed from the inside sliding my fingers in and out slowly, and I sucked her clit between my lips. She screamed, her hands tightening further in my hair, her thighs widening under me.

I felt her starting to shake. She was two seconds from coming, but suddenly needed to feel it for myself. As she started to jerk, I slid over her and pushed inside her, making her scream. “Oh shit,” I groaned, feeling her come around me, like hot velvet, wet and rhythmically pulling at me.

“Oh I’m gonna come,” I groaned, thrusting into her as she continued to buck under me.

“Kieran,” she groaned, as she grabbed my hips, nails biting into my skin as I pushed deeper. My eyes squeezing shut as I pumped.

“Fuck,” I grunted, unable to think further than that, my cock pulsating with each spurt.

When it was over, I dropped on her, unable to hold myself up completely for a minute. “Shit,” I said, my breath coming in ragged bursts, like I’d just run a marathon. She huffed a laugh under me, her hands sliding up and down the skin of my ribs.

“Shit is right,” she agreed.

I laughed, making her groan under me. “Sorry,” I said, pushing up.

She shook her head. “Don’t be. When you laugh, it twitches, and it feels good.”

I chuckled again, and kissed her softly.

“I love you,” I said softly. “And stop telling me I don’t have to go down on you. I like it.”

She slipped her hands up my chest to my neck, holding me against her. “I love you, too, Kier. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to go down every time, but you can do it whenever you feel like it.” She winked at me. “Please and thank you.”

I laughed then, and she groaned. I shook my head.

“Come on babe, lets get back to work.” I slipped out of her and off her body, standing. “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner I can take you home and do more dirty things to you in our bed.”

She looked up at me, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d done something wrong, but then her expression changed, turning soft. “Our bed,” she murmured, and smiled. “I like that.”

“Good, because this is just the beginning,” I said, leaning over her and kissing her lightly. “It’s you and me, babe. We got this.” She looked at me, her eyes flicking between mine. Whatever she was looking for she seemed to find, because her eyes visibly brightened, her smile shining at me like I’d just solved the entire world’s problems.

“I love you, Kieran Donovan.”

I kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, River, last name omitted because it’ll be changing at some point.”

She fell back against the bed laughing. “You are incorrigible.”

I stood back up and winked at her. ‘And you love me anyway.”

She nodded. “And I love you anyway.”

We redressed quickly, and got back to work. The music continued to play, sometimes twangy 90s country and sometimes rock music that I never would have figured her to like. Every time she passed me, I made a point of touching her: grazing her arm with mine, smacking her ass lightly enough for her to know I was trying to be playful, a squeeze of her hip. I couldn’t seem to keep my fucking hands to myself.

Hours passed. The apartment slowly emptied, the boxes forming neat little fortresses in the living room. I caught glimpses of River moving between boxes, humming to herself, tucking a little thing here or there into the pile like it was treasure.

At one point, I paused to lean against the counter and watch her. She was so focused, so deliberate in everything she did. I realized I was grinning like an idiot, just watching her.

“You staring again?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “What? I’m not staring.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, smirking. “Sure.”

I laughed and went back to taping a box.

By late afternoon, we were both covered in a thin layer of sweat. My back was screaming at me from hauling the heavier boxes, but River didn’t complain once. She just moved gracefully, almost like she was dancing between the stacks, and I couldn’t stop thinking how perfect she looked in her sweaty, messy, focused state.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands together and looking around. “I think this is… all of it.”

I glanced at the living room, which now looked like a maze of cardboard. “Looks like it. Unless you were hiding something in the closet for dramatic effect.”

“Nope. Nothing left behind,” she said, grinning.

I slumped onto the couch, letting the exhaustion hit me. “You’re a packing machine.”

“Thanks, I think?” she said, laughing.

I gestured to the mountain of boxes. “You ready for Friday?”

She bit her lip, smiling. “Yeah. I think so.”

I nodded, running a hand over my face. “Good. Because we’ve got a lot of work to do to make sure the guys don’t destroy your stuff.” I glanced at the small bits of furniture she owned. “Did you want to keep any of your furniture?”

She looked at the couch and the coffee table. “No, not really. I got most of it at a second had shop. The only new furniture I bought was my bed, but I can throw that up on Facebook marketplace for cheap and have someone come get it.”

I nodded, then sighed. “Fuck me, I’m exhausted,” I said.

River laughed softly at that, the sound warm and tired at the same time. She sank down onto the couch beside me, her shoulder bumping mine as she leaned back and stretched her legs out in front of her.

“You carried half my apartment today,” she said. “Of course you’re exhausted.”

“Half?” I scoffed. “That’s generous.”

She tipped her head toward the forest of boxes filling the living room. “You’re the one who insisted on lifting everything like some kind of overachieving pack mule.”

“I’m a gentleman,” I corrected.

“You’re a show-off.”

I smirked, and dropped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Also that.”

She smiled, but I caught the way her eyes drifted around the room.

Not anxious. Not sad.

Taking it all in. The walls that had held her life for the four months. The windows she’d probably looked out of a thousand times. The little corners that still smelled faintly like her shampoo and whatever candle she liked burning at night.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She looked over at me and smiled again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She squeezed my hand. “I’m excited,” she said. “It just feels… big.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

For a minute we just sat there, quiet, looking at the stacks of boxes that now held her entire life. Then she leaned sideways and rested her head on my shoulder.

“You know what I’m most excited about?” she murmured.

“What’s that?” She tilted her head so she could look up at me.

“Not having to come back for something I might need.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that’ll save us about ten minutes of logistics.”

She laughed. “No,” she said, poking my ribs lightly. “I mean waking up there every day. My coffee mug already in the cabinet. My clothes already in the closet.”

I could picture it. Her toothbrush next to mine. Her books stacked on the nightstand. Her shoes inevitably multiplying by the door. My chest did that tight, warm thing again. “Careful,” I said. “You move in and suddenly you’ll realize you’ve tied yourself to a firefighter with a questionable couch.”

She grinned up at me. “I’ve already accepted my fate.”

I chuckled. “Bold choice.”

“Worth it.”

I looked down at her for a second. God, I loved her. I leaned down and kissed her hair. “Come on,” I said after a minute. “Let’s get you fed.”

Her head lifted immediately. “Food?”

“Food.”

“What kind?”

I pushed myself up off the couch with a groan and held out a hand to pull her up with me.

“Dealer’s choice,” I said. “You packed all day. You get to pick.”

She slid her hand into mine and let me haul her to her feet. “Thai,” she said instantly.

“Done.”

She looked around the apartment one more time, taking in the boxes, the bare spaces, the life she’d folded up into cardboard.

Then she turned back to me. “Next Friday,” she said.

I nodded. “Next Friday,” I agreed.

I grabbed my keys and slung an arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the door, I couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across my face. Because next Friday, she’d be coming home with me.

For good.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tim

The next night, I came back. I told myself I wasn’t going to.

I spent nearly three hours pacing my shitty motel room, trying to calm down, trying to convince myself I was overreacting. River was emotional. Sensitive. She always had been. Sometimes she needed space before she came to her senses.

That was all this was.

Except every time I closed my eyes, I saw that hoodie in her apartment. Saw evidence of another man inside her space.

Inside my space.

By midnight, the thoughts had become unbearable.

So I drove there again. The parking lot sat quiet beneath the yellow security lights, her little sedan still parked in the same spot. I stared at it through the windshield, jaw tight.

She still had not come home.

The realization no longer felt temporary. It felt deliberate.

Humiliating.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel as something darker settled into place inside me. A week ago, I still believed this was a misunderstanding. A fight. A temporary separation.

Now?

Now another man was sleeping where I used to sleep.

Touching her.

Holding her.

The thought made my stomach twist so violently I nearly gagged.

By the time I unlocked her apartment door again with the copied key, my hands were shaking.

The roses still sat on the dining table exactly where I’d left them.

Untouched.

That should have comforted me. Instead it somehow made things worse. Like she hadn’t even seen them. Like she wasn’t coming back here enough to notice.

My eyes drifted toward the couch automatically.

Toward the hoodie.

Still there.

I crossed the apartment slowly, picked it up again, and held it tighter this time, breathing in the scent buried in the fabric.

Soap.

Cedar.

Masculine.

My chest burned.

I could picture Donovan with unbearable clarity despite never having met him in life. His social media pictures were enough. Bigger than River. Loud. Confident. The kind of guy women mistook for stability because he carried himself like he owned every room he walked into.

Firefighter.

I snorted. More like hero complex.

I could already imagine the act.

Protective hand on River’s back, a deep voice telling her she was safe. Pretending to understand her pain better than the man who had actually spent years loving her.

Rage hit so fast my vision blurred. “She’s confused,” I muttered, pacing the living room now. “That’s all this is.”

But another thought slid in behind it.

What if she isn’t?

I stopped moving.

The apartment suddenly felt hostile around me. My eyes swept across the room, lingering on the couch, the hallway, the bedroom door. What happened here when I wasn’t around?

Did Donovan sit on that couch with her curled against him?

Did he touch her in the kitchen?

Did he sleep in her bed?

My breathing turned uneven. The not-knowing became unbearable almost instantly.

That was when the idea came.

Simple.

Obvious.

By one in the morning, I was parked outside a twenty-four-hour electronics store buying three miniature wireless cameras with cash.

By three, I was back inside her apartment installing them.

The first went into the overhead light fixture above her bed. Tiny. Nearly invisible. Tucked beside the hardware so perfectly it looked like part of the lamp itself unless someone knew exactly what to look for.

The second went into the vent cover near the living room couch, angled toward the front door and seating area.

The third sat inside the opposite vent, aimed toward the hallway and catching the first few feet of the bedroom entrance.

When I finally stepped back to look around the apartment, satisfaction curled slowly through me for the first time in days.

There.

Now I’d know. Now there would be no more guessing. No more wondering what she was doing behind my back.

I sat down on River’s couch afterward, phone in hand, testing the camera feeds one by one. The bedroom loaded first. The night vision on the camera was exceptional. I could see every inch of her bedroom.

Then the living room, where I could clearly see myself sitting on the couch. The hallway angle.

There was nothing happening right now, but the knowledge that I could see settled something feverish inside me.

Control, that was what had been missing.

River had always needed guidance. Structure. Stability. Left on her own, she got emotional and impulsive and started making reckless decisions.

Like this.

Like Donovan.

My jaw tightened again at the thought.

Because none of this made sense.

River loved me. She had loved me. Completely. Devotedly. I knew that. I remembered the way she used to look at me, the way she cried the first time she tried to leave after a fight. The way she begged me to talk to her instead of shutting down.

Women didn’t just stop loving like that, not unless someone poisoned them against you.

Donovan had gotten into her head somehow. Made her feel protected. Made her forget who had really been there for her all those years.

I stared down at the camera feed of her empty apartment, thumb dragging slowly across the screen.

Eventually Donovan would disappoint her. Men like that always did.

The firefighter act worked at first because women liked feeling rescued. But eventually the long shifts and ego and savior complex wore thin. Eventually River would realize Donovan didn’t understand her the way I did.

And when she came back?

That depended.

Because now there was another problem clawing at me.

Punishment.

The thought had rooted itself deeper since yesterday, festering into something ugly and obsessive.

Because she’d crossed a line.

She’d humiliated me. My eyes drifted toward the bedroom hallway again. Toward the room where another man had probably touched her.

My pulse started pounding harder.

“She was supposed to marry me,” I whispered. The words sounded wrong in the empty apartment.

Not sad.

Angry.

Possessive.

The cameras stayed live on my phone as I finally stood to leave near dawn.

I paused at the front door for one last look back into the apartment.

No matter what River thought right now, she still belonged to me.

And soon?

Soon… I’d know everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It only took a few days. It started the very next day after I placed the cameras. My phone vibrated when the motion censor went off. I was in a coffee shop sipping an overly expensive drip, and fumbled with my phone, excitement making me tremble.

That was when I saw that she was there, but she wasn’t alone. She came back to the apartment with Donovan. She’d walked in with that big happy smile she wore only when she was exceedingly happy about something.

She turned toward the dining room and went still. Donovan didn’t see the roses at first, but was wearing a dopey smile under his sunglasses. When he noticed them, he looked at River. Unfortunately there was no sound for the cameras, but I saw his lips moving. She didn’t move. He moved in front of her and after some back and forth, he ushered her out the door, before he started making phone calls.

I left the coffee shop and sat in my car in the lot, watching as police showed up, then Cade in one of his stupid suits. God, I hated him.

I watched from the three cameras as they dusted for prints, removed the roses and eventually left.

River never came back inside.

I sighed. The cameras were working. Now I just had to be patient.

A week later, the motion alarmed again, and I pulled up the feed.

I watched River walk in with Donovan again, cardboard boxes, bubble wrap and tape in hand. I sat up straighter on the bed. “What the fuck?” I said out loud as I watched them start to pack up her apartment.

For two hours, I watched them packing her apartment up, mostly apart, but after the third hour, Donovan went in and leaned against her bedroom door frame. I couldn’t tell what he was saying to her, but she set the box down she was working on and he scooped her up and started to dance with her right there in her bedroom door.

I rolled my eyes. “Fucking seriously? This shit is working on you, River?”

I saw her tuck her head against him, and the look of utter bliss on his face. I blinked and brought the phone closer to my face.

She looked up at him then and they smiled at each other.

That when it happened. I can’t lip read, but everyone knows what “I love you” looks like.

I blinked at the screen, my mouth gaping open. Did he actually just tell her he loved her? What the literal fuck?

Then he gestured to her bed, and before I even had time to process that he just told her he loved her, when they started pulling clothing off faster than anything I’d ever seen before. I’d never seen River so excited to get naked. In all the years we were together, she never liked me seeing her naked.

Why was it so different with him?

He undressed just as quickly, shirts and pants and shoes flying in every direction. When she pulled her bra off I nearly sighed. God, I missed her tits. They were a little too big for my taste, but her nipples were so responsive, so sensitive.

He was trying to kiss her and shove his boxer briefs down at the same time and I almost rolled my eyes. Just take off your shit then kiss her, I thought with a shake of my head, as if I were watching porn, and not some asshole about to fuck my fiancé.

He managed to push them down and I almost choked on my own tongue.

Fuck.

I didn’t think I was a small dude, but Jesus, that thing looked… not normal. There was no way River was going to be able to work with that. She could barely take mine, always complained that it hurt and most of the time I just fucked her long enough to get off so I didn’t have to listen to her complain.

They fell onto her bed together, and his hands were… everywhere. On her face, on her tits, on her hips. White hot rage rolled through my veins and I started to stand up, started to reach for my keys to go break this up right now, when I stopped.

No, by the time I got there it would be over, and then they’d know where I was.

Instead I sat back down on the bed, and watched as he licked and kissed every inch of her skin, and then spread her wide and ate her out. Jesus, seriously? He must actually like her, because no guy liked doing that.

River for her part, seemed to be having the time of her fucking life.

The whore.

How could she just go and spread her thighs open for this… asshole?

He moved suddenly, sliding over her and slamming into her. He pumped a few times then I watched as his ass muscles went tight as he came.

I blinked at the screen. Wait… He hadn’t put a rubber on.

He fucking came inside my fiancé, bareback.

The phone left my hand so fast it barely registered.

One second it was it my hand.

The next it flew across the motel and slammed hard into the armchair near the window, bouncing off the cushion and hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

My chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fucking think.

The image was still burned into my skull anyway. Permanent now. Seared there like a brand behind my eyes no matter how hard I tried to force it away.

River.

My fiancé, with him.

A strangled sound tore out of my throat as I shoved both hands into my hair and doubled over, pacing blindly across the motel room. Rage flooded through me so violently my entire body shook with it. My skin felt too tight. My pulse hammered so hard it hurt.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

River wasn’t like that.

She wasn’t some cheap girl who jumped into another man’s bed the second things got hard. She loved me. She was supposed to marry me. We had years together. Plans together. A future together.

And now she was with him like none of that mattered.

Like I didn’t matter.

The thought detonated something inside me.

I grabbed the edge of my kitchenette counter so hard my knuckles popped white.

“She’s doing this on purpose,” I whispered hoarsely.

That had to be it.

This was punishment. Revenge. River trying to hurt me because she thought I’d hurt her first. Except she had no idea what hurt actually looked like.

My breathing turned uneven again as flashes of what I’d seen kept slamming through my head. His hands on her tits, his lips on her body. The way he slammed inside her, like it wasn’t the first time. The softness on her face. The way she looked at him. The intimacy of it.

My stomach twisted violently.

I loosened my grip on the counter top as another realization slammed into me.

That wasn’t new. That wasn’t awkward or uncertain or temporary. That looked… practiced.

Comfortable.

A horrifying thought slid into place.

Was she was trying to get pregnant?

The idea hit so hard I nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Of course. Of course she was.

River always wanted permanence. Stability. Commitment. She probably thought if she tied herself to Donovan fast enough, hard enough, it would somehow erase me.

My vision blurred red with rage. “She’s trying to replace me,” I said aloud.

The words echoed through the motel room. My hands shook violently as I paced again, every thought feeding the next one, spiraling faster and uglier.

Donovan knew exactly what he was doing. That self-righteous bastard had moved in on her while she was vulnerable. Played protector. Played safe. Pretended to be everything I supposedly wasn’t.

And River let him.

No, it was worse than that.

She chose him.

The betrayal felt physical. I felt like I was being skinned alive.

I stood and moved to the window of the motel room, staring out into the early July sunshine.

Now everything made sense. The disappearing. The silence. The sudden move.

She thought she could rewrite reality if she did it quickly enough, but she didn’t understand something.

She was still mine.

Not legally, maybe. Not officially, anymore. But emotionally? Psychologically? After everything we’d built together?

Mine.

People didn’t just walk away from years like they meant nothing. They didn’t crawl into another person’s bed and pretend the past disappeared.

And Donovan?

That fucking hero complex of his was going to get him hurt. A cold calm slowly started settling beneath the rage now, which somehow felt worse.

More dangerous.

I glanced at my phone, sitting with the screen dark on the floor next to the chair. I wasn’t done watching. Not even close.

If anything, this proved I’d been right to install the cameras in the first place. River was spiraling. Acting irrationally. Recklessly. Somebody had to keep an eye on her before she ruined her life completely.

Before Donovan ruined it for her.

Before she got pregnant with his bastard.

My jaw tightened again. I pictured his hands on her and rage flooded back so violently I slammed my fist into the wall beside me.

Pain exploded through my knuckles, but I barely felt it.

“He touched my fiancé,” I whispered. The words sounded crazed even to my own ears, but I didn’t care. Because now there was no fixing this peacefully anymore.

River had crossed a line.

And Donovan?

Donovan had stolen something that belonged to me.

The scary part, the part quietly unfurling inside my chest now, was how little guilt I felt about what came next. Because they were both going to learn something very, very quickly: actions had consequences.

If River wanted to play house with another man while I was still breathing?

Then both of them were going to suffer for it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

The sound of the shower reached me before I was fully awake. It was steady, familiar, echoing faintly down the hallway. For a few seconds I stayed curled under the blankets, eyes closed, letting my brain catch up to the day.

Then I remembered that Kieran had a shift, a long one. I blinked at the ceiling, the early morning light barely sneaking through the blinds, and reached for my phone.

5:30. I groaned softly and rolled onto my back.

He wouldn’t be home until Tuesday morning around eight.

I was really beginning to hate it when he worked a double.

The thought made my chest feel oddly hollow, even though I knew this was normal for him.

I stretched slowly, my muscles still sore from yesterday’s marathon packing session, then pushed myself upright. My hair was a mess, my eyes still half-closed, but I shoved my feet into my fuzzy slippers and padded down the hall toward the kitchen.

His kitchen.

No… our kitchen.

That thought still felt new and warm and a little thrilling.

I filled the coffee maker the way I’d watched him do a dozen times already. Scoop. Water. Button. The machine whirred to life. The smell started spreading through the kitchen almost immediately—rich and bitter and comforting.

I leaned against the counter while it brewed, staring out the window into the quiet gray of early morning.

The shower shut off down the hall.

A few minutes later I heard the closet door open. Boots hitting the floor. Drawers sliding shut.

The coffee maker gave its final little gurgle just as heavy footsteps moved down the hallway.

Then Kieran rounded the corner into the kitchen.

He was already dressed for shift, dark station pants, black belt, and his navy fire department shirt with the sleeves short, showing the full spread of black-and-gray ink down both of his forearms. His boots were already on and laced, his hair still damp from the shower.

He grinned when he saw me. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Before I could answer, he stepped up behind me at the counter and leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to the side of my neck.

I leaned back into him automatically, smiling. “Umm. Good morning, indeed,” I murmured.

His arm slid loosely around my waist as he looked down at the coffee maker.

“I knew I picked the right woman,” he said.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the base of my neck again. “She gets up early on a Sunday to make me coffee before work.”

I laughed softly and turned slightly in his arms. “Or,” I said, “she woke up and noticed her boyfriend disappeared.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Both things can be true.”

The coffee finished brewing. He reached around me and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet like he’d done it a thousand times before, filling them both.

Then he handed one to me. “Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” I slid onto one of the stools at the counter while he leaned against the opposite side, taking a long sip of his coffee.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Perfect.”

“High praise.”

He smirked. “Don’t get cocky.”

I smiled over the rim of my mug.

The kitchen was still dim, the early light slowly growing stronger through the windows. Everything felt quiet and soft and a little suspended in time.

“You heading out soon?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Need to leave in about fifteen.”

I nodded slowly.

He studied my face for a moment.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “River.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The quiet thinking thing.”

I sighed and set my mug down. “You’re gone for two days,” I admitted.

His expression softened. “I’ll be back Tuesday morning, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

He set his mug down, and pushed off the counter, stepping between my knees where I sat on the stool. His hands settled lightly on my hips.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

I looked up at him.

“I’m going to miss you, too.” He leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and warm and entirely too erotic for five thirty in the morning. I leaned into his lips, tugging on his shirt, trying to bring him closer, my legs lifting to hook around his hips.

He groaned in his throat, and his hands moved up to my face, holding me while he slanted his mouth further over mine, his tongue moving into my mouth, tasting me, caressing me. Every muscle in my body went tight and completely liquefied all in the same breath. I moaned into his mouth, wishing he was wearing a lot less clothes.

He pulled his lips away from mine, but kept kissing my cheeks and down my neck. “Fuck me, River,” he groaned, his lips moving slowly.

“Yeah, I’d like to,” I groaned when his hands grazed my breasts through the t-shirt I was wearing. He groaned again, squeezing my breasts lightly.

He lifted his head, looking at the clock on the stove behind him. “Baby, I don’t have time for soft and sweet.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need soft and sweet, just you inside me and a good orgasm to remember you by for the next two days.”

He didn’t waste time, pulling me off the stool. “Take your shorts off.” He was already pulling at the belt on his pants. I giggled and pushed my sleep shorts and panties to the ground and kicked out of them. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pushing them down just enough to pull himself out. I licked my lips and almost dropped to my knees when he grabbed me, turned me around, pushing me over the counter top.

“Get on your toes,” He said, his voice rough. I did as he asked, and I heard him spit.

“What are you doing back there?”

“Just to make sure its wet enough,” he said, stepping behind me, and pushing my thighs apart. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.” He lifted me slightly by my hips, and then I felt him against me. I moaned when he started to push inside.

“Shit, River, your dripping,” he said pushing all the way inside.

“Oh my god,” I groaned, gripping the granite countertop.

“Hold on, baby,” he said, his voice growing rougher. I nodded, and felt his hands flex against my hips, holding me tightly against him. Then he started to thrust.

He was right, it wasn’t soft and sweet. This was hard, and yet not rough, but absolutely not soft. I moaned, the pleasure incredible, even like this. I looked over my shoulder and saw him staring down at where he was pounding into me.

He gripped my hips tighter with one hand, and caressed my ass with the other, groaning. “Baby, you have no idea how hot this is.”

Oh, yes I did, I wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. I watched him, the tattoos on his arms flexing with every thrust, his short dark hair moving with each hard movement as he stared at himself fucking me. Add in the fireman shirt, the jingling of his belt with every thrust… This was going to live in my fantasies for the rest of forever.

His eyes lifted and caught mine, and slowly smiled at me. “I could watch my cock slipping in and out of your pussy all day.” He thrusted hard into me and held it deep for a long moment then thrusted hard again. He dropped his gaze, looking back at where our bodies were joined.

He grunted again, and I dropped my head to the counter, the cool stone a strange feeling against my flushed skin. I felt one of his hands move, and then it was right there, touching my clit, making my back bow.

“Fuck,” I screamed.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he started to swirl his fingers over it, and suddenly I was a breath away from coming on his fingers and cock. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight.” I felt him swelling inside me, his thrusts pushing deeper.

“Fuck, River,” he grunted, and pressed faster on my clit. “Tell me you want me to come inside you.”

I moaned under him, my body shaking under him. “Please,” I moaned.

He slammed into me harder. “Say it,” he grunted again. I moaned, I was so close. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

I moaned again, pushing back against his thrusts. “Come in me, Kier, please.”

“Good girl,” he grunted, increasing his speed and pressure on my clit. “Come on me, baby. Come on me now.”

“Fuck, Kieran!” I screamed, my body shuddering and jerking against him.

“Oh fuck, River, I’m coming. Oh, shit.” He slammed into me hard, and held himself tightly against me. From this position, I could feel the head of his cock twitching against me, could feel each spurt of him as it poured out. He dropped his head to my back, his body shaking and twitching as hard as mine was.

“God, I love you,” he said breathing hard, pressing his lips to my exposed lower back. He gave a rough chuckle. “Fuck me, River.”

“Oh, I tried,” I laughed under him, my voice breathless.

“Oh you really did, baby,” he said chuckling as he pulled himself out of me. “You did a good fucking job, too.” H pressed his lips to my low back, his hands running over my skin lightly. When his lips moved away, he smacked my ass playfully, then slid a hand over where he smacked before moving.

“You’re ass is perfect, by the way.” He said, his tone playful. “I’m going to think about it all shift.”

I slipped off the counter, and turned to look at him. “Good. I hope this was something you could think about while you’re surrounded by all those sweaty firemen,” I said sweetly. He looked up as he tucked his shirt back in.

He shook his head slowly, smirking at me. “You are really something else, River Scout.”

I laughed. “And you still love me.”

“I will always love you,” he said, clipping his belt back together. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “But now I have to go to work.” When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against mine. “I’ll text you when I can,” he said.

He stepped back and picked up my shorts and panties to hand them to me, but stopped, staring at my thighs. A wide smile slipped across his face, as he stood up fully and pulled me tightly against him.

“I’m never going to get tired of that.”

I raised an eyebrow, as I took my clothes from him. “And what would that be?”

He leaned in, kissing me lightly, then whispered against my lips: “Watching my come drip down your thighs.”

I knew I was blushing like madness, when he chuckled against my lips and kissed me again.

“Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He stepped away from me, smoothing his hair back into place.

I grinned at him. “Define stupid.”

He gave me an irritated look. “Going to the apartment by yourself.”

I sighed. “Kieran—”

“River.” The look he gave me told me he wasn’t teasing. “With Tim being the threat he is, I don’t want you to be anywhere he might look, okay?”

I huffed. “Fine.”

“Good.” He smiled like he’d just won something important.

Then he grabbed his keys off the counter, and moved through the kitchen to the living room.

He slipped on his jacket, opened the door, then turned back one last time.

“Lock it after me.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He smirked at that.

Then he stepped back inside long enough to kiss me again, quick this time, but just as warm. “Just so you know, I actually am going to be thinking about this all shift.” He murmured against my lips. “All fucking shift.”

I smiled against his lips. “Good, I’m going to demand a repeat when you get home.” I kissed him once more, and stepped back. “I love you, be safe. Now go save people.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he said. “Lock the door.”

“I will. Drive safe.”

“Always, beautiful.”

Then he was gone.

I watched through the window as he crossed the driveway and climbed into his truck, the engine rumbling to life in the quiet morning.

A minute later, the truck pulled away down the street, and suddenly the house felt a lot bigger without him in it.

First off, thank you all again for subscribing to my substack! This has grown so much over the last month, and every notification makes my dark little heart sing. 🖤

I have several stories I’ve been working on in addition to the ones we currently have in progress, and I’d like to start sharing one more (as I am currently closing in on writing the end of two of these stories we currently have going, but I won’t say which!!). Below are the working titles (I generally just use a character’s name as a working title) and a brief description of the story. Which ever gets the most votes by the end of the week will be the next one I start publishing, but not to worry: all of these will be added at some point along the line.

Once you’ve read through the quick descriptions, vote in the poll at the bottom (and comment if you have any ideas, suggestions, or even if you have a close second choice). You guys are my audience, and I owe every word to you all, so your choice is what I will follow.

Almost all of these are of a slow-burn variety, fair warning.

Stories:

1. Cole & Ryan: They met by accident one afternoon and it was literal love in the rain, but fate is cruel, and six years have passed, each of their lives being pulled in other directions. But when fate throws them back together, they aren’t the same people they were before. Can you really fall in love in a single afternoon, and still love them after six years? And how do you love someone whose life is so completely different from the one you’re trying to build? (note: I started this before the current political climate, during relatively peaceful times).

   1. Tropes and TW include: active military (Navy aviator), lost love, love at first sight, engaged to someone else, possessive MMC, found family, foster care/childhood neglect, college romance, cinnamon roll mmc, physical violence, boys on motorcycles with tattoos, rough sex/light bdsm).

2. Blackwell & Libby: Elliot Blackwell is a professor of Shakespearean Studies and Romantic Literature at a private university in Chicago, known for his cold, impersonal, downright rude personality, but no one knows who he is… or who he used to be. So when he gets a Ph.D. transfer candidate from an Ivy League college, he’s immediately intrigued, and once he’s met her, he becomes obsessed. Erin “Libby” Hayes was running from a past she wanted to forget. Meeting her new Irish doctoral advisor, however, was not the kind of distraction she’d been looking for. Of course, having a masked man pulling her into dark corners on campus wasn’t on her list either.

   1. Tropes and TW include: past traumas/PTSD, organized crime, he falls first, soft only for her, possessive MMC, college romance, professor/student love story, secret identity, Irish accents (because, yes please), stalking, physical violence, rough sex/light bdsm. two masked men, children/pregnancy, past sexual trauma/violence, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree

3. Almost Always (actual title): Reed Callaghan had two loves in life: hockey and Evie. She’d been his best friend since they were kids, and to Reed, Evie was everything, defending her with words and his fists when he needed to, even when she didn’t know it. Little did he know, the same was true of Evie; Reed was literally everything she’d ever hoped for, the boy who used to lay in the grass at night and indulge her lectures about astronomy and the night sky. But as life often does, it pushes a wedge between them. And when her world starts to crumble, Reed is the only one she trusts to step back to catch her during the freefall.

   1. Tropes and TW include: high school to college to adult romance, curvy/plus size FMC, pro hockey player (obviously), body dysmorphia, friends to lovers, found family, touch her and catch hands, physical violence (on the ice and in a backyard), possessive MMC, sexual violence/trauma, soft only for her, trauma/death of family, children/pregnancy

4. Luke & Kate: Luke lived and breathed baseball, enough so that it got him signed pro as soon as he graduated from college. His biggest supporter and number one fan was always Kate, the girl he had known his entire life, the literal girl next door. Best friends all the way through high school, college pulled them in opposite directions, but they never lost touch fully. But it isn’t until their 10 year reunion that they reconnect, and sparks fly

   1. Tropes and TW include: friends to lovers, long distance romance, small town romance, professional baseball player, professor/teacher, he falls first, possessive MMC, physical trauma/violence during a game, golden retriever boyfriend, rough sex/(very) light bdsm, with more to come, as this is in the very early stages

5. Jack and Quinn: Quinn needed a job, like yesterday, so when she got a call back to be a live in assistant for the CEO of an up and coming financial firm, it solved all her problems: a place to live with out her douche ex, and a job to pay off her student debt. Jack hated having a personal assistant, granted, he knew full well he needed one, especially with the IPO going live. He could barely keep himself from tripping over his own feet most days, let alone manage his schedule, so when Quinn fixed his calendar before she was even out of the interview, he knew she was the only real choice. Of course, having a gorgeous curvy woman to look at wasn’t a bad deal, he’s been single too damn long, and having her live in his detached garage apartment behind his house… he’s not sure if that’s a blessing for him or a curse on the HR department.

   1. Tropes and TW include: Boss/employee, curvy/plus size woman, soft only for her, he falls first, workplace romance, secrets, accidental voyeurism, possessive, obsessive and yet still clutzy MMC, touch her and catch hands

These are the ones I’m pretty well in on, none of them are complete, but this will help me decide what to work on next, as I will have a lot of time to write/edit during my upcoming leave.

Please feel free to leave comments with story requests, thoughts, comments, and anything else you’d like to share. I’d love any and all feedback.

Poll:

Thanks everyone! Happy reading!

🖤 Tath

The party bus waited at the curb like a neon-lit threat to public safety.

Even from half a block away, bass rattled faintly through the tinted windows hard enough to vibrate the sidewalk beneath my shoes. Tourists streamed around it in waves under the glowing chaos of the Strip, girls in sequins, guys already drunk before sunset, someone dressed inexplicably as Elvis posing with someone dresses as a Minion. The entire street smelled like expensive perfume, cigarette smoke, and bad decisions.

Brad stood beside me staring at the bus with genuine reverence.

“Look at her,” he whispered emotionally. “Majestic.”

I glanced at the aggressively flashing purple glow beneath the tires. “It’s a bus.”

“It’s an experience.”

“It’s a hepatitis risk.” I said with a shake of my head.

Brad pressed a hand to his chest like I’d insulted a member of his family. “You have no vision.”

Dean walked past both of us carrying a beer he’d somehow acquired before we’d even boarded. “You two done fore-playing with the transportation?”

Alex snorted behind him.

Dean grabbed the rail beside the door and climbed aboard first. “Only one way to find out.”

The second the doors opened wider, the music hit full force.

The bass physically punched me in the sternum.

“Oh dear god,” I muttered.

Brad looked delighted. “That’s the sound of memories being made.”

“That’s the sound of permanent hearing damage.”

“You’re such an old man,” Kara called from somewhere inside.

“I’m thirty.”

She snorted. “Exactly.”

I climbed in more slowly, one hand briefly braced against the doorframe as I stepped inside.

The interior exploded in color.

LED lights flashed overhead in violent shades of blue and pink while bass-heavy music blasted loud enough to qualify as psychological warfare. Black leather seats curved around the perimeter of the bus, already crowded with bodies and drinks and shouted conversations. Bottles of vodka, tequila, and canned seltzers sat packed in giant ice bins near the back.

Kara had spared absolutely no expense.

Naturally.

“Oh my god,” Lexi shrieked from near the center of the bus. “Ty is here!”

I winced.

Dean burst out laughing immediately. “Jesus, she heard your heartbeat from outside.”

Lexi was already half-standing in impossibly high heels, one manicured hand gripping the seat for balance while she waved dramatically at me like we were reuniting after war. Her long blonde hair spilled over one bare shoulder in glossy waves that probably took three professionals and a blood sacrifice to achieve.

She was objectively gorgeous in the polished, influencer kind of way. Tall, perfect blonde hair, tiny waist, legs for days, lips that pouted a little too hard, boobs a little too perky.

Every inch of her looked engineered specifically for Instagram.

And she’d been aggressively flirting with me since Kara introduced me to her five years ago.

Unfortunately for her, she was exactly the kind of woman I’d never been able to force interest in no matter how attractive everyone else insisted she was.

Too polished, too performative, too aware of being looked at. Even beyond that, she wasn’t my type. I liked… something much more real.

“Ty,” she practically purred as I approached. “You clean up nice.”

I glanced down at myself. “I’m wearing jeans and an old t-shirt.”

She had the audacity to wink at me. “And it’s working.”

Dean snorted behind me while Brad mouthed she’s into you with all the subtlety of a billboard.

I smiled politely and kept moving before Lexi could physically latch onto my arm.

“Rude,” she called after me dramatically.

“Self-preservation,” I muttered.

Kim sat farther back beside Kara, shorter and curvier than Lexi, blonde curls piled messily on top of her head while she laughed so hard at something Alex said that she nearly spilled her drink down the front of her jumpsuit.

“Alex told a bartender he was emotionally available,” Kim informed me immediately.

“I said emotionally vulnerable,” Alex corrected from across the aisle.

“The bartender gave him water and walked away,” Kara added.

“You guys suck.” Alex muttered.

Kim, at least, seemed normal. Harmless chaos energy instead of calculated seduction.

Then my eyes found Emily, and everything else faded automatically.

She sat tucked near the rear corner of the bus on the other side of Kara, one knee folded slightly beneath her in a dark green fitted top that wrapped softly around her curves without trying too hard, blue jeans and black boots. The color of her top made her eyes look even greener beneath the flashing lights overhead.

Dark curls piled up on her head, but draped down, framing her face loosely tonight, softer than they’d looked earlier at brunch.

She looked up at the exact moment I noticed her and smiled. Like she was genuinely happy to see me. That same strange pull hit low in my ribs again. Something quiet and dangerous.

“Ty!” Kara yelled over the music. “Get over here.”

I moved automatically toward the open seat across from them while Brad immediately started handing out drinks like he was rushing a fraternity.

“Tequila?” he asked.

“No.”

“Vodka?”

“No.”

“Beer?”

I sighed. “Sure.”

“See? Team player.”

Emily tucked one leg beneath herself slightly as I sat down, making room without making it obvious she was doing it.

“I hear you took a nap?” she asked.

“Barely.”

Her mouth curved. “You still look tired.”

“I’m still very tired.”

“Poor baby,” Kara said flatly.

“I fly fighter jets and protect the country for a living,” I informed my sister. “I deserve kindness.”

Kara snorted. “You chose violence as a career.”

Dean nodded. “Fair.”

“You literally get paid to break the sound barrier,” Alex added. “Nobody feels bad for you.”

I blinked at them all. “I could die at work.”

“Yeah, but so could me or Brad.” He took the shot in his hand and handed the empty glass back to Brad. “Besides you’d die dramatically,” Dean pointed out. “Like in slow motion with patriotic music.”

I snorted and took the dark beer bottle Brad handed me.

“That’s true.” Brad confirmed.

“You’re all delusional.” I took a quick sip. “It would be a fast, fireball that I’m sure, no matter the reason, would be labeled a ‘tragic training accident’ for congress.”

Emily laughed softly beside her drink, and Christ, there it was again. That warmth. It settled somewhere beneath my ribs before I could stop it.

Lexi suddenly appeared beside my shoulder like a blonde jump scare. “Fuck,” I said with a blink.

“Ty,” she announced, placing a manicured hand against my arm, “you promised me a dance tonight.”

I blinked at her. “The fuck I did.”

“He did?” Brad said raising an eyebrow as he dropped to a seat across from me.

Her smile never faltered. “Not technically.”

“Then I definitely didn’t.” I shrugged forcing her hand off my arm. “I don’t dance.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer as he laugh.

Kim slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Lexi pouted dramatically. “You’re mean.”

I shrugged again. “I’m tired.”

“Same thing,” Alex muttered.

Brad pointed at me accusingly. “This is why women find you so irresistible. Your emotionally stunted.”

“I don’t think that’s the phrase they use.” I muttered.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I think the last one called you an emotional terrorist.”

I took a drink of my beer and flipped Dean off.

Lexi still lingered another moment, fingers trailing lightly down my arm again, in what was very obviously meant to be seductive. The only thing I was feeling about it was mild irritation that she wouldn’t stop touching me.

Take the fucking hint.

Meanwhile, Emily shifted beside Kara and absentmindedly brushed her fingers against my wrist while reaching for a drink, and my entire nervous system lit up like a struck match.

Unbelievable.

I took another swallow of my beer to hid my reaction.

Lexi finally wandered off after spotting her own reflection in the dark bus window near the front like a magpie discovering treasure.

“Oh thank God,” I muttered under my breath as she disappeared into the flashing lights and music chaos. “Jesus, she’s relentless.”

Emily glanced toward the front of the bus where Lexi was now fixing her lipstick using the reflection from somebody’s phone screen before looking back at me again.

“She’s very pretty,” Emily said.

“If you say so.”

Emily tilted her head slightly at that answer, curls shifting against her shoulders. “No?”

I shrugged one shoulder, taking another sip of my beer mostly so I had something to do with my hands. “Not really my type.”

Kara gasped theatrically from beside Emily like I’d just announced military secrets.

“Tyler Quinn admitting to having a type is groundbreaking.”

I groaned immediately. “Don’t make it weird, Kara.”

“Too late,” Brad called from farther up the aisle while aggressively trying to convince Dean to shotgun a White Claw.

Dean looked personally offended. “I’m not shot-gunning a white claw. Those are for women on a diet. I have dignity.”

“No you don’t,” Alex said without hesitation.

“Yeah,” I added, “I’m gonna agree with Alex on that one.”

“That’s fair,” Dean admitted solemnly.

Emily’s eyes sparkled faintly over the rim of her water bottle as she looked back at me. “No changing the subject. What is your type?”

My brain immediately betrayed me immediately.

Green eyes.

Dark curls.

Soft curves wrapped in dark green fabric.

Warmth.

Confidence.

A woman who moved through space like she belonged there.

A woman who laughed loudly without apologizing for it.

A woman who somehow still looked at me the exact same way she had twelve years ago.

My entire train of thought derailed so hard it nearly left the tracks.

“Uh…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t know.”

Kara pointed at me instantly. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.”

“Ty absolutely has a type,” Brad informed the entire bus with the confidence of a man delivering a TED Talk. “He likes women with big tits, fat asses, who look emotionally available but could probably ruin his life.”

I balked. “That is not true.”

Brad ignored me completely, already fully committed to the bit. “Dark hair,” he continued, counting on his fingers now. “Big green eyes. Curvy. Into light bondage. Looks like she’d either save your life or stab you while she fucked you just to get herself off.”

I nearly choked on my beer. To my left, Emily went suspiciously still.

Brad kept going. “Like that mystery girl from the club last night,” he said. “The masked one? Dude’s been psychologically haunted for twenty-four hours.” He gestured to me seriously. “Been walking around with a hard on ever since.”

“What the fuck, dude,” I warned immediately.

“What?” He grinned wider. “I’m just saying. Dark curly hair, green—hazel?—whatever eyes, tits for days, an ass that you could eat off of, confidence level bordering on criminal activity—”

Dean cut in abruptly. “Wait, are we talking about Germany girl?” Moving to sit next to Alex.

Brad blinked. “Who?”

“The one he dated for like three weeks in Germany.” Dean squinted like he was trying to remember details through alcohol poisoning. “I think she had dark blonde hair?”

I pointed at him immediately. “See? Totally different type.” I gestured widely. “Topic over.”

Dean waved that away. “I don’t remember exactly, but I remember she had a pretty face. But man, she had a giant rack, and an ass the size of—”

“Shut the fuck up, Dean. Christ.” The entire bus exploded laughing.

Dean was nearly crying now. “Dude likes some meat on his girls!”

“Oh my God,” Kara groaned. “I do not need to know any of this.”

“Agreed,” I muttered.

“I think I heard him and Germany girl in his room every three hours for like two straight weeks,” Dean continued. “I was afraid for his health.”

“I was twenty-three,” I muttered. “I had… hormones.”

“For seventy-two consecutive hours?” Brad asked.

“Military stamina,” Dean said wisely, holding up his beer.

“Dude you almost got court martialed for fucking her on base while you were supposed to be doing flight checks.” Brad said, grinning at me.

I sighed. “But I didn’t. So topic over.”

Dean snorted. “Only because the CO liked you better than the rest of us.”

“Please die.” I groaned.

For her part, Emily was visibly trying not to laugh now. I caught her glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, before she dropped her head down toward the bottle of water in her hands while a grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.

And for some reason that hit me harder than the actual public humiliation.

“And we dated two weeks,” I defended weakly. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

Brad snorted so hard beer nearly came out his nose.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was your longest relationship, like, ever.”

That finally made Emily glance up fully, shock written across her face.

“What?” I said defensively. “I’ve have a job that keeps me busy, and I mean, I wasn’t looking for Mrs. Right.”

Dean immediately barked out a laugh. “Yeah, just Mrs. Right Now, on all fours, right?”

I had been taking a drink of beer at the exact wrong moment and I started choking instantly. “Dude—the fuck?” I coughed. Brad was folded over laughing against the seat in front of him while Kara physically recoiled.

“Oh my god, Dean.” She said, clearly grossed out.

“What?” he wheezed. “You all knew what I meant.”

Brad was laughing but nodded. “Oh yeah, I walked in on him once with a girl when he was stationed with me in Virginia, and yeah, he had her on all fours.”

I groaned. I had hoped he’d forgotten about that.

“I think he’s got a dominance thing the way he was pulling her hair, and if I remember correctly, he had her hands tied to his bed.” He gave me wink. “Her ass was like bright red too. Hand prints I think.”

I closed my eyes in total and complete mortification, leaning forward, dropping my head into my hands.

That’s it, kill me right now. Maybe I could throw myself into traffic.

I always wanted my little sister to know about my dominance kink. Awesome.

Brad looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Did she have dark hair. I think she did.” He snorted. “She had a big ass though, and her tits –” he started, holding his hands out a solid foot away from his chest.

“No one wanted clarification,” Kim informed Brad.

Lexi was practically salivating as she watched me. “I think that is so hot.”

“Great,” I muttered.

Alex, for his part, had mostly stayed quiet through all of this, but when I looked over, he was grinning like an idiot into his drink. Apparently my suffering was bringing people together tonight.

“Can we please stop talking about my sex life before I throw myself into traffic and pray for death?” I asked.

“Yeah, its pretty lacking lately, eh?” Brad taunted.

Alex lifted an eyebrow and snickered. “Doesn’t sound like it’s lacking, man.”

I groaned loudly enough several people turned. Brad immediately pointed at me with his beer bottle. “Bro hasn’t been with a chick in eighteen months.”

I blinked at him. “What the fuck dude.” I glanced around, and unfortunately, that only made everyone on the bus look directly at me. “What ever happened to keeping shit to yourself?”

“Eighteen months?” Kim sputtered.

Lexi’s head snapped around from three rows up like a shark smelling blood in the water. “We could remedy that.” She licked her lips and gave me a very obvious look up and down.

I snorted immediately. “Hard pass, thanks.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Lexi, were you not listening? He like curvy, dark haired women.”

Lexi just gave a delicate shrug.

Kara made a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a scream.

“Okay,” she said loudly, pointing at everyone like an exhausted kindergarten teacher. “Enough about my brother’s kinks and lack of a sex life.” Then she visibly winced. “That is so gross,” she muttered. “Moving the fuck on. Please and thank you.”

“Too late,” Dean said cheerfully. “We know too much.”

“I know nothing,” Kara yelled back immediately. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Brad grinned. “Too bad. Ty’s absolutely touch-starved now.”

“I hate this bus,” I informed everyone.

“Dude will hook up this week and be a two pump chump, guaranteed.” Dean said with a nod.

I grunted. “If you know what the fuck you’re doing, it doesn’t matter if you’re a two pump chump,” I said. “And I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Dean snorted. “As big a fuck boy as you’ve been, I should fucking hope so.”

Brad nodded sagely. “Every time a girl left, she was smiling, so I’ll give him that.”

“I’m going to puke,” Kara muttered.

Emily laughed quietly beside me, shaking her head.

I looked over, and caught her eye. She watched me another second longer than necessary, her smile wide and her eyes absolutely dancing with entertainment.

Then somehow the corner of her mouth curved slightly like she knew something I didn’t.

That unsettled me more than it should have.

The party bus lurched violently into motion then, music booming louder while the entire group shouted like we were storming Normandy instead of bar hopping.

“I’m so glad everyone knows me so intimately now.” I glanced back at Em. “You started this.”

She immediately snorted. “I did no such thing. I asked if you had a type.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly. Thanks for the free entertainment, Em.” Holding his beer up.

“To Em!” Alex shouted holding his beer up.

There was a cacophony of voices cheering Em, but I just shook my head.

Brad raised both arms. “LAS VEGAAAAS!”

“Sit down before you die,” Kara yelled.

“This is how I want to go!” Brad exclaimed.

“Alcohol poisoning on a leased vehicle?” Alex asked.

“A warrior’s death,” he confirmed.

The bus roared down the Strip in a blur of neon and noise while people danced badly in the aisle despite the very real risk of traumatic head injury.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere between the first bar and the second, I settled into one very specific realization: Lexi was going to be a problem.

Not because I wanted her, because honestly, that would’ve been easier. I’m pretty sure she would have let me fuck her in any of the sketchy bathrooms of any of the sketchy clubs and bars we attended that night, in any way that I wanted.

No, the problem was that she very clearly wanted me, and she approached flirting with the subtlety of an air raid siren.

Every stop we made, she somehow materialized beside me again.

Hand on my bicep.

Fingers sliding down my forearm tattoos while asking what they “meant.”

Leaning against my shoulder when there was plenty of room elsewhere.

At one point she actually climbed directly into my lap for a group selfie while I stared into the middle distance like a hostage victim.

“Smile, Ty!” she chirped.

“I’m calling for an extraction.” She leaned back against me. “Seriously get the fuck off me.”

Dean doubled over laughing afterward.

“You look miserable,” he wheezed.

“I am miserable.”

Lexi pouted, but got off my lap. I sighed in relief.

“She’s hot.” Dean said laughing.

“She’s exhausting.” I caught Em turning away, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Brad overheard immediately and looked personally offended. “Lexi?” He pointed toward the front of the bus where she was currently filming herself under neon lights. “Dude. She’s objectively a ten.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t attractive.”

“So what’s the issue?”

I watched Lexi reposition herself for what had to be the fifteenth selfie of the night.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She feels like she’s auditioning for something.”

Dean barked out another laugh loud enough to startle nearby tourists.

“Jesus Christ,” Alex muttered into his beer.

Kim overheard while passing by and pointed at me. “He clearly likes women with big boobs, big butts and dark hair.”

“I do not.”

Emily, sitting near the back with her legs tucked beneath her, glanced up from her drink with suspicious amusement in her eyes.

All three of my friends looked at me knowingly. I sighed. “Okay maybe a it’s a little accurate.”

“Thought so,” Alex said.

After two beers, I switched to water and stayed there the rest of the night.

Partially because somebody had to remain functional.

Mostly because I didn’t like how easily my thoughts drifted toward Emily every time she crossed my field of view.

She barely drank anything either.

I noticed because apparently my brain tracked everything she did now whether I wanted it to or not. She had one blackberry mojito early in the night, then water or diet Coke after that.

No sloppy dancing on tables.

No drunk oversharing.

No performative party-girl energy.

She just… existed comfortably wherever she was.

Talking, dancing when she felt like it.

Completely at ease in herself in a way that drew attention without even trying.

Christ, men noticed her literally everywhere we went. And weirdly, she didn’t even seem to notice.

At the second club, some guy nearly walked directly into a pillar because he was staring at her while she laughed at something Kara said. Dean had to physically grabbed the man’s arm before he concussed himself.

“Eyes up, soldier,” Dean told him solemnly.

At another bar, a dude in a designer button-down interrupted her conversation entirely. “Sorry,” he said smoothly, “but do you model?”

Emily blinked once at him. “Yeah, this is body by Taco Bell.” I nearly choked on my water. The guy looked deeply confused. Emily smiled politely and walked away before he could recover.

I followed her without thinking.

That kept happening too. My body had quietly decided proximity to her was the default setting now.

By the fourth stop of the night, everyone else had crossed fully into drunken wedding-party chaos while Emily and I somehow ended up tucked into at table off the dance floor of a smaller bar just off Fremont Street.

The place was dimmer than the clubs.

Older wood, amber lighting. Less bass, more actual music.

The kind of bar where conversations could exist without screaming over each other.

Brad, Kara, Dean, Lexi, Kim, were near the dance floor brutally trying to drop serious moves, while Alex heckled them from the bar.

Dean was currently shouting out dance moves before he attempted, and I mean that generously, to perform them.

The man could not twerk. I’ll just leave that there.

Meanwhile, Emily and I sat across from each other sharing fries and making sarcastic commentary like we’d been doing this for years.

“You know,” I said, leaning back against the table, “I’m starting to think your best friend might be a little high maintenance.”

Emily gasped dramatically. “Take that back.”

“She cried because the bartender forgot the extra lime in her tequila.”

“She’s under stress.”

I grunted. “She threatened legal action.” I shook my head. “Illegal lime detention.”

Emily laughed so hard she snorted. “Oh my god,” I said immediately.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

I blinked at her grinning. “You absolutely snort-laughed.”

“I did not.”

“You used to do that when we were kids,” I said throwing my head back to laugh.

“You’re old, you’re forgetting the facts. I don’t snort when I laugh.”

I laughed again. “You did. It was adorable.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Emily blinked once.

Something shifted quietly in the space between us.

Not awkward, more of an awareness.

I cleared my throat and reached for my water. “Anyway.”

Her smile curved slowly around the straw she lifted to her mouth. “Anyway,” she echoed softly.

We kept talking. It should have surprised me at how easily it came back; like no time had passed at all between fifteen and twenty-seven.

She told me stories about teaching second graders that nearly killed me.

“One of them asked if I was alive during World War Two last month.”

I winced. “That’s rough.”

“I’m twenty-seven, Ty.” She said completely deadpan.

I nodded. “You are basically ancient.”

“You’re thirty.”

“I’m… seasoned.” I defended.

“You’re elderly.”

I laughed harder than the joke deserved. That was the thing, being around her felt easy.

It didn’t feel forced or performative. There were no games, or trying to impress each other.

It was easy, relaxed, comfortable.

At some point I stood from the table, stretching my arms over my head while my spine popped loud enough to concern nearby civilians.

Emily laughed. “Jesus.”

“Combat injuries.”

“You fly planes.”

I nodded solemnly. “Violently.”

“Seriously, are you okay? That sounded painful.”

“Couple compressed discs,” I admitted casually. “Turns out repeatedly getting launched through the atmosphere at Mach Jesus has consequences.”

Emily stared at me. “That is not a reassuring sentence.”

“It’s fine. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

I shrugged. “The Air Force spent a lot of money teaching me how to survive bad decisions.”

“And did it work?”

I considered that for a second. “Physically?” I shrugged. “Usually.”

That made her laugh again.

“It’s pretty normal, honestly,” I said, shrugging. “Go to hard on a G turn, and spend a few day or two in the base hospital, and then go right back to it.” I rolled my shoulder like it still remembered the shape of that pain. “I don’t even tell the folks about those. Mom would just worry.”

She blinked at me. “There are worse ones?”

I nodded.

Emily’s expression shifted immediately. Not dramatic, just quieter. Like she was recalibrating what she thought she knew about me.

I exhaled through my nose. “Yeah. I’ve had a few.”

“What happened?”

For a second, I almost answered normally, but the memory didn’t come in clean edges. It never did. It came in fragments: dark sky, too dark to be real, no horizon, no ground. Just instruments and warning tones cutting through the cockpit like alarms inside my skull.

I remember the impact first.

Not the missile itself, just the moment everything on the left side tipped hard, then just sort of… died. A violent jolt; a flash of warning lights. The sound of metal being torn apart at terrifying speed.

I don’t even remember making the decision, I just knew it had to be done. So, I ejected. There isn’t really a debate at that point. It’s automatic, muscle memory drilled so deep it happens before fear even catches up.

The canopy blew, and suddenly I was outside the aircraft.

The desert air at night, at thirty thousand altitude is colder than most people can imagine. Add in going faster than the speed of sound when you eject… it felt like a pressure bomb went off in my chest.

Then the second hit came, the one I still feel if I think about it too long.

The seat separation wasn’t clean. The missile damage had already compromised everything. I remember the violent snap through my left arm as I came clear of the aircraft, bone taking force it wasn’t designed for.

Then falling.

The jet rolled away beneath me for a second, trailing fire, bright enough to light the desert sky like a wound. I remember watching it go, spinning once, twice, and then it just erupted.

A bloom of orange and black against the desert night.

Too quiet for something so violent.

I tried to stabilize the chute instinctively, but my left arm wasn’t cooperating. Something was wrong, bad wrong. I hadn’t known it at the time, but it was broken. The whole left arm was limp. I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t lift it, couldn’t do anything with it.

The ground came up wrong.

Too fast.

Too hard.

I braced, but the impact wasn’t clean either.

I remember the shock through my entire spine, the air punched out of my lungs, the immediate understanding that something in my chest had simply given up. Later they told me: nearly every rib on the left side fractured. A couple vertebrae cracked under compression. Internal bruising that took weeks to fully map out.

But in that moment, there was only the night sky above me, filled with an impossible amount of stars and the taste of blood in my mouth and the realization that I was still conscious when I probably shouldn’t have been.

I remember thinking this wasn’t such a bad way to go. Beautiful sky, stars twinkling like they were my consolation prize for dying at twenty-six, my body slowly going numb.

It took them under an hour to find me.

I remember the medics cutting the neoprene flight suit away. The way they handled my arm like it was already decided it was broken, which it was. I didn’t realize the bone was sticking out, not until they told me the next day.

I got lucky with really just a broken arm and ribs and a few cracked vertebrae. No internal bleeding, no head injury. No complications form the missile or my jet itself. Some low key surgery to reset the ulna bone, that had been sticking out at my elbow, a cast, and I was benched for three months while I healed.

It was the only reason I’d tattooed so far down on my forearm. It was a small scar, but it was enough that I didn’t want it seen. With the swirling pattern of my tattoo, it worked in my favor to keep it hidden.

I blinked myself back to the present, shoving the memories aside, I looked at Emily.

She hadn’t moved, just sat there watching me with concerned eyes. Her face had gone very still in that way people get when they’re trying not to imagine too much at once.

I let out a slow breath and gave her a small, almost apologetic smile. “That…” I said quietly, “that one is classified.”

Emily didn’t move for a second.

“But,” I qualified, “I only broke my arm, my left ribs and a few vertebrae, so I was really lucky.”

Then she let out a slow breath, like she’d been holding it the entire time I was talking. “Jesus, Ty,” she said quietly. “And you never told your mom or dad?”

I shook my head. “Classified.”

Her eyes moved over my face. “You’re okay? I mean, you healed?”

The concern in her voice made my throat tight. “Yeah.” I nodded. “Three months benched and some surgery on my arm, but I’m ok now. It’s been four years.”

She watched me for a second, then nodded slowly. “Okay.” No follow-up. No pushing. Which, somehow, made it worse and better at the same time.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly aware of how heavy the air had gotten between us, like we’d both accidentally wandered into something neither of us had planned on standing in.

So I nudged it sideways before it could settle too deep.

“Also,” I added, a little lighter, “for the record, ‘classified’ is a very versatile explanation. Highly recommend. Works for taxes, relationships, and family reunions.”

That earned me a look. Emily blinked once… then huffed a quiet laugh despite herself. “That is not how that works.”

“It is in my world.” I said with a grin.

“Your world sounds exhausting.”

“It has its perks,” I said. “Occasionally free peanuts on flights.”

That got another small laugh out of her, softer now, like the tension had finally found somewhere to go.

She shook her head slightly, studying me again, but less like she was staring into an aftermath, and more like she was just… back with me.

“You’re deflecting,” she said as I stood and stretched again, groaning.

“I prefer ‘tactically redirecting of emotional traffic.’”

“Of course you do.”

I gave her a small grin. “See? You’re getting it, sweetheart.”

The word slipped out before I really thought about it.

That got her. A small, reluctant laugh slipped out before she could stop it. She shook her head like she was trying not to encourage me. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that by air traffic control.”

Her mouth twitched again, like she was losing the argument internally.

Then she pushed her chair back lightly. “I’m going to get another water.”

The rest of the afternoon dissolved into increasingly unhinged groomsmen chaos after that.

At one point Brad decided wedding weekend required “a permanent symbol of brotherhood,” which should’ve been warning enough by itself.

“That sentence alone should disqualify you from making decisions,” I told him.

“Too late,” he replied proudly. “I’m inspired.”

Dean immediately pointed across the casino promenade toward a tattoo shop. “Let’s go.”

Alex stopped walking entirely. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Brad corrected.

“Guys—” Alex protested, and got no where.

Ten minutes later we were standing inside a tattoo studio that smelled like disinfectant, black ink, and bad decisions while Brad flipped through design sheets like he was choosing paint samples for a nursery.

“The date,” he announced finally. We all looked at him, not understanding. “Five, Five, Twenty-26.”

“Seriously?” I stared at him. “That’s it? You want all of us, to tattoo your wedding date on our bodies.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s symbolic.”

I blinked. “It’s numbers.”

He grinned back at me. “It’s a bonding experience.”

“It’s a scheduling reminder.” I corrected with a huff.

Dean barked out a laugh. “Honestly, that’s kinda perfect.”

Alex looked horrified. “You’re all seriously doing this?”

Brad slapped a hand against his chest dramatically. “Alex. Don’t make me get emotional in front of strangers.”

“You’re literally getting your wedding date as a tattoo.”

“Exactly.” He grinned at him. “And so are you.”

Alex blinked. “The fuck I am.”

Alex and I should’ve walked out right then.

Yet, somehow, all four of us ended up agreeing.

Brad went first because he was the groom. “Put it here,” he told the artist, tapping his chest over his left pec muscle. “Right over my heart.”

Alex snorted. “That’s not where your heart is.”

“Shirt off,” the bearded tattoo artist said, not even fazed by Brad’s theatrics.

He pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it at me. “Sorry, ladies, I’m taken,” he said shimmying in the chair and running his hands down his chest suggestively.

I rolled my eyes so hard it physically hurt. “You are the most aggressively married man alive.”

“Damn right.”

Dean snorted. “You have a dad bod, dude. No one is salivating.”

Brad winked. “Kara does.” I gagged on instinct alone. He grinned the entire time the tattoo gun buzzed against his skin, already taking pictures to send Kara.

The second Brad finished, Dean stepped forward.

“Alright,” he said, rolling up the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Hit me.”

Dean barely reacted at all when he dropped into the chair. Tattoos already covered most of both arms anyway: black ink layered over years of deployments, bad ideas, unit jokes, coordinates, dates none of us asked about.

The artist glanced at his arm. “Uh… where exactly do you want this?”

Dean studied his left bicep critically. “We can squeeze it in there.”

“There is no room there,” Alex said immediately.

Dean looked up at him. “There’s always room.”

Alex sighed. “There’s literally a shark wearing aviators already there.”

Dean looked offended. “His name is Lieutenant Chomp.”

Brad barked out a laugh.

The artist sighed the weary sigh of a man questioning every life choice that led him here while Dean pointed at a narrow strip of open skin between two existing tattoos.

“Perfect.”

“That’s not perfect,” Alex muttered.

The tattoo gun buzzed again.

Dean didn’t so much as twitch while the numbers were inked into his arm. Instead he looked around the shop casually like he was waiting at a DMV.

“This,” he informed us solemnly, “is easily my least questionable tattoo.”

“That is deeply concerning,” Alex said.

Dean immediately lifted his right arm, and pulled up the shirt on that side. “Naked mermaid lady over on this side.”

Alex looked, and then visibly regretted looking. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “This is definitely your least questionable tattoo.”

Dean looked offended. “The mermaid is tasteful.”

“She has nipple piercings,” I pointed out.

“Artistic nipple piercings.”

Brad was laughing so hard he nearly fell over again.

Alex got bullied into participating too.

“I hate all of you,” he informed us while sitting down.

“It’s your first tattoo,” Brad said proudly. “This is a sacred moment.”

Alex looked like he was reconsidering every friendship he’d ever made.

Alex approached the chair like it was a tax audit.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Just visibly disappointed in every life choice that had somehow led him into a tattoo studio in Vegas with three idiots he absolutely should’ve stopped being friends with years ago.

“This is stupid,” he informed us while pulling his glasses off to clean them on the edge of his shirt.

Brad looked delighted. “That’s the energy we want.”

“Come on, dude. You gotta live a little,” Dean pressed.

“I teach sixth grade, that’s enough living for any adult.” I raised an eyebrow, the pieces of the puzzle starting to come together with Alex. I tried to ignore the curiosity I felt about the guy. I knew he was good friends with Brad, undoubtedly because he had dated and been engaged to his girlfriend’s best friend, but I really didn’t know him.

Fuck, until six months ago when Brad told me they were getting married, I hadn’t even known Alex existed. Kara never really talked to me about Em except in passing: when she graduated with honors, when she got her first full time teaching appointment, but she’d never, in the eight years they’d been together, said a word about Alex and Emily being together.

Even after they were engaged.

As soon as I got my sister alone, she and I were going to have a conversation.

“Where are you getting it?” the artist asked.

Alex hesitated just long enough to make me suspicious.

Then he said, “Here,” and tapped high on the right side of his chest, just below his collarbone and closer toward his shoulder.

Dean let out an immediate yell. “Oh, a chest piece! Let’s go!”

“It is not a chest piece,” Alex said flatly.

Dean nodded sagely. “It’s emotionally a chest piece.”

The artist nodded. “You’ll need to take your shirt off.”

And that… that was when my day took a deeply unfortunate turn. Alex sighed, muttered something under his breath about us all being terrible people, and pulled his shirt over his head.

I immediately regretted having eyes.

Jesus Christ, the guy Emily had almost married was built like a fucking Greek statue.

Not bulky. Not gym-bro obnoxious.

Just unfairly athletic in that quiet, understated way that somehow made it worse.

Lean muscle across his chest and shoulders, defined arms, sharp lines down his stomach like he did Olympic rowing recreationally between solving world hunger and remembering anniversaries.

Dean made a choking sound. “Dude.”

Brad looked genuinely offended. “I’ve known you three years, dude. Why are you secretly Captain America?”

Alex sat back, looking exhausted already. “I’m not participating in this conversation.”

Suddenly my brain, traitorous, deeply damaged thing that it was; decided this was the perfect time to revisit the fact that Emily Morgan had once been engaged to this guy.

This man.

Smart, calm, successful, emotionally available Alex with his stupid charming glasses and stupid perfect posture and apparently stupid superhero torso.

No wonder Emily almost married him.

Hell, if I met Alex objectively, I’d probably want to marry him too.

I groaned internally when I realized it. If they were together for eight years, they’d undoubtedly had sex. Emily had sex with this Greek statue demi-god.

“Ty looks upset,” Dean observed immediately.

I sighed. “I’m not upset.”

Brad squinted at me. “You look like you’re comparing yourself to him in real time.”

“I’m literally not doing that.”

I absolutely was.

“Liar,” Dean chided with a grin.

I threw my hands up. “Well, fuck, can you blame me?” I gestured to Alex. “Dude, look at him!”

Alex adjusted his glasses again while the artist prepped the stencil against his chest. “Can everyone stop talking about me like I’m not sitting right here?”

“No,” Dean said instantly.

The artist smoothed the stencil then slowly pulled it away. Alex looked down at it with the same expression people usually reserved for grim medical diagnoses. “I can’t believe I let you idiots talk me into this.”

Brad put a hand over his heart. “Because you love me, Alex.”

He snorted. “I think you’re delusional if you believe that.”

The tattoo gun buzzed to life, and Alex immediately went still, his face going white.

He wasn’t tense exactly, more like he was controlled, like he’d decided the pain was beneath him on a spiritual level. Unfortunately, one tiny muscle in his jaw started twitching hard enough to betray the fact that he was absolutely suffering.

Dean started laughing almost immediately. “Oh my God, he’s trying to intellectualize the pain.”

“I’m not,” Alex said tightly.

Brad nodded. “You look like you’re writing a thesis about discomfort.”

Dean was crying laughing now. “Look at his face! He’s looks like he’s trying to survive a transplant surgery while awake.”

“It feels,” Alex said carefully, “like a hornet with artistic ambition.”

The artist snorted and shook his head.

Meanwhile I was still trapped in my own personal hell realizing Emily had spent years dating a man who looked like he belonged in an underwear ad and probably knew how to make homemade pasta.

And somehow, somehow, she hadn’t loved him enough to marry him.

Which raised a deeply unsettling question: if Alex, with his perfect hair, perfect and previously unmarred body, perfect calm demeanor, and emotionally functional adult personality, couldn’t make Emily fall in love with him… then who the hell could?

The tattoo gun finally stopped buzzing. Alex looked down at the fresh black numbers stamped high against his right pectoral like he was personally offended they now existed on his body permanently.

The artist wiped the area clean, the placed the plastic protective sticker on top. “Done.” He pulled off his latex gloves and slipped them in the garbage. “Leave that on for at least 24 hours, then take it off with hot water. I recommend the shower, its just easier. Don’t itch it. If it starts to itch, slap it.”

Dean slapped his chest in solidarity.

Alex exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses before studying the tattoo with deep suspicion. “Okay.”

Brad immediately appeared beside him. “Show me.”

“You were literally watching the entire time.”

“Show me the finished product.”

Alex rolled his eyes but turned slightly anyway.

The date sat clean and sharp just below his collarbone, close enough to his shoulder to disappear beneath most shirts.

Honestly?

It looked annoyingly good.

Dean pointed dramatically. “Okay, that placement is objectively solid.”

Alex pulled his shirt back on immediately. “I regret knowing all of you.”

Then all three of them turned toward me at once.

Absolutely not.

I pointed at Brad. “You already got your emotional support wedding tattoo. We can leave.”

“Nope,” Dean said instantly.

Brad gasped theatrically. “Captain Tyler Benjamin Quinn.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Don’t use my government name.”

“You are not escaping this sacred brotherhood ritual.”

Alex folded his arms now, looking far too calm considering he’d just voluntarily let someone stab him repeatedly with a needle. “You already agreed.”

“Hypothetically.”

“That’s not how tattoos work,” Dean informed me.

The artist looked up. “You doing this or not?”

I sighed heavily. “I hate every one of you idiots.”

“You love us,” Brad corrected.

The big issue was placement.

Air Force regulations had loosened over the years, but visible tattoos still came with limits, and I was already pushing them harder than most officers bothered to. Black tribal work wrapped down both arms, crossed over my shoulders, spread across both pecs, and cut diagonally along my left ribs.

Which meant there was really only one spot left that wasn’t stupid, like the middle of my chest or my abdomen or my ass.

I pointed toward my right side. “There.”

Brad clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re putting my wedding date near your heart too?”

“It’s near my liver. Relax.”

Dean nearly folded in half laughing.

The artist motioned toward the chair. “Shirt off.”

I muttered something deeply unfriendly under my breath but pulled it off anyway, tossing it toward Brad, who caught it with the kind of satisfaction that suggested he’d won something important.

“Damn,” Dean said immediately.

I stared at him. “Don’t.”

“No, seriously,” Brad added. “How are you somehow more muscular now than you were at twenty-two? That feels aggressive.”

“Military,” Alex said calmly. “They weaponized him.”

I stared at both of them. “They’re literally military, too.”

“Yeah,” Brad replied, “but we’re in the military in a normal way.”

“That is not a normal amount of definition,” Dean added.

To be fair, I wasn’t bulky. Flying punished bulk fast.

But years of military training, deployment conditioning, and flight physical requirements had carved everything down into lean muscle and sharp definition that apparently offended my friends on a personal level.

Alex looked me over once before adjusting his glasses. “Objectively, he looks better than I do.”

I turned toward him slowly. “What a deeply, deeply weird thing to say out loud.”

Alex shrugged. “I’m being factual.”

Brad nodded between us. “This is the strangest compliment fight I’ve ever witnessed.”

The stencil pressed against my right ribs a second later.

Then the buzzing started.

The pain hit sharp and hot immediately, not unbearable, but deeply irritating in a way that made it impossible to fully relax. I leaned back in the chair, jaw tight while the artist worked steadily against my ribs.

Brad looked delighted by this. “Oh, he hates it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You’re glaring at the wall like it insulted your mother.”

Dean grinned and nodded. “The ribcage humbles all men equally.”

“It feels,” I said carefully while the needle dragged across bone, “extremely unnecessary.”

“You’re sweating,” he observed.

“Die slowly.”

“Aw,” Brad sighed happily. “Friendship.”

“Smile for Kara,” he said lifting his phone. I flipped him off as the gun continued to tattoo my ribcage. “Oh she’ll love that,” he said typing furiously.

As the artist was finishing, Brad snorted. “What?”

He turned his phone around so we could all see the text thread with Kara.

A picture filled the screen:
Me shirtless in the tattoo chair, flipping the camera off while the artist worked along my ribs.

Underneath it, Brad had captioned:

FAMILY BONDING ❤️

Kara: You convinced my brother to permanently brand himself with your wedding date like a sponsored NASCAR vehicle?

Dean made a strangled laugh sound.

Brad grinned proudly. “She loves us.”

Another text came through immediately after.

Kara: Also why does Ty look like he’s auditioning for a commercial against his will?

“Delete that,” I said immediately.

Brad ignored me completely.

Then the typing bubble appeared again.

Which was honestly never a good sign with my sister.

Kara: Wait. Hold on.
Kara: Is Alex shirtless in the background too?

All three of us looked at Alex simultaneously.

Alex looked horrified. “Why am I involved?”

Brad zoomed in aggressively on the photo.

Sure enough, in the background behind me, Alex was visible sitting in one of the waiting chairs completely shirtless, glasses on, looking down at his phone while his fresh tattoo sat wrapped beneath the clear protective covering near his collarbone.

Kara responded before any of us could.

Kara: Emily says he looks cute.

The entire room went silent for one catastrophic second.

Then Dean folded in half laughing so violently he almost fell out of his chair.

Brad made a sound like a dying seal.

Alex and I looked at each other. “He who?” We both said.

Brad was laughing as he texted Kara. “I’m asking.”

Brad: both of them are tripping. Who does she think looks hot

I snorted. “I’m not tripping.” The tattoo artist snorted as he finished.

Kara: She says Alex

Alex froze, like completely froze. His expression went so blank it somehow looped all the way back around into visible panic.

Meanwhile my brain short-circuited hard enough to qualify as an electrical fire.

“Excuse me?” I said before I could stop myself.

Brad looked up slowly, eyes glittering with immediate chaos. “Oh, that bothered him.”

“It did not bother me.”

“It absolutely bothered you,” Dean wheezed.

Alex reached for the phone. “Give me that.”

Brad jerked backward out of reach like a child protecting contraband. “No, no, wait, there’s more.”

Another message appeared.

Kara: Actually her exact words were:
Kara: “Unfortunately, he somehow got hotter after the breakup.”
Kara: Sorry, Ty ❤️

Dean actually had tears streaming down his face now.

“Oh my God,” he choked out. “Ty’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“I am not,” I snapped.

Brad looked delighted beyond reason. “Buddy, your eye just twitched.”

Alex looked like he wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole. “Can we please stop discussing my failed engagement while I’m sitting right here?”

“No,” Brad and Dean said together.

“Emily called you hot,” Dean informed him helpfully. “I mean, you guys could always just have one last bang?”

Alex groaned. “That somehow made this worse.”

Brad was still staring at his phone, grinning like a psychopath. “Kara says she’s saving this picture forever, by the way.”

My stomach dropped instantly. “Delete it.”

“Absolutely not.”

Another text came through.

Kara: Mom says you’re all idiots.
Kara: Also remind Ty to wear sunscreen. She’s convinced he’s going to get melanoma from all his tattoos in the desert sun.

I closed my eyes. “That is the most Mom response possible.”

Dean was still laughing. “Honestly? She’s not wrong.”

“I use sunscreen.”

“You absolutely do not,” Brad said immediately.

“I own sunscreen.”

“That was not the accusation.”

The artist pressed the protective covering over my ribs while Dean continued laughing himself into respiratory distress beside us.

“Honestly,” Dean said, wiping his eyes, “this has been the best day of my life.”

I considered kicking him across the studio. Brad looked delighted by my suffering. “This,” he announced proudly while we walked back through the casino, “is what male bonding looks like.”

“This is what poor impulse control looks like,” Alex corrected.

The day kept spiraling from there.

Brad insisted we needed matching drinks at some rooftop bar because it felt “cinematic.”

Dean nearly got us kicked out of a casino gift shop after putting on a rhinestone cowboy hat and declaring he was entering his “desert era.”

Alex somehow became the responsible one of the group, which honestly felt like the best option available, and still deeply alarming.

By early afternoon, exhaustion started hitting me hard.

The adrenaline from the night before had finally burned off, leaving me wrung dry from the inside out. Every lull in conversation sent my thoughts drifting right back to her.

The mystery woman.

The way she’d looked at me after my mask slipped.

Recognition.

That moment replayed in my head over and over until it started feeling obsessive.

By the time we ended up wandering through the casino lobby while Brad and Dean argued about sports betting, my eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep.

I slowed slightly, rubbing the back of my neck.

Alex noticed first. “You look dead.”

“I feel dead.”

Brad pointed immediately. “Nope. You are not allowed to die before my wedding.”

I snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Dean squinted at me. “Did you even sleep?”

“Not really.”

Brad’s expression shifted knowingly. “Still thinking about her?”

I didn’t answer fast enough.

“That’s a yes,” Alex said.

I exhaled hard through my nose. “I think I’m gonna head upstairs for a bit.”

Dean clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re abandoning us?”

I looked at him. “Do you want me to do this stupid bus idea?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to sleep now.”

Brad narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re not secretly going back to the club to search for Cinderella again, are you?”

“No,” I said immediately, then shrugged. “Probably not.”

All three of them started laughing.

I flipped them off lazily while stepping backward toward the escalators.

“Be back before the party bus,” Brad shouted.

“What time?” I called over my shoulder.

“Nine!”

“Too early,” I muttered.

“Welcome to hell!” he called cheerfully.

I shook my head and finally escaped the noise. But even alone, heading back toward the elevators and temporary silence, my thoughts drifted right back where they’d been all damn day.

Hazel-green eyes.

Soft lips.

A black lace mask.

And somehow, impossibly, Emily’s laugh woven through all of it.

The hotel room was blessedly quiet when I finally got back. No bass shaking walls. No Brad yelling about “wedding vibes.” No Dean deliberately starting arguments for entertainment.

Just silence, cold air-conditioning, and the distant hum of Vegas forty floors below.

I shut the door behind me and stood there for a second longer than necessary, eyes closed while the quiet settled over me. I scrubbed both hands down my face hard enough to sting.

Jesus Christ, what the hell was wrong with me?

I crossed the room slowly, tossing my wallet and keycard onto the dresser before dropping heavily onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.

My ribs burned from the fresh tattoo.

My shoulders ached from travel and too little sleep.

And somehow, despite all of that, my brain still had enough energy left to obsess over a woman I’d spent less than an hour with.

I leaned forward, forearms braced against my knees, and stared at the carpet while one thought circled endlessly through my head: what if it wasn’t a coincidence at all?

The Strip glowed beyond the windows in hazy streaks of neon and gold, but forty floors up it all looked muted somehow. Distant. Like another world entirely.

My ribs throbbed beneath the fresh tattoo wrap every time I breathed too deeply. My shoulders ached from the flight from Alaska, from hauling gear around for two straight weeks in freezing wind before immediately getting dropped into Vegas chaos with no adjustment period whatsoever. I was exhausted enough that my bones felt heavy.

And my brain still would not shut the fuck up.

“This is insane,” I muttered into my palms.

Because it was, it had to be.

Emily was not some mysterious stranger. She was familiar. Safe. Someone my life had orbited around for years without ever touching directly. My sister’s best friend. The girl who used to curl up in the corner of our couch with oversized hoodies and fantasy novels while Kara terrorized the rest of the house.

The girl who used to wear giant glasses and carry around color-coded pens in her backpack.

The girl who once cried in our kitchen because somebody in middle school told her she looked like Velma from Scooby-Doo.

She had literally helped me with my English homework for years.

Okay, maybe she was an unofficial tutor who corrected my homework.

So why the hell did my body react to her like this now?

I leaned back slowly and stared at the ceiling. Attraction wasn’t the problem. I could admit attraction. Emily was beautiful. Any man with functioning eyesight could recognize that. But this… this felt different. Too immediate, too visceral.

As if my nervous system recognized her before my brain did.

That was the part making me crazy.

I exhaled hard and pushed myself upright again, reaching for the hotel water bottle on the nightstand. Half of it disappeared in three swallows while I tried to think rationally for once in my life.

You danced with and kissed a stranger in a dark hallway.

You’re sleep deprived.

Emily happens to have similar eyes.

The last time I saw Emily I danced with her and wanted to kiss her.

That’s it.

End of mystery.

Except my stomach twisted immediately because it wasn’t just the eyes.

It was the way she looked at me while we were at brunch. It was the pull I felt every damn time she got close to me. The memory of her leaning around me at brunch while her perfume brushed against my skin, and suddenly all I could think about was pressing someone against velvet curtains while she gasped into my mouth.

I closed my eyes briefly.

“Jesus Christ, Quinn.” That was the other problem.

I couldn’t stop wanting her now that I’d noticed her. Noticing Emily felt like crossing some invisible line I should’ve had enough common sense not to approach.

I’d spent years carefully not looking too hard at her. Not because she wasn’t attractive, but because she was off-limits in that automatic way certain people became when they were tied to family. She belonged to Kara’s orbit. Which meant she belonged outside mine.

Simple.

Clean.

Easy.

Except brunch had ruined that completely.

She wasn’t fifteen anymore, and I wasn’t eighteen anymore either.

That fact sat heavily in my chest.

I thought about the way she smiled at me over her coffee cup. The softness in her eyes when she asked if I was okay. The way she laughed quietly at my stupid comments like she genuinely enjoyed listening to me talk.

Worse still… I thought about her engagement. About the way her face changed when she talked about Alex. It wasn’t heartbroken, or bitter. Just… sad that she couldn’t love him the way he deserved.

Something about that honesty got under my skin in a way I didn’t like examining too closely. If Emily loved someone someday, she’d love them completely. I knew that instinctively. She wasn’t capable of doing things halfway emotionally.

Which meant whoever eventually got her for real, got all of her. That thought hit me with a sharp, ugly spike of jealousy so sudden it actually startled me.

I sat upright immediately.

“Nope.”

Absolutely the fuck not.

I pointed at myself in the mirror across the room like I was disciplining a junior airman.

“We are not doing this.”

This was how bad decisions started. Fast attraction. Emotional projection. Wedding-week insanity.

I knew exactly how temporary environments distorted people’s judgment. You stuck enough alcohol, adrenaline, nostalgia, and unresolved loneliness into one week and suddenly everybody thought they were starring in a romantic comedy.

That didn’t make it real.

Except…

I stared at the carpet for a long moment.The problem was, nothing about whatever I felt around Emily actually felt temporary.

That was the terrifying part.

It felt old. Something my brain had quietly buried years ago had suddenly clawed back to life now that she was standing in front of me as a woman instead of a teenager. Maybe that explained why seeing her at brunch had hit like a punch to the sternum. That some part of me recognized her before I consciously did.

Not the kid version of Emily.

The grown up, present-day Emily.

I leaned back against the headboard slowly and scrubbed a hand over my jaw.

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Love that for me.”

My thoughts drifted helplessly right back toward her anyway.

The way sunlight hit her curls. The soft scrape of her laugh. The tiny hitch in her breathing when I looked directly at her for too long.

Worst of all was the horrifying thought that if I did end up kissing Emily, I might never emotionally recover from it.

I stared at the ceiling for another full minute before finally forcing myself upright.

The original plan had been simple: shower, crash for a few hours, maybe become slightly more human before whatever fresh circle of wedding hell Kara had planned for tonight.

Instead, I’d spent the last forty-five minutes replaying hazel-green eyes like my brain had developed a fixation disorder.

Fantastic.

I dragged a hand down my face and pushed off the bed with a groan, bare feet hitting cold hotel carpet. I crossed toward the minibar and grabbed another bottle of water, twisting the cap off before drinking nearly half of it in one pull. My throat still felt dry from too much whiskey, too little sleep, and recycled casino air.

Outside the window, neon lights flashed endlessly across the boulevard below. Crowds moved in restless waves between casinos, taxis, rooftop bars, and glowing marquees promising experiences nobody would remember correctly tomorrow morning.

Vegas never stopped moving.

Apparently neither did my brain.

I wandered toward the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror as I passed.

Fuck me sideways.

I looked rough.

Dark circles sat beneath my eyes from the Alaska deployment straight into wedding weekend with zero recovery time in between. My hair was a mess from dragging my hands through it all day, and tension still sat hard in my jaw like my body had forgotten how to unclench properly.

The black T-shirt I’d thrown back on after showering stretched across my shoulders, sleeves catching against the dense tattoo work wrapping both arms. Tribal lines curved from shoulder to forearm in thick black patterns that had accumulated over years of deployments, promotions, survival, boredom, grief, adrenaline, sometimes all at once.

Some tattoos meant something.

Some didn’t.

Some I barely remembered getting.

The fresh wrap along my ribs pulled slightly when I moved.

5/5/26

I looked down at it and huffed a tired laugh through my nose.

Brad was a fucking idiot.

My phone buzzed against the nightstand.

I grabbed it automatically.

GROOMSMEN

Brad: don’t fall in love with the stripper while ur napping

Ty: she wasn’t a stripper

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Brad: the fact that you corrected that immediately is devastating

Dean: WAIT she wasnt a stripper??

Dean: i absolutely assumed she was a stripper

Alex: That says significantly more about you than it does about Ty.

Dean: thank you alex

Dean: i work very hard to maintain my brand

I shook my head and dropped onto the edge of the bed again.

Brad: also kara says party bus leaves at 9 and if ur late she’ll actually kill you

Ty: tell my sister i died in service to my country

Brad: dramatic bitch

Dean: put “killed by party bus” on his tombstone

Alex: Honestly believable.

I smirked faintly.

Then another message came through from Dean.

Dean: serious question tho

Dean: how hot was she exactly

I stared at the screen for a second too long.

Every image from last night hit instantly.

Black dress against velvet curtains.

Soft hands in my hair.

Her mouth against mine.

Hazel-green eyes looking up at me after my mask slipped.

My chest tightened before I could stop it.

Ty: shut up dean

The typing bubble exploded immediately.

Dean: OH MY GOD

Dean: HES IN LOOOOOOVVE

Brad: this is the best week of my life

Alex: You realize he’s going to disappear during the party tonight to look for her again, right?

I frowned at the phone. I probably would.

That realization settled heavily in my chest while I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling again.

This was legitimately insane.

I didn’t do this stupid shit.

I didn’t obsess over women I met once in a dark hallway.

I especially didn’t spend an entire day thinking about someone whose name I didn’t even know… and yet, every quiet moment circled right back to her anyway.

The woman from the club had felt familiar before I ever saw her face.

That was the part I couldn’t shake.

Not attraction, not chemistry, and not simple attraction.

I knew her.

I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes, and immediately saw Emily laughing across the brunch table this morning.

I opened them again instantly.

My phone buzzed again.

Brad: also if you disappear tonight im telling emily you cried during top gun maverick

I blinked.

Then sat up straighter.

Ty: what does emily have to do with anything

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Brad: nothing 😎

I narrowed my eyes at the screen immediately.

Ty: brad

Brad: relax, flyboy

Dean: oh my god wait

Dean: DOES TY HAVE A…. CRUSH

Alex: Dean. Don’t start.

Dean: ON EMILY??

Dean: gasp!!!!

I stared at the screen in horror.

Absolutely the fuck not.

Ty: you people are brain damaged

Brad: interesting that you didn’t deny the crush part

I threw the phone onto the bed like it had personally offended me and scrubbed both hands down my face hard enough to sting.

What the hell was wrong with everyone?

More importantly, what the hell was wrong with me?

Because even after that exchange, even after my brain loudly rejected the entire idea, I still saw Emily’s smile flash through my head anyway.

My stomach dropped slightly.

Nope. Nuh-uh.

I pointed at the ceiling like I was correcting myself manually. “Knock it off. It is literally never going to fucking happen.” But it didn’t stop my brain kept circling the same impossible thought over and over: what if it was her?

I sat there staring at the ceiling for a long moment after that, and immediately got angry at myself for even considering it.

By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I regretted every life choice that had led me to this parking garage.

The Air Force Academy.

Friendship with Brad.

Friendship with Brad and Dean.

That questionable pizza I ate three months ago that turned me off pizza for life.

Las Vegas.

Everything was currently up for grabs in the “What caused Ty to go insane?” pool.

Millie felt like her entire body had stopped functioning correctly.

Her heart was beating too fast. Her lungs weren’t working right. Her hands were shaking hard enough that she could feel the tremor even where they gripped the front of Xander’s shirt.

None of it compared to the feeling of the ring now resting on her finger.

Heavy enough to feel real.

Warm already from his hands.

She kissed him back helplessly, emotion swelling so hard in her chest it almost hurt. Xander’s hand stayed cradled against her face while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him like he physically could not stand any distance between them now.

Not that she wanted any.

The bond between them felt enormous suddenly.

Mine, it hummed softly through her chest.

When Xander finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested lightly against hers, his breathing uneven in a way she almost never heard from him.

Millie let out a watery laugh that immediately betrayed the fact she was still crying.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “That’s generally the reaction I was hoping for.”

She laughed again, shakier this time, and immediately pressed both hands over her face.

“I cannot believe you just did that.”

“You knew I was going to propose.”

“That does not count!” she shot back, dropping her hands just enough to stare at him. “You said you would propose. You didn’t say you were going to go it in the middle of a magical forest picnic while the sky looks like a fantasy novel.”

His smile widened.

“You said you wanted a proper proposal.”

“This is offensively proper,” she informed him emotionally.

That finally pulled a real laugh out of him, low and warm and so obviously relieved that her chest tightened all over again.

Relieved.

Xander McCollough had actually been nervous she might say no.

The realization hit her hard enough that her expression softened instantly.

“Oh,” she murmured quietly.

His brows lifted slightly. “Oh?”

“You were really nervous.”

His face did something complicated for half a second, like instinctively he wanted to deny it before deciding honesty was probably useless now.

“A little,” he admitted.

Millie stared at him in disbelief. “Xander.”

“I know logically you love me,” he said, voice quieter now. “But there’s still a difference between hoping someone will choose you and hearing them actually say yes.”

That hit her square in the chest.

Her eyes burned all over again immediately.

“We literally already got the license, Xander.”

He shrugged. “But what if I missed the mark on the proposal and you said no?”

“Oh no,” she breathed. “Don’t say emotional things right now, I’m already barely holding it together.”

A helpless laugh escaped him.

Then she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him again before he could recover.

Harder this time.

Xander made a soft surprised sound against her mouth before immediately kissing her back with equal intensity, his arms tightening around her waist until she was nearly flush against him.

Millie could feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest.

Feel the relief still moving through him in warm crashing waves across the bond.

Her fiancé.

She pulled back just enough to stare at him again like she still couldn’t quite process he was real.

“You sneaky, sneaky man,” she whispered.

His mouth twitched. “I prefer romantic.”

“I told you I wanted a proper proposal, not immediate emotional devastation.”

“That part may have been unavoidable.” She huffed out another laugh and finally looked down at the ring properly, and promptly forgot how to breathe again.

The moonstone glowed softly beneath the lantern light, flashes of silver-blue shifting beneath the surface every time she moved her hand. The black diamonds sharpened it somehow instead of darkening it, dramatic and elegant against the antique detailing carved into the band.

It looked old-world.

Romantic.

Like something out of another lifetime.

“Xander,” she whispered softly, turning her hand slightly as the stone caught another flicker of sunset light. “It’s beautiful.” Warmth flooded through the bond instantly, tinged with unmistakable nervousness.

“I designed it,” he admitted quietly.

Her head snapped back up. “You designed this?”

A faint flush touched the tops of his cheeks, almost hidden by the fading light. “Yeah.”

“Like—designed designed?”

“Yes, sweetheart, that is generally how custom rings work.”

She stared at him in absolute disbelief.

“You impossible man.”

His smile softened slightly as he reached for her hand again, thumb brushing lightly across the side of the ring.

“I wanted something that felt like you.”

Millie looked at him for a long moment, the lantern light flickering softly across his face while the last streaks of sunset burned behind him through the trees.

This beautiful, terrifying, loyal man.

This man who would walk into war for her without hesitation.

This man who had built her a lantern-lit clearing in the woods and forgotten his entire proposal speech because she made him nervous.

Her chest felt too full. “I really love you,” she whispered.

Something in his expression softened instantly into pure affection. “I should hope so,” he murmured. “You agreed to marry me.”

She laughed softly through the lingering tears and rested her forehead against his again.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The woods around them had gone quieter now, dusk deepening slowly between the trees while lantern light flickered warmly around the blanket and picnic setup behind them.

The air smelled like summer grass and pine and him.

Safe.

Home.

Then Xander glanced toward the blanket behind them.

“Well,” he said carefully, “assuming you still intend to marry me after this deeply offensive manipulation—” She snorted. “—I did actually bring dinner.”

Her stomach chose that exact moment to betray her with a quiet growl. Xander looked unbearably pleased with himself.

Millie groaned softly and hid her face briefly against his chest. “You can never know peace again after hearing that.”

“Too late,” he informed her solemnly. “I’m going to think it’s adorable forever.”

“Cruel.”

“Fiancé,” he corrected gently.

The word hit her like a warm wave all over again.

Millie looked down at the ring once more, then back up at him.

Fiancé.

Future husband.

Mate.

Her person.

And somehow, impossibly, despite everything waiting for them beyond this clearing—

She felt happy.

Xander

Xander had never been particularly good at sitting still inside happiness.

Even now, with Millie tucked against his side beneath a sky streaked in fading violet and gold, some part of his mind still kept trying to move ahead. Logistics. Ireland. Security. Timelines. Risks.

But every time he started drifting too far into it, Millie would say something that dragged him right back into the present.

Usually by bullying him affectionately.

“You absolutely knew I was going to say yes,” she accused again as she sat cross-legged on the blanket beside the picnic basket.

“I hoped.”

“You designed a custom ring.”

“I am capable of long-term planning.”

“You are impossible.”

“You’re biased.”

“I’m correct.”

A laugh escaped him quietly as he handed her one of the containers he’d packed earlier.

Warm lantern light flickered around them softly now, casting gold across the blanket and catching the moonstone every time Millie moved her hand.

His fiancé.

Christ.

The thought still hit him like a physical thing every single time.

Millie settled against his side as they ate, her shoulder pressed warmly into him while the forest hummed softly around them in deepening twilight. The sunset had faded almost entirely now, leaving behind dusky purples and the first scattered stars beginning to appear overhead.

“You really did all this yourself?” she asked after a while, glancing around at the lanterns again.

“I had some help.”

“From who?”

“Pinterest.”

She barked out a startled laugh so suddenly he nearly choked on his drink.

“You used Pinterest?”

“I’m not proud of it.”

“Oh my god.”

“It was tactical research.”

“You researched romance?”

“I research everything.”

“That is somehow both incredibly sweet and deeply concerning.”

“That’s generally my brand.”

Millie laughed again, leaning more fully against him as she picked at the fruit he’d packed into one of the containers.

Warmth spread steadily through his chest at the sound.

This.

This was what he wanted.

Not pack politics.

Not leadership.

Not violence.

This.

Her beside him. Easy laughter. Shared meals. Futures being discussed like they actually belonged to them.

The thought tightened painfully around his ribs for a moment.

Because now he had something real to lose.

Maybe he always had.

Maybe he just finally understood the scale of it.

Millie glanced down at her ring again, still visibly unable to stop doing that every few minutes.

“You know,” she said casually, “I still think it’s insane that we’re getting married on Thursday.”

Xander smiled faintly. “Technically you agreed to it.”

“Under emotional duress.”

“You proposed emotional duress first.”

“That is not legally binding.”

“Give me forty-eight hours.”

She snorted hard enough that she nearly dropped her fork.

God, he loved making her laugh.

The sound of it settled something restless inside him every single time.

Millie shifted slightly so she could look up at him properly. “It’s weird,” she admitted more quietly after a moment. “I always imagined if I got married there would be this huge buildup. Planning and flowers and family drama and a venue and—”

“And significantly less supernatural political instability?”

“That too.”

Xander’s hand slid instinctively along her back, thumb brushing lightly against her side beneath the hoodie.

“We can still have all of that someday,” he said softly. “If you want it.”

Her expression softened immediately.

“A real wedding?”

“A real wedding,” he confirmed. “The courthouse is just paperwork.”

Her eyes searched his face carefully. “You’d do that?”

The question hit him strangely.

Like she still didn’t fully understand yet that there was very little on earth he wouldn’t do for her now.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “if you decide you want a castle and twelve hundred flowers and some terrifyingly expensive cake, I’ll make it happen.”

A laugh escaped her softly. “I don’t think I want a castle.”

“Good. Castles are difficult to heat.”

“You are such an old man.”

“And yet you’re marrying me anyway.”

“Questionable judgment on my part.”

“Very.”

She smiled into his shoulder then, quieter now.

“What would you want?” she asked after a moment.

“For the wedding?”

She nodded.

Xander thought about it honestly.

Then shrugged slightly.

“You there,” he answered simply.

The look she gave him after that nearly killed him on the spot.

“Xander.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say devastatingly romantic things casually.”

“I literally proposed to you tonight.”

“Yes, and I’m fragile now.”

A grin tugged at his mouth as he kissed the top of her head.

Eventually dinner gave way to lingering conversation and half-finished teasing until the lanterns had become the primary light source in the clearing.

Millie tried to help him clean up.

Tried being the operative word.

“Sweetheart.”

“I’m assisting.”

“You’re holding one napkin.”

“It’s moral support.”

“That’s not how cleaning works.”

“It is for me.”

He laughed quietly and stole another kiss from her anyway before packing away the containers and resealing the basket.

Then, once everything was cleaned and put away, Xander moved around the clearing lowering the lantern flames one by one until the light softened into something dimmer and more intimate.

The forest deepened around them.

Above the clearing, the stars had fully emerged now, scattered bright and endless across the sky.

Millie made a soft sound when he settled back onto the blanket beside her again.

Then she immediately curled into him.

Like it was instinct now.

Like home.

Xander stretched out on his back and pulled her carefully against his chest, one arm beneath her shoulders while she rested partially across him, her head tucked beneath his chin.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

They just watched the stars.

The lantern light flickered softly around the edges of the clearing while cool night air drifted gently through the trees.

Peaceful.

Temporary maybe.

But real.

Millie traced lazy patterns against the center of his chest through his shirt. “Do you think we’ll eventually settle here again?” she asked softly.

The question tightened something quietly inside him.

Because neither of them said if.

Just eventually.

Someday.

After.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “Maybe.” His fingers slid slowly through her hair. “I think a lot depends on what happens when we get there.”

She nodded slightly against him.

Neither of them mentioned timelines.

Neither of them acknowledged the possibility that Ireland might become permanent in ways they hadn’t fully prepared themselves to face yet.

Instead she said quietly, “I want a garden someday.”

Xander smiled faintly into her hair. “A garden.”

“Mhm.”

“You kill succulents.”

“That was one time.”

“It was six plants.”

“They were weak.”

He felt her laugh against his chest.

“But,” she continued stubbornly, “I want a real garden. Herbs. Vegetables. Flowers.”

“We can do that.”

“And a big kitchen.”

“You already barely fit inside our current kitchen without reorganizing things aggressively.”

“Our current kitchen is tiny.”

“You alphabetized the spice cabinet.”

“Because chaos is the enemy.”

He laughed softly.

The image settled unexpectedly easily into his mind though.

Her barefoot in some future kitchen. Sunlight through windows. Music playing somewhere softly while she cooked and complained about him stealing ingredients before dinner.

Dangerously domestic thoughts.

Dangerously wanted thoughts.

Millie tilted her head slightly to look up at him. “How many kids do you want?”

The question hit him hard enough that he went still for half a second.

Not because he hadn’t thought about it.

Because he absolutely had.

More than once.

Usually at deeply inconvenient moments.

Xander stared up at the stars for a long moment, honestly considering it.

Then finally he shrugged slightly.

“Just… a bunch.”

Millie burst out laughing immediately, the sound bright and helpless against the quiet woods.

“A bunch?” she repeated incredulously.

“Yes.”

“That is not a number.”

“It’s a strong estimate.”

“How many is ‘a bunch’ exactly?”

“I don’t know.” He considered seriously. “Enough to form a small army.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’ve thought about this.”

“Obviously.”

She laughed harder, burying her face briefly against his chest.

Xander smiled helplessly down at her, warmth spreading slowly through him again.

“What about you?” he asked quietly.

Millie hummed thoughtfully. “At least two.”

“Two?”

“Mhm.”

“Specific.”

“Well someone has to balance your apparently limitless ambitions.”

“My ambitions are reasonable.”

“You want enough children to qualify as a militia.”

“That feels exaggerated.”

She tilted her head up immediately. “Does it?”

He considered.

“…No.”

That earned another laugh from her.

And lying there beneath the stars with her wrapped around him, engagement ring glinting softly in lantern light, Xander thought distantly that maybe this was the first time in years he’d allowed himself to imagine a future beyond survival.

Millie

The two days after the proposal blurred together in a way Millie couldn’t have explained if she tried.

Not because nothing happened.

Because everything did.

There were receipts and decisions and conversations that felt too normal for the fact that she was, in fact, getting married on Thursday.

To a man who was not, strictly speaking, normal.

She went dress shopping with Sara first.

That had been its own kind of surreal.

Sara had taken one look at the ring on her finger and immediately stopped walking.

“No,” she said flatly.

Millie blinked. “No what?”

“No as in I refuse to process this before coffee.”

“I already had coffee.”

“Then I refuse to process this sober.”

It had taken an hour, two stores, and one very emotional dressing room moment before Millie actually found something that felt right.

Not extravagant. Not dramatic.

Simple. Clean lines. Soft fabric that moved easily when she walked.

Something that felt like her, not like a version of herself she had to become for the occasion.

Sara had cried anyway.

“I feel like I should be more surprised,” she’d admitted later, sitting on the curb outside the shop while Millie carried the dress bag carefully in her lap. “But honestly? It’s you and the weird immortal forest boyfriend. This tracks.”

“He is not immortal,” Millie said automatically.

Sara gave her a look.

“…Probably not immortal,” Millie amended.

That had earned her a laugh.

Her last shift at the diner felt even stranger.

Everything there was exactly the same as it had always been—greasy heat, the sound of dishes clattering, the smell of coffee that had been sitting too long—but she moved through it like she was already half gone.

Danesh had hugged her at the end of it, longer than usual. “You’re sure about this?” he asked quietly.

Millie hesitated just long enough to feel the weight of the question settle properly. Then she nodded. “Yeah.”

Danesh studied her face for a moment, then exhaled through his nose like he was accepting something he didn’t fully understand.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Then don’t disappear without saying goodbye properly, yeah?”

“I won’t.”

But even as she said it, she knew goodbye didn’t feel like the right word.

Because she was leaving.

But she wasn’t leaving alone.

That night was the first of the “training” as he was calling it. Teaching her how to use the bond ot protect herself when they were in Ireland. Xander picked her up that night like he had started doing without even thinking about it anymore.

Like she weighed nothing.

Which, according to him, she apparently didn’t anymore.

The bond training started the moment they stepped into the woods.

It wasn’t soft.

Not at first.

Xander had gone from gentle fiancé in the clearing to something sharper the second they were alone under the trees again.

Focused. Intentional.

“You need to understand what the bond actually is,” he said, pacing slowly in front of her. “Not poetry. Not instinct. Power.”

Millie frowned slightly. “It feels like instinct.”

“It is instinct,” he corrected. “But instinct can be shaped. Directed.”

She watched him carefully.

“And I can use it like… what? Magic?”

He gave her a look. “If you call it magic again I will make you do pushups.”

“I feel like you would enjoy that.”

“I would not.”

“You absolutely would.”

He paused.

“…A little.”

That had made her laugh harder than she expected, but then it shifted. The tone changed.

Xander stopped pacing. “Try it,” he said simply.

Millie hesitated. “Try what?”

“Reach for it.”

“That is not helpful instruction.”

“It’s the only instruction.”

So she did. At first, nothing happened.

Then something did.

It wasn’t a sound or a flash or anything dramatic like she expected. It was more like awareness expanding suddenly inside her chest, like something she had always had but never noticed until it shifted into focus.

The bond.

Warm.

Alive.

Threading between them like an invisible current.

Xander’s expression changed immediately, subtle, but sharp.

“Again,” he said quietly.

So she did, and this time it responded. Not just a feeling this time, but pressure, movement. The air around her seemed to tighten in response to her attention, like the forest itself was listening.

Xander went still. “Right,” he said slowly.

Millie blinked. “What?”

He stared at her like he was recalibrating something internally. “You’re not supposed to pick it up that fast,” he said.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

He shot her a look. “It is absolutely a you problem if you overuse it and hurt yourself.”

“I’m not overusing anything.”

“You just made the air change density.”

“I did what now?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Of course you did.” That night ended with him making her stop early.

The next night, he pushed her further. Showed her how to direct it outward, not just feel the bond. How to push through it. Shape it into something external.

Something solid.

A force.

Millie had tried not to think too hard about the implications of that, because thinking too hard about being able to physically affect the world through something she barely understood felt like a fast track to panic.

But she learned quickly.

Too quickly, apparently.

Because on the third night, everything changed. They were deeper in the woods this time, far enough from the clearing that the trees closed in thick around them. Xander had been circling her slowly, watching.

“Don’t think,” he said. “React.”

“I am thinking,” she shot back.

“That’s your first problem.”

“Wow. Supportive.”

“Millie.”

“Fine.”

She reached for the bond again, and this time it snapped into place much faster. The connection felt easier and stronger, as though it had been waiting for her to truly understand it before responding.

Xander’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her. “Good,” he murmured.

Something in his tone sharpened her focus even further. Before she could analyze it, he moved.

Fast.

It was a test.

A pulse of pressure pushed through the bond, carrying a clear challenge.

Millie reacted on instinct. She did not stop to think about what she was doing. She simply pushed back with everything she had.

The response was immediate.

Power surged out of her like something that had been released. It was neither gentle nor controlled. It was raw, instinctive, and far stronger than she intended.

Xander froze in the middle of a step.

Then he lifted off the ground.

Millie’s eyes widened instantly.

“Oh my—”

She never finished the sentence. Her control faltered for just a moment, and the force shifted.

Xander was thrown.

He slammed into the ground nearly twenty feet away, hitting with enough force to send leaves and debris scattering violently in every direction.

Millie stood completely frozen.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the horror of what she had done crashed over her.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “Oh my god, Xander, I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I—”

She moved immediately, panic flooding her chest as she ran toward him.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, are you okay, I didn’t know I could—”

Millie stopped abruptly when she reached him.

Xander was sitting up slowly, blinking once, then twice, as though he was still processing what had just happened.

She hovered nearby with her hands slightly raised, looking almost afraid to touch him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

He did not answer right away. Instead, he looked up at her.

“Jesus Christ.”

Millie’s stomach dropped instantly.

“I’m sorry—”

Xander blinked again. Then, very slowly, a grin spread across his face.

“You’re a fecking natural, love.”

For a moment, he remained where he was, not injured and not even particularly winded. He simply seemed to be recalibrating after what had happened.

Millie hovered over him anxiously, panic radiating through the bond in sharp, frantic waves.

“Oh my God,” she said again, her voice tight with worry. “I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know it would do that.”

Xander pushed himself upright, rolling onto one knee before standing. Leaves clung to his jacket, and a smear of dirt marked one shoulder, but he made no effort to brush any of it away.

Instead, he looked directly at her.

The emotion that surged through the bond nearly made her stagger.

Pride.

Not gentle pride or quiet approval, but something deeper and far more instinctive. It was possessive, fierce, and immediate. It felt like a part of him had recognized strength and claimed it without hesitation.

His expression reflected exactly what she felt.

He looked calm, focused, and entirely unbothered.

As though being launched across a forest floor by his fiancée was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Millie blinked in disbelief.

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Xander repeated, sounding genuinely confused by the idea.

“Yes,” she said. “I just launched you.”

He tilted his head slightly as he studied her. Then he rolled his shoulders once and exhaled slowly, settling back into himself.

“Again.”

Millie stared.

“What?”

“Again,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

Then he began circling her.

Not cautiously. Not slowly.

Deliberately.

Measuring.

The change in him was immediate. The stunned man who had been lying on the ground moments ago vanished, replaced by something sharper and more focused. There was an undeniable Alpha presence in him, one she was only beginning to understand.

Millie turned with him, her pulse still racing.

“Xander—”

He ignored the protest.

Instead, she felt it.

Pressure.

At first it was not physical. It came through the bond itself, reaching toward her like an invisible force testing its limits against her own.

A challenge.

Her instincts reacted before her thoughts could catch up.

The bond surged.

And she pushed.

The force exploded outward once more.

Xander was lifted cleanly off the ground for a second time.

Millie sucked in a sharp breath.

“Oh my—”

This time, however, he was ready.

He twisted in midair and braced against the force, attempting to redirect it back toward her. She felt the shift immediately. His power pressed forward through the bond, trying to overwhelm hers.

For a split second, she nearly lost control.

Then something clicked.

Oh.

The realization came suddenly.

He’s trying to use the Alpha thing on me.

A small smile flickered across her face despite herself.

“Nice try,” she muttered.

Instead of pushing harder, she changed tactics.

This was no longer force against force.

It was control.

She reached for what he was sending her, caught hold of it, and wrapped herself around the flow of it. Then she twisted it and redirected it back through the bond, turning the current in on itself.

Xander’s eyes widened.

“Millie—”

Too late.

The force snapped back into him with startling precision.

He rose even higher this time, suspended completely in the air for a fraction of a second.

Then she pushed again.

Hard.

Xander went flying.

Farther than before.

He hit the ground and rolled, momentum carrying him through the leaves before he finally came to a stop.

Millie froze.

“Okay,” she said quickly, “that one was definitely worse. I might have overdone it.”

Xander sat up slowly.

Then he stood.

This time he was much farther away, nearly a football field’s length from her, framed by trees and the fading twilight.

For a long moment, he simply stared.

Then he started running.

Millie instinctively stepped backward.

He crossed the distance in seconds, boots thudding against the forest floor before he stopped directly in front of her.

His breathing remained steady.

His eyes were sharp.

And he looked absolutely thrilled.

“How the feck did you do that?” he demanded.

Millie blinked.

“I... don’t actually know.”

His gaze never left her face. He looked as though he could not decide whether to be impressed, concerned, or both.

“I could feel your power reaching out,” she explained slowly. “And I just... I don’t know. I wrapped it around you and pushed it back.”

A brief silence followed.

Then he nodded.

“Good.”

Millie frowned.

“Good?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She stared at him for another second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Are you okay? We’re getting married in the morning, and I’d really prefer you not to be broken when we do.”

That finally earned a grin.

“Oh, I’m just fine, sweetheart,” he said calmly.

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I am assessing.”

“That is a lie.”

A low chuckle escaped him, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Then he stepped closer again, moving more slowly this time.

The amusement remained, but something more serious settled beneath it.

“You’re adapting faster than I expected,” he admitted.

Millie raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds like a problem.”

“It isn’t,” he said immediately.

Then he paused.

“It just means Ireland got a lot more interesting.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander

Xander woke slowly, dragged up from sleep by warmth and weight and the familiar scent of Millie pressed against him.

For a few seconds, he didn’t move.

He just stayed there.

Her head rested on his chest, one arm thrown loosely across his waist, her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt like she’d anchored herself there sometime in the night. One of his arms was draped around her shoulders, the other tangled loosely with hers beneath the blanket.

Outside, the city was still dim with early morning light, soft and grey-gold filtering through the trees.

The world felt suspended. Quiet. Safe.

For a man whose life had been anything but that, it almost didn’t feel real.

Millie shifted slightly against him with a soft sound, waking slowly. Her eyes blinked open against his chest before she tilted her head up to look at him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she smiled sleepily.

“Hi,” she murmured.

Xander’s mouth curved faintly. “Hi.”

Her fingers flexed lightly against his shirt. “We’re getting married today.”

“I’m aware,” he said dryly.

That earned him a soft laugh, still rough with sleep.

“Just checking you didn’t forget,” she said.

“Impossible,” he replied. “I’ve been reminded every three seconds since yesterday.”

She hummed in satisfaction and settled back against him again for a few more seconds like she wasn’t quite ready to move yet.

Neither was he.

Eventually, though, reality crept in.

The wedding.

Courthouse.

Simple ceremony.

Legal paperwork that would, in effect, bind their lives together in ways far more complicated than the ink on the page suggested.

Millie finally sat up, stretching slightly before brushing a kiss against his jaw.

“I’m going to shower first,” she said.

Xander nodded. “I’ll go after.”

She hesitated for a second, then pointed at him. “No peeking at the dress.”

He raised a brow. “I’m not twelve.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“That feels unfair.”

“It is not.”

Then she disappeared into the bathroom with her dress carefully in hand, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Xander exhaled slowly, pushing himself up from the bed.

For a moment, he just sat there.

Then he ran a hand through his hair and stood.

The next hour passed in quiet motion.

He showered second, the hot water clearing the last remnants of sleep and grounding him in the day ahead. By the time he stepped out, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his mind was already moving ahead: timing, travel logistics, paperwork, the hundred small details that kept everything from falling apart.

Today was simple.

Today was necessary.

Every so often, the bond between them pulsed gently.

By the time he finished, he was standing by the window when the bathroom door finally opened.

Millie stepped out.

And Xander’s entire brain stopped functioning.

For a moment, there was nothing.

No thoughts.

No plans.

No Ireland.

No pack.

No war.

Just her.

The dress was ivory satin, catching the morning light like it had been made from something softer than fabric. It had a square neckline that framed her collarbones perfectly, thick straps resting delicately on her shoulders. The bodice hugged her curves in a way that felt effortless, like it had simply been shaped around her rather than tailored.

From the waist down, it flared gently, tea-length, moving with her as she stepped forward.

Not dramatic.

Not excessive.

Perfectly her.

Her dark brown curls were half-up, half-down, styled so they fell down her back in soft waves, threaded through with tiny shimmering crystals that caught the light every time she moved. A small veil was clipped at the back, barely there but enough to shift the entire meaning of the moment.

She looked… unreal.

In a how-is-this-happening kind of way. Like something the world hadn’t meant to let him keep.

Millie paused just inside the doorway, suddenly shy under his stare.

“What do you think?” she asked softly.

Xander opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

He closed it again. Tried once more.

Still nothing.

His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with overwhelming certainty.

Fionn stirred immediately beneath his skin.

Oh, the wolf was very pleased.

Mine.

The word rolled through him like a deep, satisfied growl.

Xander finally managed to breathe out slowly, his gaze still locked on her like if he looked away, she might disappear.

“I think,” he said quietly, voice rougher than he intended, “that I’ve completely underestimated you.”

Millie blinked. “That sounds… ominous.”

“It isn’t,” he said immediately. “You look… stunning.” Even to him, he sounded a little breathless.

She huffed a small laugh, clearly relieved by the simplicity of it. “Just stunning?”

Xander stepped closer before he even consciously decided to move, stopping only when he was in front of her.

His hands lifted carefully, not quite touching her yet.

Like he was asking permission with the silence alone.

“You look like something I don’t deserve,” he said honestly.

That made her expression soften instantly. “Xander…”

He shook his head slightly, still staring at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. “I’m serious,” he added. “You’re…” He exhaled slowly, a faint, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth. “…everything.”

The bond between them tightened warmly, like it agreed.

Millie’s eyes softened in return, emotion flickering there again. “You clean up pretty well too,” she said quietly.

A low laugh escaped him, grounding him just enough to keep from getting lost in the moment entirely.

He finally reached for her, hands settling gently at her waist. She just stepped into him.

Xander leaned down slightly, resting his forehead briefly against hers, letting himself breathe her in for a second.

They were getting married today.

And for the first time in a very long time, Xander didn’t feel like he was walking toward a battle.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Millie

Millie had thought the drive to the courthouse would feel surreal.

It didn’t, it felt oddly normal.

Which somehow made it worse.

Xander drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on her knee like he needed to be touching her in some way or he’d forget she was real. Every so often, she caught him glancing over at her, not in a distracted way, but in a steady, almost unreadable one, like he was still trying to process the fact that she was sitting there in a wedding dress beside him.

The ring felt heavier on her finger than it had in the woods.

When they pulled up outside the courthouse, Millie finally exhaled.

“There’s no turning back now,” she said lightly, mostly to keep her voice from wobbling.

Xander parked and turned off the engine before looking at her properly.

“There was never going to be a place to turn back,” he said simply.

That should have sounded intense. It just sounded true.

Millie nodded once, then reached for his hand.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go get married.”

Inside, the courthouse was exactly what she expected and somehow not at all what she felt like she was doing.

Neutral walls. Quiet footsteps. The faint echo of other lives happening in other rooms.

It should have felt impersonal.

Instead, everything felt hyper-focused, like the world had narrowed down to this one hallway and the door at the end of it.

And then she saw them.

Sara was standing near the entrance, arms crossed, looking like she was trying very hard not to be emotional about the entire situation and failing miserably at it. Beside her was Tony, who looked like he had been dragged into something vaguely illegal but had accepted it with resignation and curiosity.

Sara saw Millie first.

Her expression broke immediately.

“Oh my god,” she said.

Millie let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Hi.”

Sara stepped forward quickly, eyes flicking over Millie’s dress, her hair, the ring on her finger.

“You look insane,” Sara said.

“Good insane or bad insane?”

Sara blinked. “Good. Obviously good. You look like you walked out of a romance novel and punched reality in the face.”

Millie laughed, tension easing slightly from her shoulders. Tony gave Xander a long look, then nodded once.

“You’re the one,” Tony said.

Xander tilted his head slightly. “I am aware.”

That earned a snort from Sara.

“Please don’t start philosophizing at the courthouse,” she muttered.

Millie stepped forward and hugged Sara quickly. Sara hugged her back harder than expected. “You’re really doing this,” Sara whispered.

Millie closed her eyes for a second. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I am.”

Sara pulled back, eyes suspiciously shiny. “Okay. Fine. I’m fine. I’m normal about this.”

Tony raised a brow. “You’re not normal about anything.”

“I could be normal if I wanted to be.”

Tony snorted. “You absolutely could not.”

Sara pointed at him without looking. “Don’t ruin my emotional composure.”

Tony sighed. “I’m not.”

Xander stepped slightly closer to Millie, his hand brushing the small of her back in a grounding motion.

The touch helped more than she wanted to admit.

“Ready?” he asked softly.

Millie nodded.

“Yeah.”

The ceremony room was small.

Simple.

A clerk, a desk, two chairs.

No music. No decorations.

Just paperwork and an officiant who looked like they had done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.

Which, in a way, made it feel even more real.

Sara and Tony took their places as witnesses, standing slightly behind them.

Millie stood across from Xander, her hands lightly trembling despite her best efforts to stop it.

Xander noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His hand shifted slightly, brushing hers once.

“Hey,” he murmured under his breath.

She looked up at him.

His expression was steady, calm. The bond between them was anything but calm. It was warm, alive, anchored tightly around her like a promise that had already been made long before anyone else got involved.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said quietly.

Millie huffed a small laugh. “Says the man who proposed in a forest with lanterns and forgot his speech.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Fair.”

The officiant began speaking.

Words about commitment. Responsibility. Legal bonds. Names exchanged.

Millie heard them, but they felt distant, like background noise to something much louder happening beneath everything else.

This was real.

Xander’s gaze didn’t leave her once.

When the moment came, her voice didn’t shake as much as she expected. “I do,” she said.

Xander’s answer came immediately after. “I do.”

Sara made a very quiet, very emotional sound behind them. Tony pretended not to notice.

Then the paperwork was signed.

And suddenly it was done. Just like that.

The officiant smiled. “Congratulations.”

Millie stared at the paper for a second like it might rearrange itself into something less life-altering.

Then Xander turned slightly toward her. “Mrs. McCollough,” he said softly.

Millie looked up at him, and something in her chest tightened sharply.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” she admitted.

His expression softened in a way she was starting to recognize as dangerous for her emotional stability.

“We’ve got time,” he said.

She laughed under her breath.

“Do we?” A flicker of something passed through his eyes.

Not doubt, but an awareness of everything they were both not saying. “Eventually,” he said.

Millie stepped closer before she could overthink it and grabbed the front of his shirt lightly. “Kiss your wife,” she said quietly.

Xander’s brows lifted slightly. “Bossy already.”

“Absolutely.” That earned a faint exhale of amusement from him before he leaned down and kissed her. Behind them, Sara made another sound of distress. Tony sighed like a man watching history unfold against his will.

When Xander finally pulled back, Millie stayed close, forehead resting briefly against his.

Outside, the world kept moving like nothing had changed, but inside that small courthouse room, everything already had.

His first day back at work was harder than I expected.

The apartment had felt too quiet without him, like the air itself had thinned. I wandered from room to room, touching things he touched, grounding myself in the fact that this was real. I had decided early that I wasn’t going anywhere. I was staying at Kieran’s all day.

I was safe here.

Tim didn’t know Kieran. He didn’t know where he lived. He had no idea whose space this was, whose walls I was behind. That mattered more than I wanted to admit.

I hadn’t heard a single thing from Tim since the roses. Maybe he had finally gotten the hint.

I snorted softly to myself. Doubtful. But a girl could hope.

I spent the day doing small, normal things. Laundry, grading a few papers, watching something mindless on TV just for the background noise. Every so often I checked my phone, not because I expected a message, but because the habit was hard to break. Every time it stayed quiet, my shoulders loosened a little more.

Cade came by for dinner that evening.

I made his favorite pasta, the one with the extra garlic and the ridiculous amount of parmesan. I set some aside for Kieran automatically, muscle memory already kicking in, and that realization made my chest do a strange, warm flip.

Cade watched me move around the kitchen for a while before he finally spoke.

“You’re happier here.”

I glanced over from the stove where I was stirring pasta sauce. Cade sat at Kieran’s kitchen island with a beer in his hand, watching me with that infuriating older brother perception that saw entirely too much.

“I’m always happy when I’m cooking,” I deflected.

“Bullshit.” I snorted softly. Cade took another sip of his beer, still studying me carefully. “You move differently here.”

That made me pause. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” He gestured vaguely around the duplex. “You don’t look tense all the time anymore.”

I leaned back against the counter slightly, folding my arms loosely. “I still get tense.”

“Yeah,” Cade said quietly. “But not like before.”

Silence settled for a second. The pasta boiled softly behind me while music drifted low from the speaker Kieran kept on top of the fridge. The entire duplex smelled like garlic and basil and bread warming in the oven.

Homey.

Safe.

Mine.

That realization still startled me sometimes. Cade’s expression softened slightly. “He’s good to you.”

My chest tightened immediately. “Yeah,” I admitted softly. “I think we’re good for each other.”

Cade huffed a quiet laugh into his beer. “Honestly? It’s kind of disgusting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God.”

“No, seriously.” He pointed the bottle at me. “Do you know how many times he texted me today to ask if you were okay?”

Heat crept up my neck immediately. “Cade.”

“I’m serious,” he said, already grinning. “At one point he texted me, and I quote, ‘She said she was taking a nap three hours ago. Is that too long for a nap?’”

I covered my face with one hand instantly.

Cade laughed harder. “Then forty-five minutes later he sent another one asking if I thought you’d be offended if he asked you to share your location permanently.”

“Oh my God.”

“And before you ask, yes, I absolutely bullied him for it.” He took another sip of his beer, still looking delighted. “Man was one step away from installing a tracking chip on your purse.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “He’s ridiculous, but he means well.”

“He’s in love with you.”

The words landed quietly between us.

Simple, and still, somehow hearing someone else say it out loud made it feel even more real.

I looked down at the sauce so Cade wouldn’t see the way my entire face immediately warmed.

“He talks about you differently,” Cade said casually, leaning back against the stool.

I looked over from the stove. “Differently how?”

Cade shrugged one shoulder. “Like you hung the moon.”

Heat crept instantly into my face. “That is so dramatic.”

“It’s accurate.” He took another sip of beer. “Every time your name comes up, he gets this look on his face like someone handed him a winning lottery ticket.”

I rolled my eyes, but my chest still squeezed painfully around the edges.

“He’s subtle about it,” Cade continued dryly. “Real mysterious. Calls you sweetheart every third sentence. Looks at his phone like he’s waiting for a message from the president.”

“Oh my god.”

“And,” Cade added, looking far too entertained with himself now, “the man has reached levels of domestic happiness that should concern the general public.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“It means I came over two days ago and found him smiling while folding your laundry.”

I stared at him in horror. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.” Cade laughed. “He looked deeply fulfilled by matching your socks.”

I covered my face with one hand. “I’m going to die.”

“It gets worse.”

“There’s worse?”

“He called you ‘my girl’ completely unprompted while talking about buying orange juice.”

My entire brain stalled for a second.

Cade noticed immediately, his grin softening slightly.

“He doesn’t even realize he does it,” he said more gently now. “That’s the thing.”

Something warm and terrifyingly tender bloomed in my chest.

Because that sounded exactly like Kieran.

Not performative, or trying to impress anyone, but kind of just naturally building me into his life like I belonged there.

Something warm and aching bloomed painfully in my chest.

Because Kieran threw affection around so easily sometimes. Sweetheart. Babe. Mine. Future tense statements slipped casually into conversations like he’d already decided I belonged there permanently.

But this felt different somehow.

Private.

Honest in a way people only are when they think no one important is listening.

Cade watched my face carefully for a moment before speaking again.

“You love him too.”

It wasn’t a question. I looked down at the wooden spoon in my hand, suddenly overwhelmed by the truth of it.

“I do,” I admitted quietly.

Good god help me, I really did.

I loved the way he always reached for me in his sleep.

The way he kissed my forehead every single time he walked past me in the kitchen.

The way he pretended he hated my books taking over his shelves while secretly buying another bookcase online three nights ago.

I loved the way he listened.

The way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of difficult.

I loved that being loved by him didn’t feel dangerous.

Cade smiled softly at whatever he saw on my face.

“Good,” he said simply.

Emotion clogged unexpectedly in my throat.

“I think…” I hesitated, staring down at the simmering sauce. “I think part of me keeps waiting for something to go wrong.”

Cade went quiet immediately.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged helplessly. “For him to realize I’m too much. Or damaged. Or exhausting.” I laughed softly without humor. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting for the version of love I’m used to.”

My brother’s face tightened instantly. “River.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “I know Kieran isn’t him. I know that.”

“But trauma doesn’t exactly disappear overnight,” Cade finished gently.

I nodded once.

For a second neither of us spoke.

Cade set his beer down and looked at me with startling seriousness. “You know what I noticed the night of the roses?”

I blinked. “What?”

“The second you got scared,” he said quietly, “Kieran got calm.”

My chest tightened.

Cade leaned back slightly against the stool. “Most people panic when someone they love panics. But he didn’t.” His expression softened. “He anchored himself for you.”

Tears burned suddenly behind my eyes, because he had. Even while injured. Even furious. Even scared himself. Kieran had looked at me like the only thing that mattered in that moment was getting me safely through it.

Cade smiled faintly. “I’ve never trusted anyone with you the way I trust him.”

That one nearly broke me. Cade had seen everything.

The years of me slowly disappearing inside myself while pretending everything was fine, the panic attacks, the night terrors.

And he trusted Kieran anyway.

“You deserve this, Bug,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

I looked away immediately because that was still the hardest part.

Not loving Kieran, not even being loved by him.

Believing I deserved it.

“I’m trying to,” I admitted quietly.

Cade nodded once like that was enough for now.

And then, because he was still my brother and emotionally devastating moments apparently made him itchy, he pointed toward the stove.

“Your sauce is burning, by the way.”

I gasped and lunged for the pan while he laughed loud enough the neighbors probably heard him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran: hey beautiful. you still awake?

River: yeah, I’m up. missing you.

Kieran: I miss you too.

Kieran: I’m sorry I didn’t get to message you earlier, it’s been chaos around here.

Kieran: One med call after the last. this is my first real down time of the day.

River: omg, Kieran, it’s after midnight.

Kieran: I am aware 😐

River: have you eaten? slept? blinked?

Kieran: eaten something questionable. slept zero. blinking is optional.

River: I’m coming down there and force-feeding you and tucking you in.

Kieran: tempting. very tempting. though I’m not sure the captain would appreciate that.

River: rude of him.

Kieran: extremely. how was your day?

River: quiet. too quiet.

River: I stayed at your place like we talked about.

River: Made pasta for Cade.

River: Saved you some.

Kieran: god, I love you for that.

River: I see how it is, keeping me around for my pasta skills. 😉

Kieran: Don’t tease me, I’m fragile and overworked.

River: Fragile, huh? that’s not the word I’d use.

Kieran: Oh? Enlighten me.

River: Stubborn.

River: Infuriating.

River: Heroic.

River: Most likely to not adhere to medical advice.

River: Unfairly attractive in uniform.

Kieran: You’re trying distract me.

River: Is it working?👀

Kieran: …dangerously well.

River: Good, because I’m sitting in your t-shirt, and it smells like you.

River: That feels like valuable information you should have.

Kieran: River.

River: Yes?

Kieran: You’re killing me. Slowly.

Kieran: And I’m already very tired.

River: I could make it better.

Kieran: I’m listening.

River: I could tell you exactly what I’d be doing if you were here instead of at work.

Kieran: You’re playing a risky game, beautiful girl.

River: I learned from the best.

Kieran: Yeah, well…

Kieran: I’d have you backed up against the counter by now.

Kieran: Nothing rushed. just… hands. mouths. time.

River: Kieran Donovan.

Kieran: Too much?

River: Not even close.

Kieran: Fuck.

River: Language.

River: And yes, please and thank you.

Kieran: You started it.

Kieran: Jesus, babe.

River: I absolutely did.

Kieran: hold that thought

Kieran: damn it. tones just dropped.

River: Go. Be safe.

Kieran: I will. I’ll text when I can.

Kieran: Don’t stay up waiting, okay?

River: okay. but I’m still missing you.

Kieran: I know.

Kieran: I’ll make it up to you. promise.

River: I’m holding you to that.

River: Be safe.

Kieran: good. I will.

Kieran: talk soon, beautiful. 💙

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had fallen asleep waiting for him to text back.

I had curled on his side of the bed, wearing one of his discarded T-shirts, my phone still warm in my hand. It smelled like him, soap, faint smoke, something clean and solid, and that alone had been enough to pull me under.

I woke slowly, drifting up through warmth.

My body hummed, heavy and languid, like I had been swimming through honey. I moaned softly, low in my throat, because the dream felt real. Too real. Lips brushed my neck. A body pressed over mine, familiar weight, familiar heat.

Tim.

Oh god. No!

Panic detonated inside me.

I screamed, my hands flying, my body thrashing hard enough to hurt. “No, no, get off me! Tim, no!” I struggled arms and legs flailing. “Not like this! No, you promised!” My voice tore out of me, raw and desperate, fighting for my life like I had done so many times before.

Then, through the chaos, through the screaming in my head, I heard it.

“River, River, it’s me. It’s Kieran. It’s me, baby. It’s Kieran.”

I froze.

My eyes flew open.

Kieran was leaning over me, his face pale, his eyes wide and full of terror and concern. His hands were up, not touching me, like he was afraid even breathing wrong might break me.

Reality slammed into me like a freight train.

“Oh my god,” I sobbed. “Kieran. I, I didn’t know it was you.” Mortification burned through me, hot and cruel. “I thought, you were kissing me and I thought…”

His mouth curved into a sad, gentle smile that somehow hurt worse than if he had been angry. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise.” I could see it anyway. The flicker of pain. The rejection he felt even if he didn’t blame me for it.

He started to move back, giving me space.

And I couldn’t let him.

I reached out, my fingers curling into his shirt. “Kiss me,” I whispered, panic and need tangling together. “Please.”

“River, I…”

I shook my head hard. “Please, Kieran. Kiss me. Show me it won’t hurt me.”

Something in his expression shifted.

He lowered himself slowly, deliberately, giving me time to pull away if I needed it. His lips brushed mine first, barely there. Feather-light. His nose nudged mine, grounding, familiar. Safe.

His tongue traced gently against my lower lip, the smallest invitation, and when I didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss just a little. Warm. Unhurried. Steady.

A sound slipped from his chest, half groan, half breath, and he settled his weight carefully over me, bracing himself on his elbows so I wasn’t pinned. His fingers slid into my hair, not gripping, just there, anchoring me.

This wasn’t Tim.

This was Kieran.

He moved like he was learning me by heart.

Every touch was deliberate, unhurried, asking permission even when he didn’t need to. His hand traced my arm, my shoulder, my side, grounding me in the present, in him. When my breath hitched, he slowed. When I leaned into him, he followed. It felt less like passion chasing itself and more like two people finding the same rhythm without trying.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, not as a promise but as a fact. His voice was low and steady, anchoring. “I’ve got you.”

The fear that had lived in my body, quiet but constant, began to loosen its grip under his hands. Not disappear all at once, but soften. Retreat. Every kiss felt like reassurance. Every brush of his thumb along my jaw, my wrist, my hip felt like a question answered the right way.

There was heat, God, there was heat, but it was wrapped in tenderness. Scorching and careful all at once. Like he knew exactly where to touch, how long to linger, when to pull back just enough to make me breathe again.

When he pushed inside me, I felt like my whole world finally made sense. Our bodies fit together with an ease that startled me, as if we’d been made with the other in mind. A matched set. No edges knocking, no awkwardness, just right.

He moved slowly, our bodies pressed as closely together as skin would allow, his lips rarely leaving mine. It was so different then the first time, softer, sweeter, but no less passionate. I came under him, by body arching under him, squeezing him, his name torn from my chest.

I could feel when he lost control. His movements became faster, then it happened. His mouth opened like he was silently screaming, his eyes locked on me as his entire body shook. “Oh god,” he grunted and pushed against me again. “River, oh baby,” I felt him twitching deep inside me. Knew he was coming, filling me again.

It felt empowering.

Knowing I could do that, that I could make him feel that good, that I could make his control slip away. That I was wanted not as something to be taken, but as someone he chose. Someone he was careful with because I mattered.

It made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.

Present in my body instead of hiding from it.

And afterward, long after the world had narrowed to the quiet and the warmth, he held me against him, unmoving. His body still lodged deep in mine, his lips on my jaw, neck and shoulder. His hands in my hair.

His arm curved around me like it belonged there, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles against my skin. My head rested on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

Loved.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. I felt it. In every stroke of my hair, every soft kiss on my shoulder, every tiny shift of his hips. This man would burn the world down for me, for the life he wanted to build with me.

He loved me. That was the word that settled into me, soft and sure.

Not rushed. Not demanded. Just held.

We both dozed off in the soft morning light, content.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

I lay there staring at the ceiling long after her breathing had evened out, long after the room had gone quiet again, and tried to get a handle on what the hell had just happened to me.

For the last week, she hadn’t let me touch her sexually. God, had I wanted to, but she was more focused on my recovery, on my healing. So coming home to her now, and touching her now… it was one of the most intense things I’d ever experienced.

The first time we’d had sex, it was just that, sex. It had been full of emotion, for sure, but it was hot and passionate and about pleasure. This… this wasn’t that. This was soft, safe, loving and gentle. It was intimate in a way I’d never experienced before.

If I hadn’t been in love with her before, this would have sealed it.

I had had sex before. Plenty of it. Enough that it should have felt familiar, should have fit into some well-worn category in my head. But this… this wasn’t that. This wasn’t heat for the sake of heat or bodies chasing release. It wasn’t a distraction or a coping mechanism or something to drown myself in.

It had been reverent.

That was the word that kept circling back. Like I had been trusted with something fragile and sacred, and somehow, miraculously, I hadn’t broken it.

River had let me see her. Not the brave face she wore, not the humor or the grit or the careful way she kept parts of herself guarded. She had let me feel the places where fear still lived in her body, and instead of pushing through it or pretending it wasn’t there, we had moved with it. Around it, until it loosened its grip.

I had pulled people close before. I had wanted women before, but I had never felt this, this bone deep need to be gentle. To be patient. To prove with every touch that I wasn’t going to hurt her. That I wouldn’t hurt her. Not now, not ever.

When she had relaxed under me, when I had felt her trust settle in, slow and sure, it had nearly undone me. I had felt myself lose control, just a little, and instead of shame or panic, there had been awe… And she felt it too. Instead of pulling back, she leaned in. Like my wanting her made her stronger instead of smaller.

That realization had hit harder than any explosion, any call I had ever run.

I was used to being the one in control when everything else was chaos, but with River, control wasn’t about dominance or restraint. It was about choice. About staying present. About deciding, over and over, to be the man she deserved.

Afterward, holding her while she slept, her body curved into mine like it had always belonged there, something settled in my chest. Quiet. Solid. Unshakable.

This wasn’t lust.

This wasn’t infatuation.

This wasn’t even just love.

This was finality.

I didn’t feel like I had taken something from her. I felt like I had been given something.

Lying there in the pale morning light, her warmth against me, her breath steady and soft, I knew, absolutely knew, that no matter what came next, no matter how hard things got, I would spend the rest of my life protecting this. Protecting her.

Because whatever I had been before her, whatever mistakes I had made, whatever wreckage I had left behind, this version of me, the man she trusted in her most vulnerable moment, that was the man I was going to be from now on.

Morning slid by quietly, like it knew better than to rush us. I woke to mid-morning light slipping through the blinds of my bedroom, painting soft stripes across the wall and across River. She was sprawled against me, warm and bare, her leg thrown over my thigh like it belonged there. Like she belonged there. For one sharp, disorienting second I thought I had dreamed her, that I had fallen asleep alone and my mind had filled in the gaps with wishful thinking.

Then she breathed.

Slow. Deep. Real.

Relief crashed through me so hard it almost knocked the air from my lungs.

She was naked against me, skin to skin, her back curved perfectly into my chest. My arm was wrapped around her middle, my hand resting low on her stomach like it had settled there sometime in the night and never questioned it. Her hair was a dark fan across the pillow, some of it tickling my nose, and I didn’t even mind. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe too deeply. I just took inventory.

This was real.

She was here, in my bed, with me.

I had faced firestorms that sounded like freight trains. I had felt buildings shudder beneath my boots, felt the heat claw at my skin through turnout gear. Fuck, I’d been in an explosion just over a week and a half ago.

None of that had prepared me for how terrifyingly right this felt. How easily my body had curled around hers in sleep, how naturally she fit against me, like my instincts had already decided something my brain was still too afraid to say out loud.

I brushed my thumb along her side, barely there. She sighed softly and pressed back into me, seeking more contact even in sleep, and my chest tightened painfully.

Her face was relaxed now, no tension between her brows, no guarded set to her mouth. Just River. Soft. Open. Safe enough to sleep naked in my bed without fear. That alone felt like a responsibility I couldn’t take lightly.

I kissed her temple. Then her hair. I lingered there longer than necessary, breathing her in like oxygen, like I might need to remember this moment later if things ever got hard.

She stirred a little, her knee bumping mine, her hand sliding across my chest until her fingers curled there, right over my heart. Like she knew exactly where to rest. My breath stuttered at the contact.

She shifted then, blinking awake, her lashes fluttering as she focused on me. There was a flicker of uncertainty, and then recognition warmed her eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice low and sleepy.

“Hey,” I answered, just as quietly.

She looked at me for a long second, bare and unguarded, like she was searching my face for something. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t hide.

I slid my hand up her back, slow and grounding. “You okay?”

She nodded once. Then again, like she was convincing herself. “Yeah. I am.” A pause. Softer now. “I really am.”

Something inside me loosened at that. “Good,” I said.

She smiled, small but real, and pressed her forehead to my chest, listening to my heartbeat like it was something she trusted. I tucked the blankets around us, pulled her closer, my chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

I woke slowly, the way you do when sleep didn’t want to let you go yet. The first thing I noticed was that he was already awake.

I was lying on my side, facing him, my head pillowed on his arm like it had always belonged there. He was propped slightly on his elbow, watching me with that quiet, unreadable softness that still made my chest ache in the best way. His pale eyes met mine immediately, like he had been caught, like he had been there a while.

There was no rush to speak. No startled movement. Just warmth between us, steady and calm.

This morning hadn’t been a dream.

The realization settled gently, not with panic or disbelief, but with a slow, spreading warmth that filled my chest and drifted downward until I felt anchored. Safe.

Kieran.

His thumb traced a lazy line along my forearm, barely there, like he was checking that I was real. I smiled before I could stop myself. The corners of his mouth lifted in response, small and private, like this moment was just for us.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

My smile widened. “Have you been watching me sleep?”

He didn’t even look embarrassed. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe.”

“That’s a little creepy, Donovan.”

“Only if you make it weird,” he said calmly.

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head against the pillow.

So this was us now.

I shifted slightly, testing the closeness, and he mirrored me without thinking, moving closer until our knees brushed and his forehead dipped toward mine. No hesitation. No question. Just instinct.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I studied his face while I had the chance. The faint crease between his brows when he was thinking. The softness in his eyes that didn’t match the way the world probably saw him. He looked younger like this. Gentler. Like the man he was when he wasn’t bracing for impact.

My heart did a stupid little flip.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m very good.”

He watched me another second, like he was making sure.

Then his hand slid up my arm, warm and grounding.

“Good,” he said.

Eventually, I slipped out of bed, easing away from his arm and padding into the kitchen in one of his T-shirts, mine now, clearly, to make coffee. There was a mug in the cabinet with a chipped rim that made me smile. A stack of mail on the counter he hadn’t opened. His boots by the door, scuffed and solid and him.

I heard him before I saw him. Bare feet on hardwood. A quiet yawn.

He appeared in the doorway, hair mussed, eyes still heavy with sleep, wearing nothing but boxers and that familiar, devastatingly easy smile.

This morning had changed something.

Not in a dramatic, life shattering way. No fireworks. No fear.

Just a click.

Like two pieces sliding together and realizing they had been shaped for this all along.

We spent the day doing nothing important and somehow, it felt monumental.

We grocery shopped. We argued playfully about cereal choices. He insisted on buying the expensive bread; I teased him about it until he kissed me in the bread aisle like no one was watching, and earned a few scandalized looks. We made lunch together, bumping into each other in the kitchen, touching constantly without realizing it.

At one point, I caught myself laughing, really laughing, and the sound surprised me. It felt lighter than it had in years.

It scared me.

By the afternoon, we were curled up on the couch, his arm around me, my legs draped over his lap. We watched something stupid on TV, barely paying attention. Every so often he pressed a kiss into my hair or my shoulder, absentminded and affectionate, like it was second nature already.

I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

It was steady. Strong.

“I like this,” I said softly, more to myself than to him.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable but gentle. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just tightened his arm around me, like that was his answer.

By the time night settled in, I was curled back into his bed, wrapped in his sheets, his presence anchoring me. He held me like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had been doing it forever.

As sleep pulled me under, one thought floated to the surface, quiet and honest and terrifying all at once.

I was already in love with him, but somehow… I was still falling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

The next day felt quieter, but deeper. Like the world had turned the volume down so I could hear us better.

River was stretched out at my kitchen table, her hair piled messily on her head, her glasses sliding down her nose as she muttered at her laptop. There were sticky notes everywhere.

Highlighters. A half empty mug of coffee that had definitely gone cold. She was applying for a teaching position at a local high school, chewing on the end of a pen like it had personally offended her.

I leaned my low back against the counter, my phone to my ear, half listening to Lucas ramble about a busted hydrant call from the night before when he’d made his request.

“Yeah,” I said absently. “I’ll cover your shift Friday if my girlfriend doesn’t mind.”

The word left my mouth without asking permission.

Girlfriend.

It hung in the air, soft but undeniable.

Lucas went dead silent on the other end of the line.

Across the room, River froze. Just for a fraction of a second. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t turn around. She just stilled. Then her shoulders relaxed, and a small, secret smile curved her lips as she went back to typing like nothing monumental had just happened.

My heart slammed into my ribs. I felt suddenly twelve years old and terrified and exhilarated all at once. My eyes snapped to her, searching for panic, for hesitation, for that flinch I had learned to watch for.

There was none.

That was it. That was the moment. No conversation. No ceremony.

She was my girlfriend.

I was her boyfriend.

Lucas cleared his throat. “I’ve known you for seven years,” he said slowly. “You’ve never had a girlfriend.”

I grinned so hard my face hurt. “Well,” I said easily, “I do now.”

Lucas muttered, “Holy shit,” and hung up.

I lowered the phone, still staring at River like she might disappear if I blinked. She finally looked up, her eyebrows raised, her eyes warm and amused.

“Girlfriend?” she asked lightly.

I swallowed. “Boyfriend?” I offered back.

Her smile widened. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

Something in my chest unlocked.

While she was distracted, cursing softly at a drop down menu, I slipped out of the apartment with my keys and my heart pounding like I was about to do something reckless.

I was gone twenty minutes. When I came back, she was still at the table, deep in concentration. I set the bag down quietly, then the flowers.

She looked up slowly.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, staring at the bouquet of daisies. Simple. Bright. Happy. Nothing like roses. Never roses.

Beside them, the candy she loved, the exact kind she had told me about once when she was fourteen, laughing softly as she admitted it was her favorite, the thing her mom used to surprise her with on good days.

“You bought me a Symphony with Toffee bar?”

“You told me once they were your favorite.”

“You remembered,” she said, her voice a little unsteady. “Kier, that was, god a lifetime ago.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “Seemed important.”

She stood so fast her chair scraped, and then she was in my arms, hugging me tight, her face pressed into my chest.

This. This was what our relationship would be, I decided. Not big lavish gestures, although I’m sure there would be some at times, but small things. I didn’t need to say I love you if I could show her with my actions.

I showed her in other ways, too.

I started waking up earlier just so I could make her coffee exactly how she liked it, cream first, two sugars, stirred a ridiculous amount, setting it beside her laptop before she even realized she was tired.

One night, when she fell asleep on the couch halfway through a movie, I didn’t wake her. I just carried her to bed, tucked her in like she was something precious, and stayed awake a little longer just watching her breathe.

Judging by the way she smiled at me, soft, unguarded, real, I thought she heard me just fine.

I woke up before my alarm Thursday morning. I was going to be working a double starting at seven, and I was already regretting agreeing to it. Forty-eight hours without River sounded like literal torture.

She was still asleep beside me, her body resting on her side, facing away from me, but touching me from shoulder to knee. We’d been up later than I would have liked, last night, binge watching the last season of Bridgerton on Netflix so she could be caught up when the new one started.

Afterward, all the soft core porn of the show may have had me a little worked up, and I kept us up another hour before we both passed out cold.

If anyone finds out that I actually enjoy this show, I will deny it until I die. I even swore River to secrecy.

“If anyone at the station finds out I voluntarily watched four episodes of Bridgerton in one sitting,” I murmured quietly, “I’m changing my identity.”

River made a sleepy sound against her pillow that suspiciously resembled a laugh.

I looked over at her immediately.

Her eyes were still closed, hair a complete disaster across the pillowcase, one arm tucked beneath it while the other rested near my stomach beneath the blankets.

“You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately,” she mumbled.

I grinned despite myself and reached over, dragging my fingers lightly down her bare arm. Goosebumps rose instantly along her skin.

“You realize,” she said without opening her eyes, “that your entire hyper-masculine reputation is hanging by a thread right now.”

“My reputation is rock solid.”

“You gasped when Colin kissed Penelope in the carriage.”

“I did not gasp.”

River finally cracked one eye open and looked at me with sleepy disbelief. “Kieran Donovan. You literally sat upright and said ‘holy shit’ like you’d just witnessed a religious event.”

“In my defense,” I said solemnly, “that scene had excellent pacing.”

She burst into quiet laughter, immediately burying her face deeper into the pillow to muffle it.

God, I loved making her laugh first thing in the morning.

I leaned onto my side carefully, ribs still stiff enough to remind me they existed every time I moved too fast. “You trapped me, by the way.”

She peeked up at me. “How?”

“You told me it was a period drama.”

“It is a period drama.”

“It’s pornography with orchestral music.”

That earned me another laugh, brighter this time. “I cannot believe this is the hill you’re dying on,” she informed me.

“I’m serious. Every episode somebody’s breathing heavily in a gazebo.”

“That is not true.”

“It absolutely is.” I counted on my fingers. “Gazebo. Staircase. Garden. Carriage. Couch.”

River rolled onto her back finally, looking far too pleased with herself. “And yet you kept saying ‘just one more episode.’”

“Research purposes.”

“Mmhmm.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Listen, I’m just saying, if some English duke looked at women like that in real life, society would collapse.”

“Oh my God,” she laughed.

“No, seriously. Those dudes stare like they’re seconds away from writing poetry and starting fistfights simultaneously.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s kind of the appeal.”

“I noticed.”

Her smile softened slightly at that, sleep still lingering around the edges of her expression. For a second we just looked at each other quietly in the dim morning light filtering through the blinds.

Then she reached over and brushed her fingertips through my hair.

“You know what my favorite part was?” she asked softly.

I raised an eyebrow cautiously. “What?”

“You pretending not to care while asking a thousand questions.”

“I asked, like, three questions.”

“Kieran.”

I sighed. “Fine. Maybe six.”

“You asked me for their family trees.”

“In my defense, there are too many British people and everybody’s named something ridiculous like Benedict or Cressida.”

She snorted. “Those are normal names.”

“Not when they’re all wearing curtains and emotionally yearning at each other.”

River laughed again, warm and unguarded now, and something in my chest tightened painfully around how much better she sounded lately. Lighter. Not fixed, not magically healed, but steadier.

Safer.

I brushed my thumb softly across her hip beneath the blankets. “You know what’s really embarrassing though?”

“What?”

I lowered my voice dramatically. “I think I actually like Penelope.”

River stared at me for one beat before dissolving into helpless laughter. “Oh my God,” she wheezed.

“What? She’s funny.”

“She is funny.”

“And Colin’s kind of an idiot.”

“He absolutely is.”

“Thank you,” I said, vindicated. “That man had years to notice she was in love with him. Years.” River shook her head slowly, still smiling at me in that soft way that made my entire nervous system short-circuit.

“You are such a secret romantic,” she murmured.

I scoffed immediately. “That is slander.”

“You watched Bridgerton while holding me like a teddy bear.”

I snorted. “That proves nothing.”

“You got emotionally invested in slow-burn, friends-to-lovers, regency era romance.”

I pointed at her accusingly. “Those tropes work for a reason.”

Her expression turned unbearably fond.

Fuck, maybe she was right. Maybe I was a romantic.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you know things.”

River smiled slowly. “But I do know things.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Mmhmm.” Her fingers drifted lazily through my hair again. “For example, I know you secretly love Bridgerton.”

“I secretly tolerate Bridgerton.”

“You audibly whispered ‘finally’ when Penelope and Colin got together.”

I groaned and dropped my forehead dramatically against her shoulder. “Jesus Christ.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and sleepy and entirely too pretty for six in the morning.

“You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Traitor.

I slid closer to her beneath the blankets until I could tuck myself against her properly, one arm wrapping around her waist while I buried my face against the side of her neck.

She immediately melted into the mattress with a quiet hum.

There it was.

My favorite sound on earth.

“You smell good,” I mumbled against her skin.

“That’s my shampoo you keep pretending you don’t use.”

“I use it accidentally.”

“You literally asked what scent it was at Target.”

I ignored that completely and pressed a slow kiss beneath her ear instead.

River shivered lightly.

“Kieran,” she laughed softly.

I nuzzled against her again, scruff dragging against her throat just enough to make her squirm. “You have to promise me something.”

“That depends entirely on what it is.”

“No one can ever know about this.”

She was already smiling before I even finished the sentence. “Know about what?”

I lifted my head just enough to look at her suspiciously. “Don’t play games with me, River.”

“The Bridgerton thing?”

“The Bridgerton thing,” I confirmed firmly.

Her eyes sparkled immediately with evil.

I narrowed mine right back. “I’m serious.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Not Cade.” Her grin widened. “Especially not Cade.”

“Oh, now I definitely want to tell him.”

I kissed her before she could keep talking, mostly because she was being a menace to society. She laughed against my mouth anyway. “River,” I warned quietly between kisses.

“I’m thinking about it.”

I kissed her again, slower this time, lingering until she sighed softly into me.

“Baby,” I murmured against her lips. “Please.”

Her entire face lit up at that.

“Oh my god,” she whispered delightedly. “You’re begging.”

“I am not begging.”

“You called me baby in a bargaining context.”

I groaned and buried my face in her neck again while she laughed harder. “This is psychological warfare.”

“You’re so dramatic.” She laughed brightly.

“You don’t understand.” I pressed another kiss beneath her jaw. “If Jon finds out I willingly watched a romance series, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider. “Counterpoint: this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I bit her shoulder lightly. She yelped. “Kieran!”

“Focus.”

“You bit me!”

“You’re threatening national security.” Her laughter shook beneath my hands while I continued kissing along her throat, soft little distracted kisses designed entirely to weaken her resolve. Which, judging by the way she was melting into the pillows now, was working beautifully.

“You have to swear,” I insisted quietly, as I pushed between her thighs, my naked body pressing tightly against hers, rolling my hips against hers.

River looked up at me with suspiciously amused eyes. “Swear what?”

“No telling Cade.” I rolled my hips, making her eyes flutter shut, and her legs settle on my hips.

“Kieran—”

“Or Jon.” She snorted. “Or literally anyone else.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “This stays between us.”

Her fingers slid into my hair again, nails scratching lightly against my scalp in a way that nearly made my eyes close.

“You know,” she murmured, “your coworkers already know you’re obsessed with me.”

I slid my left hand up her side to her tit, gripping it lightly, my thumb brushing her nipple. “That’s different.”

“How?” She asked breathless.

“Because being obsessed with you is masculine.” She opened her eyes and looked at me, then began to laugh so hard she had to bury her face against my chest. I looked down at her triumphantly. “See? That was funny.”

“You are unbelievable,” she wheezed.

I thrust lightly against her, my cock rubbing along her wet slit.

“So you promise?”

River tilted her face up toward mine finally, eyes still warm with laughter.

“I promise,” she whispered against my mouth. “Your shameful Bridgerton secret dies with me.”

Relief flooded through me instantly. “Thank Christ.” I rotated my hips, notching at her opening and slowly pushed inside her.

I groaned dropping my head to her shoulder as she whimpered under me. “I still can’t believe how fucking tight you are.”

She let out a high pitched moan as I started to move slowly inside her.

She grinned. “Although—”

I narrowed my eyes, and immediately stopped moving. “Dangerous start.”

“—if you ever break my heart,” she continued sweetly, “I will absolutely tell everyone you cried during the carriage scene.”

I stared at her in betrayal. “You said you promised!”

“I promised while properly compensated.” She smiled innocently. “Terms and conditions apply.”

I blinked at her.

Fuck, my girlfriend was an actual supervillain.

I sighed, and began to move again, satisfied when she stopped talking and starting moaning under me. At least I knew how to distract her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By Thursday morning, I was already tired. By Thursday afternoon, I was running on caffeine, muscle memory, and the quiet hum of something warm sitting right behind my sternum.

By Friday, I was wrecked.

The double had been brutal, Thursday morning straight through to Saturday morning, taking Lucas’s Friday shift had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I was on hour too many to count, slumped on one of the recliners between calls, boots kicked off, phone glued to my hand like it was part of my anatomy.

Preseason hockey was on the TV. I knew this because there were men skating very fast and a crowd making noise. I could not have told you who was playing to save my life.

What I could tell you was that River had just sent me a picture of her coffee mug sitting on my counter with the caption

River: You left this dirty. I forgive you.

I grinned like an idiot. Mateo glanced over from the other couch. “You watching the game or planning a wedding?”

“I’m multitasking,” I said without looking up.

“Uh-huh,” Declan muttered. “That’s the fifth time you’ve smiled at your phone in ten minutes.”

“It’s his girlfriend,” Matt said from the kitchen doorway, smug as hell. “He’s domesticated now.”

I didn’t even bother denying it. I texted River back:

Kieran: That mug has history. Don’t erase my legacy.

She responded almost immediately:

River: Too late.

River: Legacy destroyed.

River: I made eggs, though, the way you showed me.

My chest did that thing again. Tight. Warm. Full.

Jon tossed a rolled up sock at my head. “You realize you’re unbearable, right?”

I finally looked up, still smiling. “You say that like I care.”

They all groaned in unison.

A call came in not five minutes later, and the next few hours blurred together the way they always did, sirens, radios, muscle memory taking over while my brain floated somewhere else entirely. Between calls, I checked my phone when I shouldn’t have, my thumb hovering over her name like it was a lifeline.

By late Friday afternoon, we piled into the engine to head to the grocery store. The station fridge was empty, morale was low, and apparently I had been volunteered to push the cart because I was “the least likely to buy garbage.”

I climbed into the back, my phone still in hand.

Mateo snorted. “Does she know you’re cheating on her with us?”

I didn’t look up. “She knows I’m working. She’s very supportive of my heroic sacrifice.”

Declan leaned forward from the front seat. “You know, this is new.”

“What is?” I asked.

“You,” Matt said. “You don’t look like you’re constantly one bad decision away from lighting your life on fire.”

That got my attention. I glanced up, meeting their eyes one by one.

Matt nodded. “Yeah. You seem… happy.”

The teasing dropped, just a little. Enough to make it real.

I shrugged, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt. “I am.”

Mateo clapped my shoulder. “Good. About damn time.”

“Just don’t screw it up,” Jon added. “We like this version of you.”

I smirked. “No pressure.”

At the grocery store, they gave me hell the entire time.

“Does your girlfriend approve of frozen pizzas?”

“Are these apples organic enough for true love?”

“Text her and ask what kind of pasta she likes, Romeo.”

I played along, pushing the cart, sending River a picture of Mateo holding up three different jars of pasta sauce with the caption: Dear god, rescue me.

Her response came fast: Buy all three. Chaos is good for the soul.

I laughed out loud, drawing looks from an old lady in the produce aisle.

By the time we were back at the station, unloading bags and restocking shelves, my exhaustion was bone deep, but it was softened by something steady. Something that waited for me. Someone who texted me good luck before every call and goodnight even when I was too wiped to answer right away.

As I collapsed back onto the recliner, my phone in hand, River sent one last message before she went to bed:

River: Be safe. I love you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The tones dropped at 02:01 AM. Domestic. Injuries reported.

Those words always carried weight, but at that hour they sank deeper, settling into your bones, because these calls we’re one of two things: topical injuries, or critical ones. There was never any in between. The night felt thick, heavy, like it was holding onto something it didn’t want to give up. I was on the tail end of a forty-eight, exhaustion buzzing under my skin, but my body moved before my mind could argue.

Gloves on, med bag in my left hand.

Red and blue lights strobed across the house as I stepped up, reflecting off damp pavement and drawn faces. An officer was waiting at the door, tension tight in his shoulders.

“Back room,” he said, already turning.

I stepped inside and the chaos hit me all at once. Furniture was overturned. Papers were everywhere: mail, photos, fragments of a life scattered across the floor like they had been thrown in desperation. The air smelled wrong. Metallic. Sweat and fear layered together.

In the living room, a man was on the ground, fighting like an animal. Two officers were struggling to cuff him, boots braced, voices sharp. He was kicking, screaming, spitting, rage pouring out of him unchecked.

I didn’t stop. I followed the officer down the hall.

With every step, something tightened in my chest.

I just knew. It was a distinct smell, when there was a large amount of blood. It smelled metallic and wet and… something I couldn’t explain. It smelled the unique, unmistakable, and the scent was growing stronger with every step.

We reached the bedroom and the world tilted.

For a moment, my brain refused to accept what my eyes were seeing, tried to turn it into something else that would make it make sense.

There wasn’t a face.

There was hair. Sinew. Bone. Blood everywhere, so much blood it pooled beneath her, soaking into the carpet, spreading outward like a dark tide. A spent shell cartridge lay near her head, dull and obscene. She was sprawled beside the bed, one arm twisted at an angle no living body can hold.

My heart lurched violently.

I stood there for half a second, my mind blank, until my training snaped into place, cold and absolute. I knew my services aren’t needed, anyone who saw her knew she was dead. Still, protocol matters.

I moved carefully, deliberate with every step, making sure I didn’t disturb anything. The room felt heavy, like it was pressing down on my lungs. I knelt beside her, gloved fingertips pressing gently to cooling flesh.

Gone.

I stood slowly, swallowing the familiar weight fatalities always left behind. It never got easier. You just learned how to carry it quieter. I gave a small nod to the officer standing in the doorway.

“She’s gone.”

He radioed it in. Coroner was already on his way.

I backed out of the room and the noise rushed back in. In the living room, the man was still fighting, screaming, trying to break free. I heard one of the officers say it low, sharp, like the words burned on the way out.

“It’s her ex. I guess she finally got away and he found her.”

Fear hit first, sharp and immediate. The rage rose up next, fast, hot, and blinding.

I stopped near them, close enough to see the spit on the perp’s chin, the wildness in his eyes. I knew, with terrifying clarity, that I could take him. End him. Make sure he never hurt another woman again. My hands curled into fists at my sides, every instinct screaming for release.

I caught one officer’s eye. He looked me over, fire rescue T-shirt, blue latex gloves, med bag in one hand, sleeves of black-and-gray ink, exhaustion carved deep and something darker underneath.

“Need help?” I asked, my voice was steadier than I felt.

He shook his head. “We’ve got him.”

I nodded once and forced myself to step away before I did something I couldn’t take back.

Outside, I discarded the bloody gloves and leaned against the engine, my elbows on my thighs. My head was swimming. The night air felt thin, like it couldn’t quite fill my lungs.

River.

Her name crashed through me without warning. Her curled into my bed. Dark hair fanned across my pillow. The way her body finally relaxed when she knew she was safe. My chest tightened painfully.

What if this had happened to River?

I checked the time. Fuck, it was almost three in the morning. She would be asleep.

Still, I pulled my phone out and typed.

Kieran: I know your asleep, but I just…

Kieran: I need to know you’re okay, so text me when you see this. ❤️

Two minutes crawl by.

Then my phone vibrated.

River: I’m okay, handsome.

I let out a long breath, forehead resting briefly against the cool metal of the engine.

Kieran: Thank you.

Kieran: Just saw… it was bad and I needed to check.

Kieran: Go back to sleep, beautiful.

Kieran: I’ll be home in a few hours.

The three dots appear. Stop. Start again.

River: Okay.

River: See you soon, boyfriend.

I slid the phone toward my pocket, still catching my breath. My chest was tight. My hands were clammy. My body refused to let the adrenaline fade. I leaned against the engine, gripping the cold metal to keep from swaying. The night was quiet around me now, but in my head it was loud, blood pounding in my ears, images of her flashing behind my eyelids.

My phone vibrated again.

I fumbled for it. My heart stopped. Then hammered. Slammed like a jackhammer in my chest, ached and frantic all at once, like it was trying to break free from my ribs. My head spun. My knees nearly gave out, and I had to press a hand against the engine to stay upright. My chest ached in a different way now, tight, tender, warm, threatening to spill over.

River: and…

River: I love you too ❤️

She loved me.

The words hit me like a bolt, soft and violent all at once. Something inside me shattered. Something I hadn’t even realized I was protecting cracked wide open. Tenderness, warmth, relief, and raw, sharp protectiveness flowed together in me like fire through ice. My fists curled at my sides, not in anger this time, but from the intensity of it, from the weight of feeling her love.

I don’t know if she knew how much I needed to hear that right now.

Fuck, I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.

I opened my eyes. Even there, under the strobe lights, sirens fading into the distance, the cold metal of the engine under my fingers, the world felt sharper, brighter, almost possible. Even with the night’s chaos still pressing against my skull, even with the memory of what I had seen just moments ago carved into me, something settled in my chest. Something hardened into quiet certainty.

She was alive.

Somehow, impossibly, in the middle of all of this, I felt… steady.

I closed my eyes again and let the warmth spread, let it steady me. Let it remind me why I fought, why I held back, why I loved.

She loved me.

And god help me, I loved her too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

I woke up before sunrise and never really fell back asleep.

Not because Kieran had texted me.

Because of the way he’d texted me.

In the weeks we’d been together, I’d learned the rhythms of his job faster than I expected. Learned the cadence of his shifts, the exhaustion after bad calls, the dark humor paramedics used to survive impossible things. I’d learned when he needed quiet, when he needed food shoved into his hands, when he needed me curled against his side while he pretended he wasn’t decompressing.

But Kieran almost never reached for comfort directly.

Especially not while he was still on shift.

So when my phone had buzzed at almost three in the morning with I need to know you’re okay, something cold had settled low in my stomach.

And then there was the I love you too.

Not casual.

Not teasing.

Heavy somehow.

Like he’d needed me to know.

The apartment stayed dim and quiet around me as dawn slowly crept through the blinds. I eventually gave up on sleeping entirely and wandered into the kitchen wearing one of Kieran’s hoodies and sleep shorts, hair still tangled from bed.

I made coffee.

Then another pot an hour later because I forgot the first one existed.

Around eight-thirty, I finally heard the familiar rumble of his truck outside.

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

I crossed the apartment quickly and opened the front door before he could even get his key in the lock.

Kieran froze halfway up the porch steps.

God.

He looked wrecked.

Not physically. Not like after the explosion. His bruises were mostly faded now, his color back, the stiffness in his ribs mostly gone.

This was different.

Exhaustion sat deep behind his eyes, carved into the lines around his mouth. His shoulders looked heavy beneath his station jacket, like he was physically carrying something.

The second he saw me, though, something in his expression loosened.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

I didn’t answer right away.

I just stepped toward him and wrapped my arms around his middle.

His breath left him in a rough exhale.

Then his arms closed around me hard.

Not casual.

Not sleepy-morning affectionate.

This felt instinctive.

Necessary.

I pressed my cheek against his chest and held him tighter.

For a second neither of us moved.

The porch was cool beneath my bare feet, early morning air carrying the smell of rain and engine oil and Kieran himself, smoke and soap and the faint lingering scent of ambulance antiseptic.

His chin rested on top of my head.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

His arms tightened almost imperceptibly.

“No,” he admitted.

The honesty in it made my chest ache.

I leaned back enough to look up at him. “Bad call?”

His jaw flexed once.

“Yeah.”

I waited.

He stared over my shoulder toward the parking lot for a long moment before speaking again.

“Woman in her twenties.” His voice sounded rougher now. “Domestic violence situation.”

Something inside me went still.

“Oh.”

“She didn’t make it.”

The words landed heavy between us.

I watched the exact moment the memory hit him again. The distant look in his eyes. The tension that crept back into his shoulders.

Then his gaze snapped back to mine, sharp and almost frantic underneath the exhaustion.

“All I could think about was that it could’ve been you.”

My breath caught.

“Kieran—”

“That Tim could do something,” he continued, voice low and tight now. “And Jesus Christ, River, what if I wasn’t there?” His hands flexed against my back unconsciously. “What if something happened and I couldn’t get to you in time? What if—”

“Hey.” I cupped his face immediately, forcing his eyes back to mine. “Hey.”

His breathing had gone uneven.

I could practically see the spiral happening in real time.

“Kier.” I brushed my thumb along his jaw gently. “I’m right here.”

His eyes shut briefly.

“I know,” he whispered.

But he still looked wrecked by it.

By the possibility alone.

“I walked into that bedroom and all I could think was—” He swallowed hard. “—what if one day I’m too late?”

Emotion climbed hard into my throat.

Because this wasn’t just about the call.

This was fear.

Raw, ugly fear wrapped around love so tightly neither of us could separate them anymore.

I stepped closer until there wasn’t even an inch between us.

“You won’t be,” I said softly.

His eyes opened again immediately. “River—”

“You won’t be,” I repeated, gentler this time. “And Tim doesn’t get to take over our lives like this.”

Something in his face cracked slightly at our.

At lives.

I slid my hand into his hair, holding him there with me.

“You came home,” I whispered.

Pain flickered across his expression again. Relief too. Love so naked it made my chest ache.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”

I brushed my thumb beneath his eye gently. “Come inside.”

For once, he didn’t argue.

He followed me inside so quietly it almost hurt to look at him.

Normally when Kieran came home from shift, especially after a long one, he filled the apartment without even trying. Big presence. Big energy. Teasing comments while he kicked off his boots. Arms automatically wrapping around me the second he got close enough. Complaints about paperwork or dispatch or whatever idiot had tried to microwave fish at the station again.

This version of him moved like he was carrying ghosts.

I shut the front door softly behind him while he stripped off his station jacket and dropped it over the back of the couch. His T-shirt clung slightly to his skin from sweat and the cool morning mist outside, dark gray fabric stretched across broad shoulders that looked painfully tense.

He scrubbed both hands over his face and exhaled shakily.

That scared me more than anything else so far.

Kieran Donovan was steady. Even when he was angry. Even when he was hurt. Even after the explosion, bruised and exhausted and concussed, there had still been something solid underneath him.

Right now he looked untethered.

I moved toward him slowly. “Coffee?”

He nodded once automatically, but when I turned toward the kitchen his hand caught my wrist.

Not rough.

Just immediate.

Instinctive.

I looked back at him.

His fingers loosened slightly like he hadn’t even realized he’d done it.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to apologize for touching me.”

Something painful flickered through his expression at that.

Then, very quietly: “Can you just stay close for a minute?”

My chest tightened so hard it almost ached. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Of course.” Relief crossed his face so quickly and so honestly it nearly broke me.

I took his hand and led him toward the couch.

The apartment smelled faintly like domesticity: coffee grounds. Laundry detergent. His cologne lingering in the blankets piled at one end of the couch. Normal things. Safe things.

Kieran sat heavily against the cushions and leaned forward immediately, forearms braced against his knees, head hanging for a second like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

I stood there watching him for one long heartbeat. I climbed onto the couch beside him and touched his shoulder gently.

He looked up instantly. “Come here,” I whispered.

Something in him softened.

I shifted first, settling back against the couch cushions and opening my legs slightly in silent invitation.

Kieran understood immediately.

He moved behind me slowly, exhaustion in every motion now that he’d stopped forcing himself upright, and I settled between his legs while he stretched out along the couch behind me.

The second my back touched his chest, he wrapped both arms around me.

Tight.

Not enough to hurt.

Enough to hold on.

His face buried immediately against the side of my neck.

And then he just… stayed there.

Breathing me in.

Grounding himself.

I covered one of his hands with mine where it rested against my stomach beneath the oversized hoodie I was wearing.

His fingers flexed once under mine.

“You’re shaking,” I whispered.

“I know.”

His voice sounded wrecked.

I leaned my head back against his shoulder carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

I honestly thought maybe he wouldn’t.

Then his arms tightened around me slightly and he spoke into the quiet apartment.

“I’ve seen domestic violence calls before.”

Something about the flatness of his voice made my stomach knot.

“Too many.”

I stayed quiet.

“When I first started in EMS, I used to think the physical injuries were the worst part.” He swallowed hard. “Broken bones. Bruises. Concussions. Knife wounds. Whatever.”

His thumb rubbed absently against my stomach like he needed the movement.

“Then after a while you realize the injuries aren’t actually the thing that stays with you.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“It’s the fear,” he said quietly. “The way they look at every loud noise. Every sudden movement.” His jaw tightened against my shoulder. “The apologizing.”

Emotion crawled up my throat immediately.

Kieran continued before I could say anything.

“The woman tonight…” He exhaled shakily. “The cops said she’d just left him. Finally got out. Apparently she’d been staying with a friend for a couple weeks.”

My fingers tightened around his hand unconsciously.

“He found her anyway.”

Silence swallowed the room for a second.

I could hear the refrigerator humming softly in the kitchen. Cars passing faintly outside. Kieran breathing behind me.

“He beat her so badly the neighbor thought furniture was falling over upstairs.” His voice turned rougher. “By the time we got there…”

He stopped.

I felt him swallow hard.

“She was alone,” he whispered finally. “That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.” My chest physically hurt now. “She died alone, River.”

I turned my head slightly, enough to press my cheek against his temple. “Kieran…”

“All night I kept thinking about you in your apartment before we got together.” His arms tightened around me again instinctively. “Before I knew what was happening. Before Cade told me.”

I shut my eyes, because I knew exactly what he meant.

The image was there now whether I wanted it or not.

Me alone in that apartment.

Tim angry.

Tim escalating.

No one there.

No one coming.

Kieran’s breathing turned uneven again.

“And I keep thinking—” His voice cracked slightly before he forced it steady. “—what if I hadn’t met you when I did?”

Emotion hit me so hard my eyes burned instantly.

“What if he’d gotten worse before anybody realized?” he continued quietly. “What if he’d cornered you one night and I wasn’t there?” His grip on me tightened almost painfully now, not enough to hurt, but enough that I could feel the fear inside it. “Jesus Christ, River, the idea of losing you—”

His voice broke completely that time.

I turned immediately inside his arms.

Kieran let me shift without protest, loosening his hold just enough for me to face him fully between his legs.

And god.

His eyes were red-rimmed now. Exhaustion and fear and too much adrenaline sitting raw on his face.

I cupped his jaw gently. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“No,” I admitted softly. “I can’t.”

Pain flashed across his face. “But I can promise I’m not facing him alone anymore.”

His eyes shut briefly. “I should’ve protected you sooner.”

The words stunned me. “Kieran.” I stared at him. “You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t stop me wishing I had.” His voice sounded angry now. Angry at himself. “I keep replaying everything Cade told me and all I can think is you were surviving all of that while I was just… existing somewhere. Stupidly unaware that the woman I love was being beaten.”

My throat tightened painfully. “That’s not your fault.”

“I know. Logically, I know it’s not.” He scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. “Doesn’t change the feeling.”

I watched him carefully. Watched the exhaustion stripping him down to something frighteningly honest.

“When I walked into that bedroom tonight…” He looked away briefly before forcing himself to continue. “I saw her laying there and all I could picture was you.”

My stomach twisted violently. “I know that’s fucked up,” he said immediately. “I know you’re not her. I know that. But my brain just—”

“You were scared.”

His eyes snapped back to mine instantly. “No, I was terrified,” he admitted.

The naked honesty in it shattered something inside me, because Kieran wasn’t afraid for himself.

Not really.

He’d been blown up less than two weeks ago and spent more time making jokes than talking about his own fear.

But this? This reached somewhere deeper.

“I love you,” he said suddenly.

The words hit the room heavy and immediate. “I know we haven’t been together that long and maybe this is insane and maybe I should be pacing myself better but I don’t know how to do that with you.” His voice roughened. “I don’t know how to act casual about the fact that you’ve become the most important thing in my life.”

Tears burned hot behind my eyes instantly. “Kieran—”

“No, let me say this.” His hands slid up my arms slowly, like he needed to touch me while he talked. “I need you to understand something.”

I nodded once. “If anything ever happened to you…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t think there would be a version of me left afterward that I’d recognize.”

My breath caught painfully.

He laughed once then, hollow and exhausted. “That probably sounds unhealthy as shit.”

“No,” I whispered immediately.

His eyes searched mine. “I spent years building this life,” he continued quietly. “Work. Friends. My place. Everything steady and manageable and controlled.” His thumb brushed beneath my eye gently now, mirroring what I’d done to him earlier. “And then you walked into it and suddenly all of it was different.”

Emotion climbed thick into my throat.

“You made things brighter,” he admitted softly. “Louder, but better.” His mouth trembled faintly at the corner. “Before you, I could leave work after calls like tonight and compartmentalize it eventually. But now all I can think about is getting home to you.”

A tear slipped free before I could stop it.

Kieran caught it immediately with his thumb. “I needed to know you were alive,” he whispered. “That’s why I texted.” His voice cracked again. “Because for a few minutes there all I could think was if I lost you, it would end me.”

The rawness of it stole every coherent thought from my head.

I climbed fully into his lap without thinking about it.

His arms wrapped around me instantly.

I held his face between both hands and kissed him hard enough to stop the spiral before it swallowed him whole. He made a rough sound against my mouth and pulled me impossibly closer.

Not in a sexual way.

Desperate, like he needed proof. I gave it to him willingly.

My fingers slid into his hair while he kissed me like he was trying to breathe through it. When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing unevenly, I rested my forehead against his.

“You are not responsible for every terrible thing that happens in this world,” I whispered.

His eyes shut immediately like the words physically hurt. “But I should’ve saved you.”

The devastation in his voice nearly killed me. “Oh, Kier.” My chest cracked wide open. “You couldn’t.”

“I’m a paramedic.” Anger flashed across his face now, aimed entirely inward. “That’s literally the job.”

“The job is to try,” I said gently. “Not perform miracles.”

His jaw tightened. “I know what survivor’s guilt looks like, Kieran.” His eyes opened again slowly. “And this?” I brushed my fingers through his hair carefully. “This is guilt. Fear. Trauma. Exhaustion. Probably all tangled together.”

He stared at me quietly. “I’m here,” I whispered.

Something vulnerable moved across his face then. “I don’t know what to do with this feeling.”

I understood immediately.

Not the fear exactly.

The helplessness.

The unbearable reality that loving someone meant accepting you could lose them.

I slid one hand against his jaw again gently.

“You don’t have to solve it today.”

His eyes searched mine.

“What if I can’t protect you?”

I swallowed hard.

“You already do.” I watched him carefully. “You saved me from being alone in that apartment. You made me go to Cade’s, and now, you’re moving me in here with you. You protect me in a thousand different ways, every single day, Kier.”

“No, I mean really protect you.” His voice sharpened with frustration. “What if he escalates again? What if one day you’re alone and he—”

“He won’t.” I said it firmly enough that he stopped talking.

Because I understood something now, this wasn’t only about fear. Kieran was trying to control the uncontrollable because the alternative terrified him.

So I held his face gently and made him listen. “I spent years surviving Tim before you ever met me,” I said softly. “And I need you to hear this part carefully.” My thumb brushed his cheek. “I survived because I am stronger than he ever gave me credit for.”

His expression shifted slightly.

“You are not the sole barrier standing between me and destruction,” I continued gently. “You’re not the only reason I’m alive.”

Pain flickered there immediately anyway. “But you make me feel safe,” I whispered. “You make me feel loved. You make me feel like my life belongs to me again.” My throat tightened. “That matters more than I know how to explain.”

Kieran stared at me like he was trying to memorize every word. “And if Tim ever does something again,” I continued quietly, “I won’t have to survive it alone, because I know you’ll be there.”

His breathing finally started slowing beneath my hands.

Not fixed.

But steadier.

I brushed my lips softly across his forehead. “You don’t have to carry this all by yourself either.”

Something in him cracked then. His arms tightened around me again and he buried his face against my neck. Kieran let himself fall apart a little, trembling quietly against me while he held me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

I held him right back.

One hand in his hair.

The other rubbing slow circles across his back.

Minutes passed like that.

Maybe longer.

Eventually his breathing evened out enough that I felt him exhale against my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured hoarsely.

I pulled back immediately. “For what?”

“For dumping all this on you.”

My eyebrows drew together. “Kieran.”

“I know you’ve already lived through enough because of him.” He looked frustrated with himself again. “And now I’m sitting here basically confessing catastrophic anxiety at eight in the morning.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped me.

His eyes flicked back to mine cautiously.

“You’re an idiot,” I informed him softly.

That startled the faintest smile out of him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I brushed hair back from his forehead carefully. “You had a traumatic call involving domestic violence while already carrying fear about someone threatening me.” I kissed him once softly. “Of course it affected you.”

His shoulders loosened slightly.

“And for the record,” I added quietly, “I like that you talked to me.”

Something warm and wrecked crossed his face. “I don’t really know how to do this part,” he admitted.

“What part?”

“This.” His hands slid carefully along my back. “Letting someone see me like this.”

Emotion squeezed hard around my heart. “Well,” I whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at me for one long second.

Then he kissed me again.

Slower this time.

Softer.

Like gratitude.

I had never been loved like this before.

Not carefully, honestly. Not by someone willing to hand me the sharpest parts of themselves and trust me not to turn away.

Maybe that was what forever actually looked like.

Not grand gestures, not perfect certainty.

Just this. Holding each other through the hard things. Choosing each other again and again anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

Morning came softly in my place.

The light through the kitchen window was pale and warm, the kind that made everything feel slower than it really was. The coffee maker had already run its cycle, and the smell filled the small kitchen while River sat across from me at the little table that had definitely seen better days.

She had one of my T-shirts on again.

It hung loose on her shoulders, the sleeves halfway down her arms, her hair still a little damp from her shower. One bare foot tucked under the chair, the other stretched toward me under the table like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Domestic.

The word settled somewhere deep in my chest.

I leaned back in my chair and watched her for a minute while she blew across the top of her coffee. The morning light caught in her hair every time she moved.

My girl.

Jesus.

She looked up and caught me staring.

“What?” she asked, smiling a little.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Just thinking.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “That’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee. “Happens sometimes.”

I cleared my throat. “So,” I said casually.

She hummed, still focused on her mug.

“When are you officially moving in?”

She lowered the mug slowly and looked at me.

There it was—that little flash of nerves in her eyes. Not fear. Just the weight of something big.

“Well…” she swallowed. “I can start packing this week, and if we can get help moving things, I could probably be ready next weekend?”

My heart did a stupid, happy little jump. I pulled my phone out and opened my calendar, scrolling through the next week.

“I work Sunday, Monday and Thursday,” I said.

“Another double?” She asked, her eyes on me. I sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, one that was planned months ago.”

She nodded. “Friday work?”

She nodded again. “Yeah, I can have the place ready to go by Friday.”

I nodded once and opened my group text. Firehouse. I typed fast.

Kieran: Hey, need help moving some things next Friday, an all hands on deck.
Kieran: Pizza will be provided.

I set my phone on the table and took another sip of coffee.

“This is going to go down like an IED exploding in Central Park.”

She winced. “That bad?”

I chuckled. “Worse. Way, way worse.”

Twenty-nine seconds later my phone started buzzing like it had something to prove. “Here we go,” I muttered, and she chuckled into her coffee mug.

I flipped it over.

Jon: Wait, moving… moving what?

Lucas: Shit, did you really just go from boyfriend to domestic partner?

Mateo: Fuck. You work fast, Donovan.

Kieran: Calm down. Just moving some boxes.

Jon: Oh shit, are we moving Scout into your shitty little place?

Kieran: First of all, my place isn’t shitty.

Declan: Dammmmnnnn

Lucas: He didn’t deny it.

Jon: HE DID NOT DENY IT.

Mateo: So River’s moving in?

Kieran: Yeah.

Declan: Holy hell.

Lucas: Man really said “I like this one” and locked it down.

Jon: Bro skipped like six relationship steps.

Kieran: It’s called efficiency. Look it up.

Mateo: Nah, it’s called being whipped.

Kieran: If being happy is whipped, then yeah.

Mark: I’m in.

Mark: Good for you, dude.

Kieran: Appreciate it. Bring your truck.

Lucas: Same, you move fast, but I’m happy for you. I’m in.

Jon: Friday’s clear for me, I’ll be there.

Jon: But I’m judging the hell out of your apartment.

Kieran: You’re there to lift boxes, not critique my life choices.

Matt: I’m in. My wife is out of town next weekend.

Declan: Count me in. I can move boxes for free pizza and beer.

Kieran: That’s literally the payment plan.

Jon: Are we also meeting the woman brave enough to live with you?

Kieran: You’ve already met her, dumbass.

Mateo: Yeah but now we get to see her realize what she’s done.

Lucas: Poor girl. Someone warn her about Donovan’s laundry pile.

Kieran: I do laundry.

Jon: When? Once a quarter?

Declan: River’s gonna fix this man’s entire life.

Kieran: My life is fine.

Mark: You are going to be roasted, Donovan. I won’t miss that. Count me in.

Jon: This might be the most emotional group text we’ve ever had.

Mateo: Donovan’s growing up.

Lucas: Don’t push it. He’s still Donovan.

Kieran: Friday. 1 pm. Pizza, beer, and heavy lifting.

Kieran: Don’t be late.

Kieran: I’ll text the address later.

Jon: Oh we’ll be there.

Declan: I’m bringing a camera.

Lucas: For what?

Declan: For the moment River realizes she just moved in with a feral firefighter.

Lucas: He’s so screwed.

Jon: Just a matter of time until he pops the question.

Declan: Donovan, you’re domesticated.

Mateo: Jenny wants to know if she can help.

Kieran: I’m not domesticated, I’m not a fucking cat.

Kieran; yeah, Jenny can come. River would appreciate another woman, I’m sure.

Kieran: And I have zero plans to propose anytime soon.

Jon: lol, but subject to change.

Lucas: Yeah, if the moment is right, you’ll be on you knee in record time.

Lucas: Mark my words. He’s married by Christmas.

Declan: We should start a pool.

Mateo: Ohh, yeah. I want to take the last week of October.

Mateo: put me down for $50

Kieran: This is not happening.

Kieran: I had a stroke. That’s what this is.

Jon: 50 on the week of Christmas.

Jon: I think he’s more romantic than he lets on.

Lucas: I want the week of Thanksgiving. $50

Declan: I want the week before Christmas. $50

Matt: First week of December. $50

Kieran: What is wrong with all of you?

Mark: First week of November. $50

Jon: Bring your bets in with you tomorrow. I’ll hold it.

Mateo: Oh, I got this in the bag.

Kieran: And if I don’t get married?

Jon: Then you win the pool.

Mateo: Maybe we start a pool for the proposal.

Lucas: I give it a week.

Declan: I bet he already has a ring. 1 month tops.

Jon: Oh, this is good.

The phone kept vibrating against the table.

Not once. Not twice. Just a steady, ridiculous buzz every few seconds like the damn thing had a heartbeat.

I set it down anyway and leaned back in my chair, shaking my head.

River watched me over the rim of her coffee mug, amusement already creeping into her eyes.

“That bad?” she asked.

I huffed a laugh. “You have no idea.”

The phone buzzed again.

And again.

I picked it up long enough to glance at the screen, then dropped it back onto the table like it had personally offended me.

River tilted her head. “Okay now you have to tell me.”

I dragged a hand down my face, already grinning.

“So,” I started, “they were normal for about thirty seconds.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Thirty?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Then Jon decided I’m apparently getting married.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Yeah.” I pointed at the phone. “They’ve started betting pools.”

Her mouth fell open, then she laughed, really laughed, head tipping back, the sound warm and bright in the quiet kitchen.

“Betting pools?” she repeated.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Proposal timeline. Wedding timeline. I think somebody’s got fifty bucks on a Christmas wedding.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” I nudged the phone toward her. “Mateo’s got October. Lucas thinks Thanksgiving. Declan says I already bought a ring and I’m proposing in a month.”

She laughed again, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” I said dryly. “Apparently I’m ‘domesticated.’” That only made her laugh harder. “They also think you’re going to fix my entire life,” I added.

Her grin softened just a little. “Am I?”

I leaned forward on my elbows and shook my head. “My life was fine,” I said. “You just made it better.” For a second the room went quiet in that soft, warm way mornings sometimes do.

Then my phone buzzed again. River glanced at it and shook her head. “Your friends are ridiculous.”

“They are,” I agreed. “And for the record, I have not bought a ring yet.”

She blinked at me. “Yet?”

I gave her a crooked smile. “Yet.”

Another buzz.

“Jon’s collecting the money tomorrow,” I added.

Her eyes widened again. “They’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I said. “Full gambling operation happening at the station.”

She laughed under her breath and took another sip of coffee, still smiling.

I watched her for a second, the way the morning light caught in her hair, the way she looked so comfortable sitting there like she’d always belonged in my kitchen.

Then I rubbed the back of my neck.

“One more thing,” I said.

She looked up.

“We need to tell your parents.”

River bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at her coffee for a moment, thinking it over.

Then she nodded once.

“I’ll call Cade. We’ll need him other wise...” She sighed.

Yeah, that was kind of what I thought too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

I stared at my phone for a solid thirty seconds before I finally hit Cade’s contact.

Kieran was rinsing out our coffee mugs at the sink behind me, humming absently under his breath like he hadn’t just detonated my entire nervous system with the word yet.

Yet.

As in not now.

But eventually.

My stomach flipped again.

“You okay over there?” Kieran asked without turning around.

“No,” I said honestly.

He laughed softly. “Fair.”

The phone rang twice before Cade answered.

“Well,” my brother said immediately, “judging by the fact you’re voluntarily calling me before noon, I assume either you’re dying or Donovan finally proposed in a Waffle House parking lot.”

I closed my eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m an older brother. It’s my constitutional right.”

Kieran snorted quietly from the kitchen.

Traitor.

“We need to set up a Zoom call with Mom and Dad,” I said, getting straight to the point.

Silence.

Then: “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Oh, this is serious serious.”

I dropped onto the couch with a groan. “Unfortunately.”

Kieran glanced over at me immediately, already smiling because he could apparently hear every word of this conversation from across the apartment.

Cade sighed dramatically through the speaker. “Okay, first of all, before we continue, I need you to know I support you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued carefully, “Mom’s gonna have questions.”

I stared at the ceiling. “I know.”

“And Dad’s gonna pretend he doesn’t have questions while visibly having questions.”

“Also aware.”

Kieran dried his hands and wandered toward the couch slowly, clearly trying not to look too interested while absolutely listening to every second of this.

Cade lowered his voice slightly. “And unfortunately, your boyfriend has a history.”

Kieran pointed at himself in immediate offense.

I waved him off blindly.

“You say that like he’s a felon,” I muttered.

“He did once jump off my garage roof holding a folding chair because someone told him wrestling was fake.”

Kieran looked deeply offended. “I landed it.”

I covered my face with one hand while Cade burst out laughing through the phone.

“Oh my God, he’s there?”

“He lives here now,” Kieran called from beside me.

Cade made a choking sound. “See? That sentence alone is gonna send Mom into orbit.”

Kieran dropped onto the couch beside me and immediately stretched one arm across the back cushions behind my shoulders.

Comforting himself as much as me.

Probably more.

I leaned automatically into his side.

“Your parents like me,” he informed Cade confidently.

Cade barked out another laugh. “They tolerate you.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“It’s accurate.”

I rolled my eyes while Kieran pressed a dramatic hand against his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

The thing was, Cade wasn’t wrong.

My parents did like Kieran.

Overall.

He’d been around since middle school. He and Cade had become inseparable at twelve years old after bonding over baseball, video games, and apparently several near-death experiences that my mother still didn’t fully know about.

Kieran had spent years in and out of our house growing up. Mom adored how polite he was. Dad respected how hard he worked. They both trusted him with Cade long before any of us had driver’s licenses.

But there was a difference between liking Kieran Donovan and being thrilled your daughter was dating him.

Because Kieran had always been a little wild around the edges.

Not irresponsible exactly.

Just… intense.

Big personality. Big emotions hidden under sarcasm and tattoos and reckless loyalty. The kind of man who would absolutely help someone bury a body if he loved them enough.

My parents knew that too.

And after Tim?

I knew exactly what they were going to worry about.

Not that Kieran would hurt me.

Never that.

But whether I was moving too fast.

Whether I was emotionally vulnerable after leaving an abusive relationship.

Whether falling this hard, this quickly, was healthy.

Whether I could really trust my own judgment yet.

Honestly?

Those fears weren’t entirely irrational.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, I was hopelessly in love with him anyway.

“When are you planning this intervention?” Cade asked.

“It’s not an intervention,” I muttered.

“That depends entirely on whether Mom cries.”

Kieran grinned beside me. “Twenty bucks says your dad asks if I own a gun within the first ten minutes.”

“You do own guns,” Cade pointed out.

“Legally,” Kieran said immediately.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“This is already a disaster.”

“It’ll be fine,” Cade said, sounding much less convinced than I wanted him to.

Kieran slid his hand slowly onto my knee.

Grounding.

Steady.

I looked over at him automatically.

His expression softened the second our eyes met.

That familiar warmth settled low in my chest again.

Home.

God, that was terrifying.

“What’s the actual plan?” Cade asked. “You telling them you’re dating? Living together? In love? What level of emotional devastation should I prepare for?”

Heat climbed instantly into my face.

Kieran looked unbearably smug.

“River,” Cade said slowly. “Why are you quiet?”

“She’s blushing,” Kieran supplied helpfully.

“Oh my God.” Cade sounded delighted now. “You said it, didn’t you?”

I buried my face in my hands immediately.

Kieran outright laughed beside me.

“You people are awful.”

“She absolutely said it,” Cade informed him.

“She did,” Kieran confirmed smugly.

“I hate both of you.”

“No you don’t,” Kieran murmured softly beside my ear.

The stupid thing was, he sounded so certain about it.

Like he already knew.

Like he trusted it completely.

Cade made another dramatic sound through the phone. “Jesus Christ. You guys are gross already.”

Kieran grinned. “You’re just jealous.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait,” I interrupted quickly before he could. “Can you actually set it up for two weeks out? I’ve got a lot of packing, I don’t know that I’ll have time.”

Cade paused. “Yeah. I’ll text Mom and Dad and set it up.” Then his voice softened slightly. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll probably go better than you think.”

I looked over at Kieran again.

At the way his thumb moved absently against my knee.

At the softness in his eyes when he looked at me now.

At the complete certainty sitting quietly underneath all my fear.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think so too.”

Tim

The silence was starting to get to me. A week. Five fucking days and River had practically vanished.

At first, I thought she was just ignoring me. Which was childish, honestly. Dramatic. River always did this when she got emotional, pulled away and acted like space solved things. But eventually she cooled off. Eventually she remembered who actually knew her best.

Who loved her best, but this time was different.

After I left the note on her door, after I reminded her that running away wasn’t going to fix us, she disappeared completely.

No lights on in the apartment.

No movement.

No answer to calls.

Even her fucking curtains stayed shut.

I sat in my car across from her apartment complex so often over the last week that I started recognizing the routines of half the tenants. The woman with the little white dog that barked at leaves. The old guy who smoked on his balcony every night at exactly eight fifteen. The college kid who always blasted music pulling into the parking lot.

But not River.

Never River.

It was making something ugly crawl under my skin.

I knew she was avoiding me intentionally now. The question was where the hell she’d gone. Cade’s house was the obvious answer, except her car never moved from her parking spot. I checked constantly. Morning, afternoon, night. Her little sedan stayed right where she’d left it.

Which meant someone was driving her around. That thought alone nearly made me put my fist through my steering wheel.

Because there was only one person it could be.

Cade’s best friend, Kieran fucking Donovan.

I’d heard enough about him over the years to know exactly who he was. The guy who practically lived at their house growing up. The one River used to casually mention sometimes without thinking about it.

Kieran Donovan.

Even his name irritated me now.

Guys like that always thought they could play hero. Loud, and reckless. The kind of men women mistook for safety because they knew how to take charge in a crisis.

But men like that didn’t stay.

Eventually they got bored.

Eventually they left.

And when they did, River would come back to the person who actually understood her.

Because that’s what this was.

A tantrum, a phase.

And honestly? The more time passed, the more irritated I became that she was dragging this out.

So today I decided to remind her.

I bought the roses from that expensive florist downtown she always used to stop and admire when we passed it. It never failed, anytime we came to see her parents and Cade, we’d end up passing this stupid place and she’d make comment.

So fine. Seven dozen long stem red roses. Excessive enough to make a point.

River always loved gestures.

I carried the arrangement across the parking lot toward her apartment, my jaw tight as I unlocked the ground-floor door with the copied key. The lock clicked open too easily, and I stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind me, the roses heavy in my arms. I stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind me.

Instantly, the apartment smelled like her. Vanilla, coffee. That faint lavender detergent she always bought. Something in my chest loosened the second I walked in. Like finally being able to breathe properly after days underwater.

See? This was still hers, still ours.

Her blanket was still folded over the couch. Her books sat stacked unevenly beside the armchair. One of her mugs rested in the sink.

Nothing looked different.

Except that she was missing.

I set the roses carefully in the center of the dining table and stepped back to look at them.

Perfect.

Bold enough she couldn’t ignore them. Romantic enough she’d understand what I was trying to say. That I wasn’t giving up on her.

My eyes drifted around the apartment again slowly, catching little details automatically. That’s when I saw it. A dark gray hoodie, tossed carelessly over the arm of her couch. I stared at it for a long moment before I crossed from the roses into the living room. The fabric bunched in my fist the second I picked it up.

It smelled like Irish Springs soap, cedar and… smoke.

Something cold slid down my spine as denial took over, telling myself that this was absolutely fucking not happening. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt because River wasn’t like that, and she simply wouldn’t do this. But suddenly, all I could picture was Donovan inside this apartment, sitting on her couch, touching her things, and sleeping in her bed.

Kissing my fiancé. Touching my fiancé.

Rage flared so fast the edges of vision blurred, leading to a tighter grip on the hoodie as a violent, instinctive thought took hold: mine. A look toward the bedroom hallway followed, accompanied by heavy breathing and a pulse pounding in the ears.

The apartment no longer felt comforting; instead, it felt invaded, as if someone had walked into a private life and started putting fingerprints all over things that belonged to another. A slow, sharp, and humorless smile pulled at the mouth then as the realization hit. That was it. That was the reason why she disappeared.

My pulse started pounding harder as I walked down the hallway toward her bedroom, my boots hitting the floor harder with every step.

The bedroom door stood half open.

I shoved it wider.

The bed was neatly made, but the room itself looked… off. Wrong.

Drawers only half closed. Empty hangers spaced awkwardly in the closet. A few gaps on the bookshelf where things were clearly missing… like she’d packed in a hurry.

I stood there staring at it, breathing hard through my nose. Then I looked back down at the hoodie still clenched in my hand.

Understanding hit all at once.

She was staying with him.

Sleeping with him.

Fucking him.

Kieran fucking Donovan.

The thought detonated inside my chest so violently I had to grip the dresser edge for a second.

I honestly hadn’t thought she had it in her.

Not River.

Not the girl who used to blush when I kissed her too long in public. Not the woman who always wanted softness and reassurance and stability.

But this… this was real.

My eyes swept slowly around the room again, anger building hotter with every second.

He’d been here.

In her apartment, in her space.

Touching her things.

Touching her.

Touching my fucking fiancé.

A bitter laugh escaped me. So that was what this was really about. It wasn’t fear or confusion. It was defiance. River thought she could disappear for a week, crawl into another man’s bed, and somehow rewrite everything between us.

My grip tightened unconsciously around the hoodie.

Eventually she’d come back.

She always came back after fights.

But now the thought settling into my mind wasn’t relief.

It was cold. Heavy. Because when she finally did come home this time, things weren’t just going to go back to normal this time.

This time, she’d pushed too far. She’d done something that couldn’t be taken back. Infidelity could not be taken back, but it could be punished.

She would be punished.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

The drive back to my duplex was quiet.

River sat curled slightly toward the passenger door, one arm wrapped tightly around herself while city lights streaked across the windshield in blurred gold and white. She hadn’t said more than a handful of words since we left the apartment complex. Every now and then I caught her staring out the window without really seeing anything.

The like half of her was in the truck with me, the other half was still standing in her apartment staring at those goddamn roses.

I kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console between us, palm up.

Not pushing, just there if she wanted it.

At the first red light, she finally moved; her fingers slid into mine suddenly, tightly, almost desperately.

I looked over immediately. She didn’t lift her eyes to mine, just kept staring ahead at the glowing red light while her hand clung to mine hard enough to make my knuckles ache.

She didn’t let go. Not when the light turned green. Not when I shifted gears. Not the entire rest of the drive home. So I drove one-handed through evening traffic with River holding onto me like letting go might send her spinning off into something dark.

Every few minutes, my thumb brushed over her knuckles gently.

A silent I’m here.

Each time, her grip tightened in response.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, my hand had gone half numb beneath hers.

I didn’t care. She was clinging to my hand like the only rock in a storm, and I wasn’t about to give two shits about my own comfort levels.

The porch light cast a soft glow across the duplex as I killed the engine, but neither of us moved right away. The truck ticked quietly around us as it cooled, the world outside strangely calm compared to the storm sitting beside me.

River still hadn’t let go of my hand.

Her fingers stayed tangled tightly with mine as I grabbed the keys with my free hand and finally climbed out of the truck. She only let my hand go long enough to climb out of the truck. Even walking up the driveway, she stayed close enough that our shoulders brushed, her grip never loosening once.

I unlocked the front door and stepped aside for her automatically.

The second she crossed the threshold into the duplex, something in her seemed to falter. Maybe it was the warmth, or the quiet. Maybe it was the fact that this place felt safe, and her body finally realized it didn’t have to stay braced for impact anymore.

She stopped just inside the entryway.

Her eyes moved slowly over the apartment. The lamp glowing beside the couch. The blanket from last night tossed over the armrest. One of her books sitting face down on the coffee table where she’d left it earlier.

I shut the door quietly behind us and turned toward her just as her breathing changed. “River?”

Her hand tightened painfully around mine. Then her other hand came up to cover her mouth like she was trying to physically hold something in.

That was it, her entire face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart—” She made one broken sound before the tears hit full force.

Not quiet crying, not controlled. She folded in on herself like something inside her had finally snapped under the weight of the day, shoulders shaking violently as she tried and failed to catch her breath.

I moved immediately. Ignoring the protest in my ribs, I pulled her against me, wrapping both arms around her as tightly as I could without hurting her. She grabbed fistfuls of my hoodie instantly, clinging hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath her hands.

“Kieran,” she choked out, and hearing my name like that nearly fucking gutted me.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered immediately, one hand cradling the back of her head. “Hey. Hey, I’ve got you.”

She shook her head against my chest like she couldn’t stop. That was when the sobs really started. Ugly, exhausted, terrified sobs that sounded dragged out of somewhere old. Years old. Like she’d spent too long holding herself together and didn’t know how to stop now that she finally could.

Every tremor that ran through her hit something violent inside me.

I just held her tighter. “You’re okay,” I murmured into her hair. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“He was there,” she cried finally. “Kieran, he was in my apartment.”

Rage flared hot and immediate in my chest, but I swallowed it down hard because this wasn’t about my anger right now.

This was about her.

“I know,” I said softly.

“I thought—I thought I was handling it,” she whispered brokenly. “I thought I was okay, and then I saw those flowers and—” Her voice cracked apart completely.

I closed my eyes briefly and pressed my mouth to the top of her head. “You don’t have to be okay right now.” She cried harder at that, as if the permission itself hurt.

“I hate him,” she sobbed quietly. “I hate that he can still make me feel like this.”

“He doesn’t own your fear,” I said firmly. “And he sure as fuck doesn’t own you.”

Her fingers twisted tighter in my hoodie. “I should’ve fought harder years ago.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. I pulled back enough to look at her tear-streaked face. “No, sweetheart. You survived. That’s what you did.” Her eyes squeezed shut instantly. “You survived him,” I said again, gentler this time. “There is nothing weak about that.”

Her breathing shuddered unevenly while I brushed damp hair back from her face.

God, she looked exhausted. Today had hollowed her out completely, and still she reached for me. She was still choosing me even while she fell apart.

“I’m scared,” she admitted finally, voice so small it barely sounded like her at all.

That nearly fucking killed me. I rested my forehead against hers carefully. “You are allowed to be afraid,” I whispered. “But I won’t let him near you.”

“What if he doesn’t stop?”

My jaw tightened.

“He’s going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” I admitted quietly. “But I know this.” I wiped another tear gently from beneath her eye. “He does not get near you again. Not without going through me first.”

“Kieran—”

“I mean it.” My hand slid along her jaw carefully. “Nobody fucks with you. I don’t care who he is, who he knows, or what he tries.”

Her eyes searched mine then, red and glassy and full of too many things all at once.

Fear, anger, exhaustion. Relief.

“I love you, River. I’m going to protect you, always.”

Then she broke all over again and threw her arms around me so hard she nearly knocked me backward into the door.

I grunted softly as my ribs protested, but I didn’t loosen my hold on her for even a second.

Outside, the neighborhood stayed quiet.

Inside my duplex, River cried against my chest while I held the shattered pieces together as carefully as I knew how.

Eventually, her crying quieted.

Not because she was suddenly okay, but because exhaustion finally started winning.

I kept holding her there by the front door long after the worst of it passed, one hand moving slowly up and down her back while her breathing evened out against my chest in shaky little increments.

Neither of us rushed to move.

The apartment stayed quiet around us, warm and dim and safe.

Finally, River pulled back just enough to wipe at her face with the sleeve of my hoodie, clearly realizing halfway through that she was actively crying into my clothes.

“Sorry,” she muttered hoarsely.

I snorted softly. “Sweetheart, I’m a paramedic. I’ve had way worse things on me than tears.”

That earned the faintest huff of laughter.

Tiny, a bit fragile, but real.

I brushed my thumb gently beneath one of her eyes, catching another tear before it fell. “C’mere.”

Keeping one arm around her shoulders, I guided her farther into the apartment. She stayed tucked close to my side the entire time, like she physically couldn’t tolerate distance right now.

Honestly? I didn’t want it either.

She kicked off her shoes near the couch, movements slower now, drained. I watched some of the tension ease from her shoulders just being back here.

“You hungry?” I asked quietly.

She leaned against the kitchen counter beside me, arms folded loosely around herself. “A little.”

“I can make a grilled cheese.”

That finally earned the tiniest flicker of a smile. “Very gourmet.”

“Thank you,” I said solemnly. “I’m basically a Michelin star chef.”

She gave a soft snort. “You burn toast regularly.”

I clutched at my chest. “That is character assassination.”

Her mouth twitched again before fading, but I caught it.

Still counted.

I moved carefully around the kitchen, ribs protesting every reach and turn while I kept half my attention fixed on her without making it obvious.

Every time she drifted close enough, I touched her gently.

My fingers brushing the small of her back.

My hand sliding over her shoulder.

A quiet kiss pressed into her hair when she stopped beside me at the stove.

Never crowding her.

Never demanding conversation.

Just reminding her she wasn’t alone, and every single time, she leaned into it instinctively.

Like her body was seeking me out before her brain could catch up.

We ate on the couch instead of at the table.

Mostly because neither of us had the energy to pretend this was a normal night.

River curled into the corner cushion beneath a blanket while I stretched carefully beside her, trying not to piss off my ribs more than they already were. The grilled cheese sat mostly untouched in her lap for a while, her attention somewhere far away.

At one point she stared at the TV screensaver for nearly a full minute without blinking.

I reached over and squeezed her knee gently.

Her eyes shifted to me immediately.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

She nodded automatically, then her face crumpled just slightly around the edges again. “Not really.”

The honesty hit me square in the chest.

I set my plate down and opened one arm toward her without saying anything.

For a second she just looked at me.

Then she moved immediately.

River climbed into my lap carefully, arms wrapping tightly around my middle as she buried her face against my neck. I ignored the sharp stab in my ribs the second it happened because there wasn’t a universe where I’d tell her not to.

I just held her.

One hand rubbing slow paths along her back while the other cradled the back of her head.

“It feels stupid,” she whispered after a long silence.

“What does?”

She swallowed hard against my shoulder. “I knew he was escalating.” Her voice sounded exhausted now. Angry at herself underneath it. “The note on the door. The calls. I knew it was getting worse.”

I pulled back enough to look at her. “River.” Her eyes lifted reluctantly. “You surviving him does not make you responsible for managing his insanity.”

Something in her expression cracked quietly at that.

God, she looked exhausted all the way down to her bones.

I brushed my thumb gently beneath one eye. “You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself anymore.” She stared at me for a second like she didn’t quite know what to do with that.

Then she leaned forward and kissed me softly.

After that, the night settled into something quieter. Safer.

She showered while I cleaned up the kitchen one-handed like a geriatric raccoon, and afterward she changed into one of my t-shirts and sleep shorts before curling back up on the couch beside me.

This time closer, her thigh pressed against mine beneath the blanket.

I flipped aimlessly through streaming apps while soft instrumental music drifted low from the soundbar. Neither of us spoke much.

We didn’t need to. Every few minutes my fingers found her ankle beneath the blanket. Her knee. The back of her neck.

Tiny reassurances. Tiny reminders.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

After a while, I glanced over at her. “What do you feel like watching?”

River sat tucked against the corner of the couch, quieter than normal, still somewhere deep in her own head, but she looked over at me after a second.

“Are you a fan of Gerard Butler?” she asked quietly. I nodded. “Olympus Has Fallen?”

The corner of her mouth lifted faintly. “A woman of great taste,” I said, navigating to the movie.

That earned me a small eye roll, which honestly felt like a massive victory at this point.

The movie started.

At first she stayed where she was, curled into herself beneath the blanket while explosions and political chaos filled the screen, but slowly, inch by inch, she drifted closer.

Her foot brushed mine first.

Then her shoulder settled lightly against my arm.

Then sometime during the first major action sequence, she shifted quietly and moved between my outstretched legs like she had during Titanic.

Like she belonged there now.

I lifted the blanket automatically so she could settle properly against me.

River leaned back carefully against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her waist slowly, giving her room to pull away if she wanted. Instead, she melted against me with one long, exhausted exhale.

My chin rested lightly against the top of her head while my arms tightened around her just slightly.

Somewhere beneath the anxiety still clawing at the edges of the night, beneath the anger and fear and protective rage simmering hot in my chest, one thing remained terrifyingly clear:

Tim might have scared her today.

But he didn’t get to take this.

He didn’t get to take her safety.

Her peace.

Her future.

Not as long I was still breathing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next week crawled by, not in the dramatic, everything-is-falling-apart kind of way, but slowly, carefully. Painfully slow at times. Like both Kieran and I were waiting for the next shoe to drop.

But it never did.

No flowers appeared.

No notes showed up taped to doors.

The day after the roses, Kieran took me to get a new cell phone. New number, new service, on his plan, of course. “If its under my name he won’t be able to find it.” Kieran said like it was the most logical thing in the world.

The silence should’ve relaxed me more than it did, but honestly? It mostly just left me suspicious.

Still, life kept moving anyway.

The night after the flowers incident after we got my new phone, Cade came over for dinner. Kieran had insisted on grilling despite still technically being in recovery from both a concussion and what looked like half his torso being used as a demolition test dummy.

I’d caught him trying to lift a bag of charcoal by himself. That argument had lasted twelve minutes.

Cade found the whole thing deeply entertaining.

“You realize,” my brother had said while watching me physically take a bag of charcoal out of Kieran’s hands, “you’ve become terrifyingly domestic in record time.”

Kieran, naturally, looked smug about this. “I’ve been saying she’s basically my wife for days now.”

I pointed a spatula at him immediately. “And yet somehow no one has killed you in your sleep.”

“True love,” he answered solemnly.

Cade nearly choked on his beer laughing.

But underneath the teasing, there had been a real conversation too.

About safety.

About Tim.

About the fact that none of us felt comfortable with me staying alone at my apartment anymore, even with the locks changed and increased patrols around the complex.

“I can stay with you for a while if you want,” Cade had offered carefully.

And before I could answer, Kieran had immediately looked uncomfortable. Like the thought of me sleeping somewhere he couldn’t immediately get to made something inside him itch.

The realization had settled over me quietly then: I didn’t want to be anywhere else either.

So somewhere between burgers and Cade threatening to install security cameras himself, it became official. I moved was going to move in with Kieran.

Fully.

Not a “trial run.”

Not “a few things.”

Actually moved in.

Which mostly meant my books slowly began overtaking every available surface in his duplex while Kieran pretended to be annoyed about it.

“You own an alarming amount of literature,” he informed me one afternoon while I carried in another box from my apartment.

“You say that like books are a bad thing.”

“You brought twelve novels and somehow six plants.”

“They’re emotional support plants.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “One of them is literally dead.”

I dropped my hands to my hips. “That’s Phil. He’s trying his best.”

Kieran stared at the half-wilted fern in disbelief. “Babe, that thing has seen the other side.”

I laughed so hard I snorted. He looked incredibly pleased with himself afterward.

Meanwhile, underneath all the moving and settling in and pretending everything was normal, Kieran was still healing.

Even if he acted like he wasn’t.

Over the course of the week, the bruises stretched across his back slowly started changing color. The angry blacks and deep purples faded into murky greens and sickly yellows. Every night after he showered, I’d catch myself staring at them while he moved around the bedroom pulling on sweatpants or digging through drawers.

The explosion had done a number on him, but he still kept acting like he was fine.

By the fifth day, his ribs didn’t seem to hurt much unless he twisted wrong or forgot himself and reached for something too quickly. Then his entire face would tighten for half a second before he remembered I was watching and immediately pretend nothing happened.

Unfortunately for him, I noticed every time.

“You just winced.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“Kieran.”

“It was a masculine facial expression.”

“You walked into the counter.”

He glared at the offending counter. “It attacked me.”

“You are thirty-one years old.”

He nodded. “And still bravely surviving adversity.”

I made him rest anyway.

Which he hated.

Apparently paramedics made uniquely terrible patients.

I forced naps on him at least once a day, usually by physically dragging him into bed and climbing on top of him until he gave up pretending he wasn’t tired.

“You’re a tyrant,” he mumbled one afternoon while I pushed him backward onto the mattress.

“You need sleep.”

“I slept last night.”

“For like four hours.”

“That counts.”

“It actually doesn’t.” He grumbled dramatically the entire time, then passed out ten minutes later with one arm wrapped around my waist.

Idiot.

Still, after a few days, the cabin fever started setting in hard.

Kieran was not built to sit still.

By day four, I caught him reorganizing his toolbox in the garage at eight in the morning with the intense focus of a man one inconvenience away from a psychological break.

So we started leaving the house more. Nothing major, just little outings to keep him from climbing the walls.

We went to the movies twice because sitting quietly in dark theaters apparently counted as “resting” in Kieran’s brain. We spent an evening at Cade’s house where I cooked dinner while Cade and Kieran argued over hockey and nearly set off the smoke detector trying to “help.”

At one point, I found both of them standing in the kitchen staring suspiciously at a pan like it had personally betrayed them.

“Why is it smoking?” Cade asked.

“Because you turned the burner to high,” I answered.

Kieran crossed his arms. “That feels accusatory.”

“You are both banned from touching the stove.”

“Kitchen dictator,” Cade muttered.

“Oppression,” Kieran muttered.

But the clear winner of the week was walking.

Every evening, once the worst of the heat faded and the neighborhood softened into gold-hour quiet, Kieran would grab my hand and pull me out the front door.

Sometimes we walked for twenty minutes.

Sometimes over an hour.

No destination.

No real purpose.

Just us moving slowly through his neighborhood together while porch lights flickered on one by one around us.

Those walks became my favorite part of the day, because that was when Kieran relaxed the most. No distractions. No worrying about whether I was spiraling quietly in my own head.

Just easy conversation.

Sometimes we talked about serious things.

Sometimes utterly ridiculous.

One night we debated whether a gorilla could beat a grizzly bear in a fight for almost six blocks. Another night he told me stories from paramedic training that made me laugh so hard I had to stop walking.

Sometimes we talked about Tim too.

Not in huge heavy conversations.

Just little things.

Fragments.

Memories.

Kieran never pushed.

Never demanded details.

He just listened when I offered them.

And every single time, he squeezed my hand afterward like he was reminding himself I was still here.

But underneath all of it, I could feel his restlessness building.

Every morning he checked his work email.

Every afternoon he paced a little more.

Every time an ambulance siren echoed somewhere in the distance, his attention shifted automatically toward it before he caught himself.

He missed work.

Missed helping.

Missed moving.

And even though he’d stopped wincing every time he stood up, I still caught him rubbing absentmindedly at his ribs when he thought I wasn’t looking.

He needed more time.

Even if he refused to admit it.

We had been walking the neighborhood, the late afternoon sun warm but gentle against my skin, my fingers tangled with Kieran’s, when I slowed near a small yard.

We hadn’t walked down this particular street before.

A little white house sat halfway down the block with a crooked painted fence and overgrown flowerbeds lining the sidewalk. Near the gate, climbing stubbornly against the fence line, was a rose bush blooming bright red.

I stopped walking without meaning to. Kieran slowed immediately beside me.

The first time Tim hit me, he bought me roses afterward.

Red ones. I could still remember standing in our tiny apartment kitchen holding them while he apologized. He’d looked devastated. Horrified with himself. He’d cried harder than I had. I loved him then, because I was twenty-three and stupid and desperately wanted to believe people only hurt the people they loved by accident, I’d believed him.

I swallowed hard.

“The first time he hit me,” I said quietly, my voice sounding far away even to me, “I thought it was an accident. That I’d gotten in the way.” Beside me, Kieran went completely still.

I couldn’t look at him yet.

So I started walking again slowly, my hand still wrapped tightly around his while I stared straight ahead. “He bought me red roses as an apology,” I continued. “That became the pattern. He’d hurt me, then apologize. Red roses and a promise that he was sorry. That it was an accident.”

My throat tightened. I shook my head slowly. “Eventually it stopped being an apology.” I let out a hollow little laugh. “It became him blaming me for it. Like I’d made him do it somehow.”

I took a deep breath before I forced myself to continue on. “At first it was rare,” I admitted quietly. “Once a year. Then twice. Then…” My breath caught painfully. “Eventually anything set him off.”

I stared down at the sidewalk while we walked. “The kitchen not being perfectly clean. Crumbs left in the butter dish. Vacuum lines done wrong.” I swallowed hard. “If I came home late from class. If dinner wasn’t the exact right temperature. If I interrupted him accidentally while he was working.”

The memories felt ugly out loud.

Small. Petty. Which somehow made them worse.

“I thought I was the problem,” I whispered. “That if I could just be better, he wouldn’t hate me so much.”

Emotion clogged my throat suddenly. “So I tried.”

I laughed again softly, but there wasn’t anything funny in it. “I changed everything. The way I dressed. I stopped wearing clothes he didn’t like. I gave up my dog because he said she barked too much.” My chest tightened sharply at that memory. “I wore makeup I hated because he liked it. Dieted constantly. Tried to keep the apartment perfect.”

I shook my head once. “Nothing was ever enough.”

Silence stretched between us for a few steps.

Finally I stopped walking and looked up at Kieran.

His jaw looked tight enough to crack. There was something furious sitting behind his eyes, something protective and heartbroken all at once, and God, that expression alone almost undid me.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” I said softly.

His face shifted immediately at that.

Not offended, but like he was hurt that I’d even think it.

“But…” I looked away briefly before forcing myself to continue. “If I flinch sometimes, or go quiet, or apologize too quickly… I don’t want you thinking it’s because I believe you’re like him.” My fingers tightened around his. “Because I don’t.”

The words came easier once I looked back at him again.

“I lived in that fear for years, Kieran. I’ve only been free for five months.” My voice softened. “There are going to be times when I shy away or panic or take the blame for things that aren’t my fault. I’m trying really hard not to.”

I swallowed hard. “So just… bear with me, okay?”

For a second, Kieran didn’t say anything. His throat bobbed hard once, eyes glassy in a way I’d never seen before.

Then he stepped closer to me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him even in the evening breeze. “I would die before I hurt you.”

The words came out rough.

Raw.

Absolute.

My eyes burned suddenly. I reached up and touched his cheek gently, my thumb brushing against the roughness of his beard. “I know,” I said softly. “I trust you, Kieran. You’ve always protected me from bullies.”

His throat bobbed again, and before he pulled me into his arms and hugged me.

Standing there on an ordinary sidewalk with traffic humming faintly in the distance and sunlight turning gold through the trees, wrapped in his protective embrace, I realized something that scared me a little in its certainty.

Loving Kieran didn’t feel frightening.

Kieran

We hit the last block before my duplex, and I could see the familiar brick exterior, the small porch, the scattering of planters I’d tried not to kill over the past few months. I pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and just sat there for a second, letting the quiet sink in.

River turned to me, that small, soft smile curling on her lips. I reached over and took her hand. Her fingers fit perfectly in mine, like they were meant to be there all along.

“Ready?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She nodded, and I could hear the little hitch in her breath, the mix of nerves and excitement that had me grinning like an idiot. “Let’s go,” she said, and I felt the weight of everything we’d just experienced, the candy aisle revelations, the daydreamed futures, the unspoken promises, settle between us.

We slid out of the truck, and grabbed our bags from the backseat. I came around the side of the truck, and took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart. This is your place now, too.”

She looked up at me. “My place, too?”

I snorted as I unlocked the front door. “Do you really think I’m not going to live with you now?”

She made a very unladylike noise and stepped into my apartment. “Wait, how did we go from maybe staying here so Cade didn’t hear us, to I’m suddenly living here?”

I laughed. “Do you not want to live here?”

She turned around, raising an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t say that.” She clarified. “I was just wondering how we got there so fast.” I stepped past her and gesturing for her to follow me to the bedroom.

“Well you were taking a shower this morning,” I started, and her laugh was music to my ears. I tossed my bag on the bed then reached for hers. “Seriously though,” I said setting her bag next to mine, I reached for her. “It’s fast, I won’t say that its not, sweetheart. It is very, very fast.” She nodded, her brown eyes on mine. “But that doesn’t change it, not for me.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not saying you need to move in here today. Or next week or next month. I’m not saying we need to get married. Yet.” I qualified. “But I am saying I want you next to me every night when I fall asleep. I want sleepy morning kisses and movie nights and fights about stupid shit neither of us will remember the next day.” I slid my hand across her cheek. “I want you, River. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I don’t care.” I smiled because I couldn’t not anymore. “I just want you, anyway I can get you.”

She sighed. “Damn it, Donovan,” she said a small smile cresting her lips. “Why are you so fucking charming?” She shook her head. “It’s beyond annoying.”

I laughed. “Get used to it sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We spent the next hour moving things around, finding spots for her things in the bedroom and bathroom. She unpacked a few toiletries, shoved her sneakers under the bed, and put a couple of books on the nightstand. I watched her, careful not to hover, but unable to stop myself from stealing glances. The way she moved through the space like she belonged here already, like this apartment was just missing her until now, it made my chest tighten.

We talked through tomorrow’s plan while she organized a drawer of socks and underwear. She’d agreed to a trial run, a few weeks, just to see if living together worked. “I have an appointment for a follow up tomorrow morning,” I said, watching her.

“Okay. After that I need to go back to my apartment,” she said, “grab some more clothes, a few necessities… nothing crazy.” I nodded, feeling a strange combination of relief and anticipation.

She stopped, staring into the empty space I’d easily made in the closet for anything she needed to put in there. “What are you thinking, River?”

She looked up, a haunted look I’ve never seen before in her eyes, before she looked away again. “He won’t think I’m dating,” she said slowly. “He really thinks I’m still in love with him.” I felt that familiar twist in my gut, the same one I’d felt when I first learned about Tim and the way he’d hurt her over five years. I didn’t say anything, just reached over and brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said quietly. “Fuck that guy. If he comes near you, I will fuck him up.” She looked up at me. I shrugged. “I know a prosecutor, he’ll get me off.” Her lips twitched, but she nodded and looked away. “Hey,” I said pulling her hand. She looked over at me again, her eyes sad.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Kieran. He’s evil, but I won’t let him touch you.” Her voice was soft, but it carried weight. She was terrified of the man, that was clear, but she wasn’t too scared to try to keep me safe.

“That will never happen.” I said. “Babe, men like that are cowards. They’re not afraid to hit women or kids, but when a grown ass man steps up, they cower.” I pulled her against me. “Let me protect you, River. I promise. I can hold my own, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”

She nodded, not lifting her head off my chest.

“If it weren’t for Tim,” she said slowly. “For the note on my door, would we still be here?” She looked up at me. “Would you still be asking me to be here with you?”

I thought about that, because it was a good question.

“Would we be here, right now, in this moment? I don’t know.” I sighed. “But if I had to go back and change anything, would I?” I nodded. “I would. I would change your fear. I’d wipe that away, and keep everything else. Waking up next to you, the shower, hell, I’d even do the explosion again. It got us here, streamlined what could have been months of dating.”

I gave a small shrug, even though it burned like hot metal across my shoulders. “It feels like we lost a lot of time. Maybe this is just us speed running to where we were always supposed to be?”

She smiled up at me. “You are quite the charmer, Donovan.”

I smiled. “I aim to please, Scout.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By late afternoon, the pain and exhaustion finally caught up with me. Between the concussion, the two broken ribs, and the bruises stretched across my back like someone had taken a bat to me, my body had reached its limit hours ago. I’d tried to fight it, stubbornly insisting I was fine, but River had given me that look and told me to go lie down before I passed out standing up.

So I did.

I slept harder than I meant to, the kind of sleep that drags you under completely. When I finally woke up, the apartment was dim with late afternoon light, my ribs aching dully every time I breathed too deep. But the pounding in my skull had eased, and for the first time all day I felt less like a corpse someone had propped upright and more like an actual human being again.

I shuffled out of my bedroom slowly, one hand braced against my side, and found River curled up on my couch with one of the books she’d brought with her. She looked completely content, legs tucked beneath her, quietly reading while soft music played from my speakers. She glanced up the second she heard me.

“Hey,” she said softly, immediately setting the book aside. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got blown up,” I muttered.

She snorted quietly and stood, crossing the room toward me. “Smartass.” Her eyes scanned my face carefully, checking for dizziness, pain, probably making sure I wasn’t about to collapse. “Seriously.”

“Better,” I admitted. “Head’s not pounding as bad.”

Her expression softened with relief. “Good.”

She stayed close for another second, her hand brushing lightly over my arm before she stepped away. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Not long later, we were cooking dinner together. She chopped vegetables while I seared chicken, throwing playful glances and teasing jokes over the counter at each other. She laughed at my inability to dice onions evenly, and I laughed at her insistence on tasting everything before it went in the pan. The apartment smelled like garlic and onions, warm and inviting, and I realized just how much I’d missed out on living alone. How quiet my life had been, how empty it felt without someone like her stirring things up.

We ate at the small dining table by the window, plates steaming. River leaned back in her chair, her foot brushing mine under the table, and I realized this was exactly where I wanted to be. She talked about little things, plans for the weekend, a new book she’d started, a recipe she wanted to try, and I listened, fully present, not planning, not worrying, just savoring.

After dinner, we ended up on the couch with a blanket and a movie. She’d insisted we watch Titanic because I’d somehow made it this far in life without seeing it. My TV sat at the end of the couch, and I shifted carefully against the cushions, trying to find a position that didn’t make my ribs feel like they were grinding together.

River hesitated before settling in front of me. “Am I going to hurt you?” she asked quietly, glancing back at me. “Because I can sit somewhere else.”

I slid my arm around her waist and gently pulled her back against my chest. “You’re fine.”

“Kieran—”

“Seriously,” I murmured against her hair. “This is probably the most comfortable I’ve been all day.”

She still looked uncertain for another second, trying to be careful as she leaned back fully against me, but eventually she relaxed when I didn’t immediately wince in pain. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close beneath the blanket, and felt the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

She didn’t ask for anything. She just settled there naturally, like being close to me was the easiest thing in the world.

As the movie played, I found myself thinking about the coming weeks. About helping her feel safe. About keeping Tim as far away from her as possible. About learning the rhythm of living together without forcing it into something fragile.

“We can rearrange the furniture,” I said after a little while. “I know this isn’t probably the most comfortable position for you.”

She shook her head. “Are you kidding? Your like a human heated body pillow. I don’t ever want to move.” I chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

At some point, she murmured, half asleep, “I think I could get used to this.”

“Me, too,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too, sweetheart.”

In the quiet of the evening, I realized how easily she’d become the center of my life. How she’d quietly become the center of my everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

I held my hand out expectantly. “Give me the keys, Donovan.”

Kieran looked up from where he was shrugging into his jacket, already suspicious. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, absolutely.” I wiggled my fingers impatiently. “I shouldn’t have let you drive yesterday, but my brains were scrambled from four orgasms. Today, I’m clear headed, so you’re playing passenger princess.”

He groaned immediately. “River.”

“Kieran.”

“Babe, I’m fine.” He grabbed his wallet off the counter. “My headache isn’t bad, and I’m completely clear headed.”

I raised one eyebrow, hand still outstretched. “Oh, I’m sorry, do I look swayed?” I blinked at him slowly. “Keys, Kier. Now.”

He stared at me for a second like he was debating whether arguing was worth it. Then, with the long-suffering sigh of a man deeply oppressed, he dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into my palm.

“This is humiliating.”

“This is responsible.” I corrected with a smile.

He snorted and shook his head. “This is dictatorship.”

I smiled sweetly. “Get in the truck before I buckle you in myself.”

He muttered something under his breath about surviving an explosion only to be taken out by his girlfriend, but he obeyed.

Honestly, the fact that he was still trying to act invincible while sporting bruises down half his torso and moving like every breath hurt made me want to throttle him a little.

The drive to the doctor’s office was mostly quiet. Kieran reclined the seat farther back than normal, one hand resting carefully against his ribs while the other sat loose against his thigh. Every now and then I caught him suppressing a wince when we hit bumps.

“You okay?” I asked quietly at a red light.

“I’m fine.”

“You say that a lot for someone who sounds ninety years old every time he gets out of bed.”

“That’s because I am brave and strong.”

“That’s because your ribs are broken.”

He shot me a sideways grin. “Tomato, tomahto.”

By the time we got called back, I could already tell Kieran thought this appointment was unnecessary. He had that stubborn, tightly controlled look he got whenever someone implied he wasn’t capable of handling things himself.

Unfortunately for him, the doctor did not seem remotely interested in entertaining his bullshit.

The doctor looked barely old enough to legally rent a car, but he was thorough. He reviewed the scans, checked Kieran’s pupils, asked about dizziness, headaches, nausea, pain levels. Kieran answered everything with the calm confidence of someone trying very hard to downplay the fact that he’d recently been blown up.

The doctor was not fooled.

“Well,” he said finally, rolling his stool back slightly, “you definitely need more rest than you’ve been giving yourself.”

Kieran leaned back carefully on the exam table. “I’ve been resting.”

I snorted out loud.

The doctor glanced between us, amused.

“You have a concussion and two broken ribs,” he continued. “Not to mention extensive bruising and soft tissue damage along your back. I’m putting you on no work for at least a week.”

Kieran’s jaw tightened immediately. “A week?”

“Yes.” The doctor didn’t even blink. “And honestly, if your symptoms persist, possibly longer.”

“That’s excessive.”

“That’s medical advice.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.

The doctor continued like Kieran hadn’t spoken. “You need sleep, limited screen time if headaches worsen, no strenuous activity, and as much rest as possible.”

Kieran looked deeply offended by the phrase strenuous activity.

Then, because apparently humiliation was my destiny, he asked, completely seriously, “Is sex considered strenuous activity?” I choked on absolutely nothing.

The doctor paused, like he was genuinely considering the logistics.

“Well…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “As long as it’s not super active, it should be fine. Your brain and ribs need time to heal, Mr. Donovan.” Then he glanced at me before looking back at Kieran. “I’m sure your wife will understand if you need to take a break from your sex life.”

I blinked.

Then slowly turned toward Kieran. He was already looking at me with the most unbearably smug grin I had ever seen in my life.

Absolute cheshire cat energy, his eyes practically sparkled.

I could actually see the exact moment he decided he was never letting the wife comment go.

My face felt warm instantly. “We’re not—”

Kieran’s grin widened.

Benedict Arnold right there.

The doctor looked mildly horrified. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly, while Kieran looked like this was potentially the greatest day of his life.

“No, seriously, I just assumed—”

“You assumed correctly,” Kieran cut in smoothly.

I whipped my head toward him. “Kieran.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “You already boss me around like a wife.”

The doctor made a strangled sound that might’ve been laughter he was trying to suppress.

I narrowed my eyes at Kieran. “You are one concussion away from death.”

His grin only got worse. “See? Wife behavior.” I stared at him in disbelief while the doctor very suddenly found the patient chart fascinating.

“Kieran Donovan,” I said slowly, “you are hanging by a thread.”

He looked entirely unbothered by this. “And yet you drove me here, sat through my appointment, and threatened bodily harm when I didn’t want to take a nap yesterday.”

I snorted, and waived a hand in his general direction. “Yeah, because you have the survival instincts of a raccoon in traffic.”

The doctor snorted before coughing into his fist, trying to disguise it.

Kieran pointed at him immediately. “See? He gets me.”

“No,” I said. “He’s witnessing your decline in real time.”

The doctor cleared his throat, still visibly fighting amusement. “Right. Anyway.” He clicked a few things into the chart on the computer. “No lifting anything heavy, no intense physical activity, and if your headaches worsen, if you get dizzy, confused, nauseous, any vision changes—ED immediately.”

Kieran nodded, though it had the energy of someone pretending to agree while mentally planning to ignore at least half of it.

I noticed.

Apparently the doctor did too.

“Mr. Donovan,” he said pointedly, “I’m serious. You were lucky. You’re a paramedic, you know this.” Something in the room shifted slightly at that.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.” Kieran’s grin faded just enough around the edges for me to see the exhaustion underneath it. The soreness. The reality of how close things had come.

The doctor’s expression softened a little. “Good. Then act like it.”

A few minutes later we were finally heading back through the parking lot, discharge paperwork in hand.

The second the clinic doors closed behind us, Kieran bumped his shoulder playfully against mine. “Do you wanna grab some lunch, wife?”

“Oh my God.” I groaned.

“What? I thought it had a nice ring to it.”

I stopped beside the truck and pointed at him with the hand holding his paperwork. “You have exactly two broken ribs too many to be flirting with me right now.”

“That’s not a no.” He gave me a lopsided grin behind his sunglasses. “River Donovan. I like it.”

I narrowed my eyes. He grinned lazily, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who’d just been medically benched for a week.

“You were cute in there,” he continued. “All protective. Kinda bossy.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “It was kina hot.”

“You literally asked the doctor if sex counted as strenuous activity.”

“That was a medically relevant question.”

I crossed my arms. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was. I’m committed to following my treatment plan. Besides, I needed to know because I am absolutely not keeping my hands off you for a week.” He grinned again. “And it sounds like as long as we’re not doing tantric shit,” I raised an eyebrow, “You know, going at it for hours on end, we’re good to go.”

I opened the passenger side door for him with more force than necessary. “Get in the truck, Kier.”

He obeyed, but not before catching my wrist gently as I turned away.

The teasing faded from his face just enough to let something softer through. “Hey, I’m just teasing.” I looked back at him. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”

All the irritation melted clean out of me.

Because underneath the jokes and the flirting and the stubbornness, I could see it. The fatigue in his eyes. The careful way he lowered himself into the seat trying not to aggravate his ribs. The fact that this whole situation clearly frustrated the hell out of him.

My chest tightened painfully.

“You got blown up, idiot,” I murmured. “Of course I’m taking care of you.”

His mouth curved into a softer smile this time. “Still,” he said. “Thanks.”

I leaned down without really thinking about it and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “I love you. Now put on your seatbelt, passenger princess.”

He huffed a laugh while fastening it. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.” I shut the door. “Doctor’s orders.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

I hated being in the passenger seat of my own truck.

Not because River was driving badly.

Unfortunately for my pride, she was driving my truck like she’d stolen it professionally at some point in her life.

My truck wasn’t small either. 1974 Ford F-250, four wheel drive that I’d restored over the last seven years. It had a lifted suspension, and enough horsepower to make most people a little nervous the first time they got behind the wheel. When she’d climbed into the driver’s seat earlier, I’d fully expected at least one awkward adjustment period.

Instead, she adjusted the mirrors, and backed out of the parking lot smoother than half the guys I worked with.

I eyed her suspiciously as she turned easily onto the main road.

“You’ve driven trucks before.”

She glanced over innocently. “Maybe.”

“River.”

“The guy I dated before Tim had one.”

“There was a guy before Tim?”

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the road. “Jamie. We dated for about a year, but he was older and things just didn’t work out.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How much older?”

She glanced over at me. “Why do you want to know?”

I sighed. “Morbid curiosity.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Just a few years. I was nineteen, twenty. Jamie was thirty-one.”

I blinked at her. “Just a few years?” I sputtered.

She laughed fully. “I’m joking, Kier. He was twenty-five. He left the university after my sophomore year because he got a chance to get his Ph.D. at Yale.” She shrugged. “It sucked, but we’re still friends. He’s married now, has twin girls that look exactly like him.” She laughed softly and shook her head.

“So we’re you guys pretty serious?”

She shrugged. “I mean, in the grand scheme of things, no, but if you’d asked me in the moment, we definitely were. But, we had different paths. He was very much a physicist, and I wasn’t. We had a lot in common, but it was clear our paths were going to split at some point.”

I didn’t like how much I hated this Jamie guy.

Which was ridiculous, because ten minutes ago I hadn’t even known he existed.

But now all I could picture was some smart, Yale-bound physicist with messy hair and wire-frame glasses kissing River against dorm room walls while she looked at him the way she occasionally looked at sunsets and old bookstores.

I shifted in the passenger seat, staring out the windshield while she drove my truck like she belonged in it.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said lightly.

“What thing?”

“Brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You’re practically radiating testosterone and irritation right now.”

I crossed my arms. “Physicist, huh?”

She snorted softly. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous of Jamie.”

“I am not jealous of Jamie.”

“Kieran.” She laughed under her breath. “You absolutely are.”

I hated that she sounded amused instead of offended.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “I just didn’t picture you with some genius academic type.”

“He wasn’t a genius.”

“He got into Yale for a Ph.D.”

“That just means he liked suffering.”

I barked out a reluctant laugh at that.

River smiled a little, glancing over at me before turning her attention back to the road. Her fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel.

“We were better on paper than in reality,” she admitted after a moment. “We cared about each other, but our lives barely overlapped.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he lived in the physics building, and I practically lived in the art department.” She shrugged one shoulder. “We’d go days without seeing each other except to grab coffee between classes.”

That eased something ugly in my chest, but not enough.

Still, I asked, “You were together a year.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And serious.”

“At the time, yeah.”

I stared out the side window for a second before I asked, “Did you love him?”

The truck quieted for a beat.

River glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road.

“I loved parts of him,” she said honestly. “But it wasn’t life-changing, go-buy-a-white-dress kind of love.”

Then she shot me a small smile.

“It’s not like how I love you.”

My entire brain short-circuited for half a second.

Unfortunately, instead of responding like a normal person, I grunted and looked back out the window.

“Kier,” she said softly.

I looked over.

Her expression had gentled completely now, amusement fading into something warmer.

“You don’t need to look like you’re preparing for battle.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

I exhaled through my nose.

She smiled faintly. “Jamie and I never really got that far anyway.”

My brows pulled together. “What does that mean?”

She hesitated just enough to make me turn fully toward her.

Then she shrugged. “We never slept together.”

I blinked.

“What?”

Her cheeks pinked slightly, but she kept her eyes on the road. “We kissed. That was basically it.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“You dated for a year.”

“College years barely count as real time,” she muttered.

“River.”

She laughed quietly. “I’m serious. We were exhausted constantly. He was buried under research and lab work, and I was taking overloaded humanities courses while working part-time.” She glanced over at me. “Our schedules were awful.”

I still couldn’t quite process it. I saw her glance at me out of the corner of my eye.

She laughed immediately. “Oh my God, you’re still jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You look like you want to fistfight a man living three thousand miles away.”

“He’s annoying me on principle.”

“Kier.” Her voice turned softer, amused. “He’s married. Has twins. Still lives in New Haven.” She shook her head. “You have nothing to worry about.”

I didn’t say anything, just stared out the window.

“Kieran.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look homicidal and relieved at the same time.”

I rubbed a hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh because unfortunately she wasn’t wrong.

River grinned a little at me then, sunlight catching the edge of her hair through the windshield. God help me, that physicist never stood a chance against me if she kept looking at me like that.

She grinned, one hand loose on the steering wheel. “Relax, Kieran.”

I groaned quietly and leaned my head back against the seat.

The concussion headache was still lingering in the background, dull and annoying, and every pothole reminded me my ribs were still broken, but honestly? Sitting here watching her confidently commandeer my truck was weirdly attractive.

Which felt unfair.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered.

“Oh, absolutely.” Her smile widened. “You look so grumpy over there.”

“I am grumpy. I’ve been medically oppressed all day.”

“You asked the doctor if sex counted as exercise.”

“It was an important health question.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“He said it was fine.”

“He also told you to rest.”

I waved a hand dismissively and immediately regretted it when my ribs protested. “Minor detail.”

River snorted softly but glanced over at me a second later, checking my face the way she kept doing every twenty minutes now. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I shifted carefully in the seat. “Just sore.”

Her expression softened immediately.

There it was again.

That look she got every time she remembered I’d actually gotten hurt. Beneath all the teasing and bossiness, there was this constant thread of worry wrapped around me now.

I reached over and squeezed her knee lightly. “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

She covered my hand briefly with hers before focusing back on the road.

We pulled into her apartment complex not long after, and I stared up at the building while she parked.

The plan was supposedly to grab “a few more things.”

Which, as far as I was concerned, translated to: start migrating River’s entire life into my apartment.

Our apartment.

The thought settled into my chest with alarming ease.

Because honestly? I was already there mentally. A bunch of her stuff was already at my place anyway, and after everything that had happened, I couldn’t imagine her not being there now. I never wanted her alone in this apartment again. I couldn’t imagine waking up without her curled against me on the couch or stealing my hoodies or reading quietly in my living room while I slept.

At some point all her books were going to take over my shelves.

And somehow, I didn’t mind that at all.

River turned the truck off and looked over at me. “Okay. Ground rules.”

I narrowed my eyes immediately. “Why do I feel threatened?”

“Because you should.” She pointed at me sternly. “You are not carrying anything.”

I grunted. “I can carry things.”

“You can barely put socks on without making old man noises.”

“That’s slander.”

“That’s observation.” She grabbed her bag. “Doctor’s orders. You are decoration today.”

I scoffed, deeply offended. “I’m at least emotionally supportive muscle.”

“You’re concussed.”

“Rude.”

She laughed under her breath and climbed out of the truck before circling around to my side.

Which was unnecessary.

And adorable.

And slightly humiliating.

“I can open my own door,” I informed her as she pulled it open anyway.

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Careful,” she said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out too.”

I stared at her as I climbed down carefully from the truck. “You enjoy bullying me.”

She laughed. “A shocking amount, actually.”

I shut the door and fell into step beside her as we headed toward the building entrance, her shoulder brushing mine lightly.

The afternoon sun caught in her hair as she dug through her purse for her keys, and for one quiet second, everything felt painfully normal.

Easy.

Like this was just our life now.

Together, we walked up to her front door.

“You realize,” I said as River unlocked her apartment door, “that at some point we’re just going to stop pretending you’re ‘bringing a few things over’ and admit you live with me now.”

She snorted softly, pushing the door open. “I do not live with you.”

“You sleep at my place.”

“Temporarily.”

“You’ve colonized my bathroom.”

“That is dramatic.”

“You have girl shampoo in my shower, River.”

“Because you use that weird two-in-one men’s shampoo that smells like motorcycle tires and bad decisions.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s concerning, and don’t act like you don’t like to use my shampoo. I smelled your hair earlier.”

I scoffed. “Slander.” I grinned as we stepped inside. “How many books are we talking?”

She kicked the door shut behind us. “Maybe like… ten?”

“Christ, babe.”

“What if I need options?”

“You’re building a library in my apartment one paperback at a time.”

She laughed, turning toward the dining room. “You’ll survive—”

She stopped, the sound cut off so abruptly it made something in my chest tighten instantly. River went stock still beside me.

Like someone had turned off the light switch that powered her.

“River?”

I stepped in behind her and looked past her shoulder into the dining room, and immediately saw them. A massive crystal vase sat in the center of her kitchen table overflowing with bright red roses.

Way too many roses.

The kind of arrangement that cost enough money to make a statement.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

I turned toward her sharply. “Tim?”

She didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. I watched the color slowly drain from her face, watched her eyes lock onto the flowers like she wasn’t even fully here anymore.

Fuck.

“River, hey.” I moved immediately, stepping between her and the table. “Are those from Tim?”

A long second passed before she finally looked up at me.

Then she nodded once. A tiny, barely there. Ice slid down my spine.

“Okay,” I said carefully, already guiding her backward toward the door. “Go to the truck. Now.”

She blinked at me like she hadn’t heard me. “Kieran—”

I shook my head sharply. “No. We’re calling the police and Cade.” I turned her physically toward the door, my hands firm on her shoulders. “I am not letting your stalker ex-fiancé anywhere near you, understand?”

She still looked dazed, not panicking, which scared me more.

It looked too much like shutting down, and that was closing in on shock quickly. “River.” I tightened my grip gently on her upper arms until she focused on me. “What year is it?”

She blinked hard. “What?”

“Focus, sweetheart. What year is it?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Uh… 2026?”

“Good,” I said immediately. “Good. Can you tell me who the president is?”

She blinked again, clearly confused now. “Not the woman I voted for.”

Despite everything, a short laugh escaped me in relief.

Okay, she was still with me.

“Alright,” I said softly. “Okay. I need you to go sit in the truck for me, alright? Lock the doors.”

Her breathing finally started to pick up slightly. “Kieran—”

“I’m calling the police and Cade.”

I glanced back toward the apartment automatically, every instinct in me suddenly on high alert.

The flowers sat untouched in the middle of the room like a threat.

Like proof.

He’d been here.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The police had been inside her apartment for almost an hour.

Long enough for my headache to come roaring back full force.

Long enough for my ribs to feel like someone had wedged a knife between them.

Long enough for River to stop shaking violently and start doing something that worried me even more, going quiet.

By the time Detective Mullins stepped back outside with the last officer, the sun had started dipping lower across the parking lot, throwing long shadows between the buildings.

River sat curled into the passenger seat of my truck, staring blankly out the windshield. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, fingers dug into her sleeves hard enough I knew it had to hurt. Even from where I stood, I could see the faint tremor running through her.

Cade stood on her right side near the open passenger door, one forearm braced against the roof of the truck while he kept a careful eye on his sister.

I stood on her left.

Close enough to touch her if she needed it.

Close enough to remind myself she was still here.

Detective Mullins approached slowly, expression grim. He was older, broad shouldered, the kind of detective who looked permanently exhausted by humanity.

Which probably wasn’t a good sign.

“Nothing useful off the vase yet,” Mullins said, stopping beside us. “CSI took prints, fibers, the note attached to the flowers, all of it.”

River flinched slightly at the mention of the note.

My jaw tightened instantly. “What’d it say?” Mullins hesitated for half a second too long.

Cade noticed too. “Detective.”

“It said,” Mullins answered carefully, “You can run from me all you want, River. It won’t change where you belong.”

Rage hit me so hard and fast my vision almost blurred.

Beside me, Cade muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

I looked toward River automatically.

She hadn’t moved.

Just kept staring out at the parking lot like she was somewhere else entirely.

Mullins followed my line of sight, his voice gentler when he spoke again. “We’re increasing patrols around the complex tonight. I’m also pushing for expedited approval on the protective order.”

“That’s not enough,” I said immediately.

Mullins nodded once like he understood exactly why I said it. “I know.”

“He got into her apartment.”

“There was no sign of forced entry,” Mullins replied. “Which means either he still has a key—” Mullins sighed, “—or he made a copy at some point.”

That possibility hit River hard. I saw it immediately in the way her breathing hitched. Like suddenly nowhere was safe anymore.

Once Mullins and Cade stepped a few feet away to continue talking quietly near the patrol car, I looked back at River.

That was when I realized something had changed. The fear was still there somewhere underneath it all, but it wasn’t the thing sitting closest to the surface anymore.

She didn’t look like a frightened rabbit now.

She looked furious.

Quietly, terrifyingly furious.

Her hands were still trembling where they rested in her lap, but her expression had sharpened into something harder. Colder. Her jaw was tight, eyes locked on her apartment building with an intensity that made something in my chest twist.

This wasn’t just fear.

This was years of having her choices stripped away from her. Years of being controlled, manipulated, cornered, made smaller and quieter and easier to handle. Years of being forced into survival mode until submission became second nature.

Tim showing up here, putting those flowers on her table, leaving that note, it wasn’t romantic, and it wasn’t love.

It was possession. A reminder that he still thought he could reach into her life whenever he wanted.

That he still believed she belonged to him.

I watched the exact moment that realization settled into her bones and hardened there.

No, not hardened.

Ignited.

Because the woman sitting in my passenger seat didn’t look broken.

She looked done.

Done being afraid.

Done giving him power over her life.

Done letting him decide who she got to be.

Her eyes flicked toward me finally, and there was something blazing in them now beneath the fear. Something determined. Something angry enough to survive.

“He doesn’t get to do this to me anymore,” she said quietly.

The sheer certainty in her voice made my chest tighten.

“No,” I agreed softly. “He doesn’t.”

Her gaze drifted back toward the apartment building. “I spent years trying to keep him calm. Trying not to upset him. Trying to be smaller so he wouldn’t—”

She cut herself off, swallowing hard.

I stayed quiet.

After a second, she shook her head once. “I’m not doing that anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. She squeezed my hand back hard enough to hurt.

Neither of us let go.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I didn’t mean to keep watching her.

At least, that’s what I told myself every single time my eyes drifted back across the gym.

The freshman formal was exactly as terrible as I’d expected it to be.

The high school gym had been transformed with the kind of budget decorations that looked impressive only if you were under eighteen or legally blind. Crepe paper streamers hung crookedly from basketball hoops. Metallic stars dangled from the ceiling tiles on fishing line that kept twisting in the weak airflow from industrial fans.

Colored lights flashed lazily across the walls while speakers crackled overhead loud enough to distort every third song.

The whole place smelled like sweat, sugary punch, cheap perfume, axe body spray, and floor cleaner.

I should not have cared about anything happening in that room.

I didn’t even want to be there.

School dances had never really been my thing. Hell, I’d skipped my own senior prom two weeks ago without an ounce of regret. Jennifer, my now ex-girlfriend, had spent junior prom flirting with half the guys from my varsity baseball team while drinking from a flask hidden in her purse, and I’d spent most of the night wondering why everyone acted like gym decorations and slow dancing were life-changing experiences.

If Mom and Dad hadn’t insisted I drive Kara and Emily tonight, I would’ve been home already.

Hoodie on.

Shoes kicked off.

Xbox running with the newest Call of Duty: Ghosts humming and aliens dying while I screamed in my headset about formations and attack plans.

Fun to be had by all.

Peace restored.

Instead, I was standing near the bleachers looking like I’d accidentally wandered in from baseball practice. Gray school hoodie, jeans with a hole in the knee, Nike cross trainers. Which, in all honesty, I pretty much had. I got home from practice, dropped my bag by the door and was forced back out again with two fifteen year olds in fancy dresses and makeup.

They almost refused me entry to the dance. If my baseball coach, also one of the Freshman English Teachers, hadn’t been at the door and saw why I was there, I would be parked in my car in the student lot, waiting the three hours until this god awful haze of lights and blurry music was over.

Hands shoved deep into my pockets while I leaned against the wall trying not to look as awkward as I felt. At six-foot-four, “blending in” wasn’t really an option anyway. Most of the girls in the gym looked at me when they passed. Some whispered. Some giggled.

I ignored all of it. I was the only senior, the only eighteen year old, I attendance. To say that I felt out of place was a vast, vast understatement.

The Air Force Academy was only a few months away, and lately I already felt halfway gone from this place. I’d gotten my acceptance letter four months ago, and ever since, everything felt like it was on some sort of timer. Like some invisible part of me had detached early and was just waiting for the rest of my life to catch up.

Everything familiar felt temporary.

Maybe that was why I kept noticing Emily. I glanced back toward the dance floor, and winced. My sister was dancing with boyfriend, Kelley, and Emily, all three of them jumping and singing and being generally… fifteen.

Emily so completely here, present in a way I wasn’t anymore. Happy in a way that felt uncomplicated. She stood out without trying to.

That was the thing.

Most girls at the dance were performing. Posing for pictures every thirty seconds. Adjusting dresses. Fishing for attention from the boys on the dance floor, hell a lot of them were throwing looks my way.

Yeah, pass.

Emily wasn’t doing any of that.

She was just… existing, comfortable in her own skin, and that made her impossible not to notice.

Her dress certainly helped. Bright blue satin that caught every flash of colored light when she moved across the dance floor. Strapless, soft around the neckline, fitted through the waist before flaring slightly when she spun.

The color looked unreal against her skin.

During faster songs, she danced with Kara, Kelley, and their friends without a shred of self-consciousness. Laughing openly. Throwing her head back without caring who saw.

There was freedom in it.

Then during the slower songs she moved to the side, allowed Kara to dance those songs with Kelley without butting in.

That was what kept dragging my attention back every few minutes no matter how many times I told myself to knock it off.

Emily looked happy.

Like actually happy.

Not curated. Not careful. She looked utterly alive.

For reasons I couldn’t explain, that hit me square in the chest every time I looked at her.

Which was ridiculous.

Emily Morgan was Kara’s fifteen-year-old best friend.

A sweet, nerdy freshman who spent most sleepovers at our house curled into corners reading fantasy novels while Kara terrorized everyone around her.

Most of the time her brown hair lived in fuzzy ponytails, and she wore oversized round wire glasses that slid down her nose every five minutes.

I’d never once looked at her twice.

Until tonight.

Tonight, Kara had apparently gotten hold of her and decided to conduct a full makeover intervention. Emily’s curls had been styled into soft large ringlets that bounced around her shoulders every time she laughed. She’d traded her glasses for contacts, even though I knew she hated wearing them.

“They make my eyes feel scratchy. I hate it,” she’d told me once taking them out and flicking them into the trash in the kitchen. It had both grossed me out and fascinated me that she could so easily touch her eyeballs. It was wild.

I don’t know what kind of makeup my sister applied, that wasn’t something I was even going to try to understand, but it was simple, not over the top. Just enough to make Emily’s eyes look bigger… somehow.

Hazel-green with gold hidden in them. I’d looked at her eyes plenty of times growing up, I’d known her nearly ten years by now, but tonight…

Jesus.

Dressed up like this, she looked less like the shy bookworm hanging around my house, correcting my homework, and more like the kind of girl guys wrote terrible poetry and emo songs about.

That realization alone should’ve made me walk out of the gym immediately.

Instead, I kept watching her.

Idiot.

A slower song started playing overhead, and Emily pointed to the drink table to Kara. Kara nodded, and Em moved toward the refreshments near my side of the gym.

She still hadn’t noticed me standing there.

I watched her tuck a curl behind her ear while laughing at something Kara said as she moved.

That was when it happened.

At first it looked like a simple stumble.

One awkward backward step. That was when I noticed the balloon ribbon wrapped tightly around her ankle. Her arms flailed slightly as her balance disappeared, eyes going wide on her beautiful face.

Then gravity took over.

I didn’t think, I didn’t have time to hesitate. Years of sports training kicked in before conscious thought even caught up.

One second I was leaning against the folded up bleachers.

The next I was sprinting. I crossed half the gym floor in seconds just as she pitched backward. Luck was on my side and I caught her around the waist right before she hit the ground.

Her body collided against mine hard enough to force air from my lungs, as I dropped to one knee to hold her steady.

My hands tightened instinctively around her waist while momentum carried her fully against my chest.

She looked up, eyes wide, and our gazes collided.

“Ty!” she gasped, startled laughter tangled into my name.

“Gotcha,” I managed.

I tried to sound casual, and failed completely.

Because suddenly she was there, lying against my arms and left thigh, her hands grabbed the front of my hoodie automatically, fingers curling tightly into the fabric while she steadied herself automatically, blinking up at me like she wasn’t sure if I was her savior or her downfall.

Jesus Christ.

Something weird happened inside my chest right then.

A hard thud of adrenaline that felt suspiciously unlike any adrenaline I’d ever experienced. A tightness spreading warm and soft through my chest, and my stomach flipping like it was a gymnast in my abdomen.

Emily looked up at me wide-eyed and flushed, cheeks pink from embarrassment and surprise. For one completely insane second, the entire room disappeared. All the music, the people, the frustrating strobing lights.

All of it, just… gone.

There was only her.

I had a sudden and terrifying realization that she fit against me perfectly, as if she’d been designed to fit there, specifically for me.

Understanding of that realization hit a split second later and nearly knocked the breath out of me.

Jesus fucking Christ. This could absolutely not happen.

I helped her upright immediately, putting careful distance between us before my brain could completely short circuit.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded too quickly, swallowing. “Yeah.” She was still holding onto my hoodie.

I looked pointedly down at her hands. Her eyes followed mine and widened instantly.

“Oh my god, Ty, I’m so sorry!” she said releasing my hoodie.

God that’s cute.

The thought landed before I could stop it, making me blink down at her.

Fuck, nope. Nope. No fucking way.

I crouched to untangle the stupid balloon ribbon still looped around her ankle before she face-planted again.

Her sandals barely had heels, just thin silver straps against smooth skin, and every accidental brush of my fingers against her ankle made me absurdly aware of the fact that I was touching her skin.

I cleared my throat hard and focused more aggressively on the ribbon.

Get it together.

Finally, the knot loosened.

I tossed the ribbon aside and stood again, dusting my hands against my jeans mostly so I had something to do.

Emily looked up at me with that same flushed expression. “Thanks,” she said softly. “I probably would have cracked my head open if you hadn’t caught me.”

For reasons I absolutely did not understand, and would not understand for many, many years, my chest tightened again. Emily laughed softly, nervous now, tucking curls behind her ear while her cheeks stayed pink.

A sudden understanding dawned on me and I… knew it. I knew if I walked away right then, I’d think about this moment way longer than I should.

So instead, apparently against all better judgment, I heard myself ask: “Dance with me?”

The words surprised both of us.

Emily blinked.

I saw hesitation flicker across her face immediately. Not rejection exactly, disbelief. She couldn’t quite tell if I meant it.

Honestly, that was fair. It was out of character for me.

Before either of us could think too hard about why this was probably a terrible idea, I grabbed her hand gently and tugged her toward the center of the dance floor.

Emily made a startled sound that immediately dissolved into laughter as she stumbled after me through the crowd.

“Ty!”

The next song exploded through the speakers hard enough that the bass rattled the bleachers beneath our feet.

Feel Again by OneRepublic.

Emily’s eyes widened in immediate recognition before she burst into bright, helpless laughter.

“Oh my God,” she shouted over the music, “I love this song!”

The sound hit me square in the chest.

Not politely.

Not safely.

Like somebody had reached inside me and squeezed something alive.

I laughed too, the reaction ripping out of me so suddenly it caught me off guard. “Dance with me, Em!” I yelled over the loud thumping music.

Something inside me just… let go.

Maybe it was the music.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me like she’d already decided I was ridiculous and liked me anyway.

Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in months, I didn’t feel halfway detached from my own life.

Whatever it was, the self-consciousness I’d carried around all night vanished.

I stopped caring who was watching. Stopped caring that I was a senior in a hoodie and cross trainers standing in the middle of a formal dance looking wildly underdressed. Stopped caring that I probably looked like a complete idiot.

Because Emily was laughing, and that made everything else irrelevant.

I grabbed both her hands and spun her beneath my arm. The bright blue satin of her dress flared around her legs, catching the flashing lights in sharp flashes of sapphire and silver while her curls bounced wildly around her shoulders.

She squealed when I spun her too fast.

That made me laugh harder. “Okay, maybe less aggressive!” she shouted.

“No promises!” I laughed back.

I danced like an absolute disaster.

No rhythm.

No plan.

No coordination whatsoever.

I jumped around singing the lyrics badly while dragging her into spins that nearly sent us crashing into other couples every thirty seconds.

At one point I attempted something that probably qualified as breakdancing in another universe and almost blew out my knee in the process.

Emily laughed so hard she doubled over clutching my arm.

And God, that laugh.

It wasn’t polite or restrained or careful.

It was loud, beautiful and bright.

Completely uninhibited.

The kind of laughter that made other people start smiling just because they heard it.

Every time she looked up at me with those sparkling hazel eyes and laughed again, something warm spread through my chest before I could stop it.

The gym around us slowly disappeared, the crowd blurred into background noise.

There was only Emily.

Her hands in mine.

The heat in her cheeks.

The way she trusted me automatically every single time I spun her away from me and pulled her back again.

At one point she stumbled because she was laughing too hard and crashed directly into my chest. I’d pulled her harder than I meant to, and thought for a wild moment I dislocated her arm.

I caught her automatically, hands landing at her waist while her palms flattened against my hoodie to steady herself.

For a second, we both froze.

She looked up at me still laughing breathlessly, cheeks flushed pink while curls stuck slightly to the side of her neck from the heat.

There it was again. that dangerous feeling. That strange tight pull low in my chest that I did not know what to do with.

I knew better.

She was Kara’s best friend.

A freshman.

Three and a half years younger than me.

I was supposed to know exactly where the line was and stay the hell behind it.

Instead, I was standing in the middle of our high school gym unable to stop looking at her like she’d suddenly become the most important thing in the room.

And the worst part?

She looked back. Not shyly or uncertain.

Just looking back at me. As if she liked being there with me as much as I liked being there with her.

That realization should have hit me in a different way. It made me grin down at her, that steady warm pressure spreading through my entire chest.

The song finally started winding down, both of us slightly breathless from spinning around like idiots for the last three minutes.

I twirled her one final time, watching the skirt of her dress flare beautifully before momentum carried her back into me again.

This time neither of us stepped away immediately.

Her hands rested lightly against my chest.

Mine settled carefully at her waist.

And then the next song started.

That song from the last Twilight move.

Jesus, that fucking Twilight movie.

After thee days of Kara begging me to take them to the movies, I’m pretty sure she buttered up Emily to ask me, and man, do you know how hard it is to say no to a shy kid who barely speaks to most people?

Anyway, I spent almost thee hours in a movie theater watching sparkly vampires get married and werewolves get pissed off and then the main chick died, but then she didn’t die? I don’t know, I was really lost.

Em and Kara ate that shit up. I looked over at one point, Emily sat between me and Kara, and both of them were sobbing.

Like literally sobbing. Big tears, shoulders shaking, all of it.

Girls. I have zero idea what the hell was happening. They knew she was going to die, I mean, didn’t the see the same movie I did?

So when that song started to play over the fuzzy speakers, I knew exactly what it was, and I knew that both Em and Kara loved it.

The entire energy in the gym shifted almost instantly.

The lights dimmed lower. Couples moved closer together automatically.

The chaos softened into something slower and warmer.

Without really thinking about it, I started swaying with her.

Small movements at first.

Absentminded.

Emily’s laughter faded little by little while she looked up at me, and something inside me tightened hard enough to make breathing difficult. Because suddenly she didn’t feel like Kara’s little friend anymore.

She didn’t feel like the freshman kid hanging around our house after school, correcting my homework. She felt soft and warm and entirely too right standing there in my arms.

The gym disappeared completely then.

The music blurred into the background while my focus narrowed down to tiny details I absolutely should not have been noticing.

The warmth of her hands through my hoodie.

The faint floral scent of her shampoo.

The way her eyes caught colored light every time she looked up at me.

I could feel her breathing.

Feel the shape of her against me.

The dance had already been going for two hours, and not once had anyone asked Emily to slow dance.

I noticed because every single time a slower song came on, she quietly drifted toward the edge of the gym without making a thing about it. She’d sway a little by herself near the bleachers so she wouldn’t third-wheel Kara and Kelley, smiling whenever someone looked over at her like she was perfectly fine standing there alone.

Then the second the song ended, she’d bounce right back into the crowd like nothing happened.

Like it didn’t bother her.

Maybe it didn’t.

But it bothered me.

After watching it happen seven separate times, something about it started scraping at me wrong. It didn’t seem fair. I’d looked around and there were plenty of freshmen boys just hanging around, but not a single one of them asked her to dance.

Idiots.

So yeah, dancing with her probably wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.

It was dangerous, actually. For the first time in the ten years I’d known her, it was impossible not to notice she was a very pretty girl, and she was looking at me right now like I’d hung the fucking moon.

The realization hit hard enough to knock the breath clean out of me. But instead of stepping back like I should have, I let my arms slide more fully around her waist.

Emily’s breath caught softly.

Then, slowly, carefully, her hands slid up and settled on my shoulders.

And we just kind of… swayed there.

No dramatic movie dance moves, no spinning. Just small movements in a slow circle while the music played around us.

Logically, I knew it was just some random slow song in a sweaty high school gym.

My nervous system, however, did not get that memo. I could feel my hands trembling, my heart beat pounding erratically, but I couldn’t drag my eyes off of her face. Those big beautiful hazel eyes, watching me.

Emily seemed to realized after a second that I wasn’t joking around anymore. I wasn’t about to pull away laughing or make some dumb comment to break the tension. I was actually dancing with her. A blush spread slowly across her cheeks before she ducked her head and looked away shyly.

And for my part, I just… stopped.

Stopped thinking about her as Kara’s best friend.

Stopped thinking about how I’d known her almost her whole life.

Stopped thinking about the fact she was a freshman and I was a senior.

Stopped trying to shove her back into the safe little category she’d lived in my entire life.

Because right then she wasn’t just Emily.

She was the most beautiful girl in the room, wearing a beautiful blue dress slow dancing with me to the sappiest song I’d ever heard in my life. And I… was totally and completely fucked.

When she looked away with her blush, I took the opportunity before I could talk myself out of it. I stepped closer. Pulled her gently in against me until barely any space existed between us at all. Emily made the tiniest startled inhale before relaxing immediately, like she fit there naturally.

Then I felt her forehead rest lightly against my chest.

Fuck.

Em was short enough that the top of her head barely reached my shoulder. Soft curls brushed against my chin when I lowered my head slightly, and without even thinking about it, I rested my chin against the top of her hair.

My arms tightened around her automatically.

It just… Felt right.

That was the part that scared me most.

Not exciting, or reckless.

Right.

Like we fit together in some quiet, effortless way I had never noticed before because I’d never let myself notice it.

Like… puzzle pieces.

The gym blurred into meaningless noise around us. I could still hear the muffled bass through the speakers somewhere overhead. Still hear people laughing and talking nearby. But all of it felt distant compared to the warmth of her body against mine.

Emily’s fingers curled slightly against the back of my shoulders.

Small.

Trusting.

And God help me, I wanted to keep her there.

One song. That was all this was supposed to be.

One harmless slow dance because nobody else had asked her.

Except my heart was pounding hard enough to feel dangerous now, and every second she stayed tucked against my chest made it worse. The longer I held her, the harder it became to remember why this was a bad idea in the first place.

I closed my eyes for half a second and immediately regretted it, because once I did, every other sense got sharper. The warmth of her tucked against me. The soft drag of her curls against my jaw every time we moved. The steady rhythm of her breathing through the thin fabric of my hoodie.

It was too much… too intense, too intimate.

And the terrifying part was that Emily didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. She seemed totally and completely comfortable, but not in some dramatic way.

It was a few little things. Her hands relaxed more fully on my shoulders, moving up and touching the skin at the base of my neck, making my heart kick. Her head settled heavier against my chest like she’d stopped being nervous about whether she belonged there, like she’d decided she did.

My heartbeat thudded and kicked so hard in my chest I was positive she could feel it.

She probably could.

After a minute, she tipped her head back just enough to look up at me, eyes soft and slightly dazed beneath the flashing colored lights, and then she smiled, small, and completely content.

That smile hit me harder than the first one had.

I’d seen Emily smile a thousand times growing up. Running around our backyard with Kara. Sitting cross-legged on our couch during movie nights. Laughing over stupid inside jokes at the kitchen table.

But this one felt different somehow.

Older, not a kid smiling at me.

A beautiful girl looking at me like being in my arms was exactly where she wanted to be.

Dangerous.

I should’ve stepped back right then.

Loosened my grip. Made a joke. Done literally anything to put space back between us before I crossed some invisible line I couldn’t uncross.

Instead my thumb brushed unconsciously against the fabric at her waist.

Emily’s breath caught. Her eyes widened just slightly before her lashes lowered again.

And holy shit. That tiny reaction nearly killed me.

“Ty,” she said softly.

The music was loud enough that nobody else would’ve heard it, but I did. Mostly because I was already hanging onto every sound she made like an idiot.

“Yeah?” My voice came out rougher than I intended.

For a second she didn’t answer. She just kept looking at me with those huge hazel eyes while colored lights moved slowly across her face. “You’re dancing with me.”

The words were so earnest they cracked something open in my chest. She genuinely hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected anyone to choose her.

That realization made something ugly twist hard in my stomach because how the hell had nobody asked her to dance tonight? How had an entire gym full of idiots overlooked her?

Emily was bright without trying to be. Funny in a quiet, sneaky way that caught you off guard. Sweet without being fake about it. And right now she looked so beautiful it was actively ruining my ability to think straight.

I swallowed hard. “Course I am,” I said finally, like it was obvious.

Her cheeks turned pink again.

She ducked her head quickly, pressing her cheek against my chest, clearly embarrassed by how happy that answer made her, and something about that nearly undid me completely.

Without thinking, I tightened my arms around her a little more. She sighed softly against my chest. That tiny sound went straight through me like a knife through my chest.

My chin rested against the top of her head again while we kept swaying slowly in place, neither of us really paying attention to the song anymore.

I didn’t know how long we stood there like that.

Maybe thirty seconds.

Maybe ten years.

Time felt strange all of a sudden.

Somewhere in the back of my head, beneath all the warmth and want and terrifying affection blooming bigger by the second, one clear thought finally managed to push through:

This is a problem.

A massive fucking problem.

Because I knew exactly how this ended if I wasn’t careful.

Kara would lose her mind if she caught even a glimpse of the direction my thoughts were heading right now. Emily deserved better than becoming some stupid almost-thing during my last few months before graduation.

was supposed to be smarter than this.

More mature than this.

Responsible enough to know where the line was before I crossed it.

Instead I was standing in the middle of the gym holding her like I’d been doing it my entire life.

And worse? I didn’t want to let go.

Emily shifted slightly in my arms, her cheek brushing against my chest as she tipped her head back enough to look at me again.

The lights overhead washed blue across her face for half a second, catching gold in her hazel eyes.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I almost laughed at that.

No, actually, Em, I’m currently having a full internal crisis because apparently somewhere along the way you turned into the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and now my entire moral compass is flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

Instead I managed, “Yeah.”

A complete lie.

Her eyebrows pulled together slightly like she knew it was a lie too. Emily had always been quiet, but people mistook quiet for oblivious sometimes. She noticed everything.

Especially me.

“You got all serious,” she said.

“I’m always serious.”

That earned a tiny smile against my chest.

“Not five minutes ago you almost threw out your knee trying to breakdance.”

“That was athleticism.”

“That was embarrassing.”

I grinned. “You’re still dancing with me.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

The way she said it made my stomach flip hard.

It didn’t sound teasing, it sounded honest. Like if I asked, she’d keep standing here with me all night.

The music swelled softly around us while we kept swaying in that tiny circle, her body warm against mine, my hands still holding her like they belonged there.

And for one terrifying second, looking down at her beneath all those dim gym lights, I had the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

Not because of the song.

Not because she looked pretty tonight.

Because somewhere between spinning her around like idiots and holding her through a slow dances something inside me had shifted.

I felt it happen.

The exact moment she stopped being “Kara’s friend.”

The exact moment she became Emily.

And I was in serious trouble now

I was in serious trouble now.

Once that line had was crossed in my head, I couldn’t uncross it.

I couldn’t force myself to stop noticing the way her fingers curled softly against the back of my neck.

Couldn’t stop noticing how perfectly she fit against me.

Couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if I tilted my head down just a little farther.

The thought hit me so suddenly my grip tightened instinctively at her waist.

Emily looked up immediately, her lashes fluttering slightly, probably feeling the change in my breathing before I even realized it happened myself.

And Christ, she was close.

Too close.

Close enough that I could see tiny flecks of green hidden inside her hazel eyes. Close enough that if either of us moved an inch—

I stepped back so fast it felt almost violent.

Emily blinked in surprise, her hands slipping from my shoulders as cold air rushed into the space between us. The loss of her hit instantly.

“Sorry,” I said roughly.

Her eyebrows pulled together immediately. “For what?”

For almost kissing you in the middle of the gym like I’d completely lost my mind.

I dragged a hand through my hair, pulse still hammering wildly. “I just—” I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t explain any of this without making it real.

Emily stared at me for a second, confusion slowly mixing with quiet uncertainty, like she was trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.

God, that killed me. “You didn’t do anything,” I said immediately.

She blinked at me and tilted her head slightly. “I didn’t say I did.”

“You were thinking it.”

A tiny defensive crease appeared between her eyebrows. “You can’t read minds.”

“No,” I muttered. “Just yours.”

That made her go quiet.

What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

I swallowed, and forced a grin onto my face, lighter than I felt, and winked at her like I hadn’t just nearly detonated my entire moral compass in the middle of a gymnasium.

“Better get you back to Kara before she thinks I kidnapped you.”

Emily smiled slowly, but there was something different in her eyes now.

Something searching, and that scared the hell out of me.

So.. I left.

I walked straight out of the gym and sat in my car for the rest of the dance trying to figure out what the hell had just happened to me. My mind was a jumble of thoughts, nothing clear except one thing: I was never going to see Emily the same way ever again.

The drive home afterward was quieter than the gym had been, the adrenaline slowly draining out of everyone.

Kara filled most of the silence from the passenger seat, talking nonstop about decorations, bad dancing, and who had embarrassed themselves the worst that night.

Apparently I ranked highly, with word of my attempt at breakdancing had gotten around the gym quickly. Emily laughed softly from the backseat while I kept my eyes locked firmly on the road.

“Jessica said she saw you dance with Ty.” Kara said, looking down at her phone. I flicked my eyes up to the rearview mirror in time to see Em’s eyes look up.

“Yeah. No one had asked her to dance the whole night, so I did.” I gave a shrug. “It was just a dance.”

Kara shrugged. “I think its cool.” She glanced up at me. “No ever asks Em to dance, so thanks.”

I glanced back up, just in time to see Emily’s eyes slide away from the mirror and out the window.

When we finally pulled up outside her house, I practically launched myself out of the driver’s seat before I could think too much about anything.

“Wait,” I called when she reached for the door handle.

I hurried around the car and opened the door for her before she could protest, holding my hand out like I was some seventeenth century coachman. Apparently around her, gentlemanly instincts kicked in, despite the complete psychological warfare happening inside my head.

Emily laughed softly again while slipping her hand into mine as she stepped out onto the driveway.

That tiny touch sent another sharp pulse through my chest.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling up at me.

She turned toward the front walk, and I should have let her go.

I absolutely should have let her go.

“Hey.”

She paused immediately and glanced back at me. For one dangerous second, every instinct in my body screamed at me to ask her out.

If she’d been any other girl, I would have. I would’ve leaned into the charm girls always seemed to like, flashed that half smile, and asked her out without hesitation.

But this was Emily.

I swallowed every reckless thought down hard and smiled easily instead. “Night, Em.”

Something flickered across her face then. Small, soft, knowing. “Night, Ty.”

She disappeared inside a second later.

And afterward, that stupid OneRepublic song followed me everywhere.

I downloaded it onto my phone that same week.

Every single time it came on after that, I thought about blue satin, bright laughter, hazel eyes, and one terrifying moment in the middle of a high school gym when I almost forgot who I was supposed to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Las Vegas — Present Day

Brunch had settled into that slow, comfortable phase that happened after everyone had eaten too much and stopped pretending they were still hungry.

The chaos of the breakfast rush had faded around the restaurant, leaving behind a low hum of conversation and clinking silverware while sunlight poured through the massive windows overlooking the Strip. Coffee cups had replaced mimosas sometime in the last half hour, though Dean was still somehow nursing what looked suspiciously like a Bloody Mary while arguing with one of the groomsmen about blackjack odds.

Servers moved between tables collecting abandoned plates and dropping fresh baskets of pastries nobody needed but everyone kept absentmindedly tearing apart anyway.

The entire wedding party had spread across one long reserved table near the windows, conversations overlapping in every direction.

Kara sat halfway down the table operating at full bridal-command mode despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon yet. Her phone was in one hand, wedding spreadsheets open on the other, and she still somehow managed to eat fruit while micromanaging six separate conversations at once.

“I’m serious,” she warned, pointing her fork toward the groomsmen with narrowed eyes. “If any of you show up late to fittings tomorrow, I’ll make your lives miserable.”

“You already are,” Brad muttered without looking up from his coffee.

Kara immediately threw a napkin at his head.

Brad caught it midair with irritating ease.

Laughter rolled across the table.

I leaned back slightly in my chair, half-listening while my attention drifted again despite my best efforts.

Toward Emily.

She sat directly across from me with one leg crossed beneath the table, fingers curled loosely around a coffee mug while she listened to Kara and one of the bridesmaids debate flower arrangements like national security depended on centerpieces being correct.

Sunlight spilled through the windows behind her, catching warm gold in her curls every time she tilted her head.

And every damn time she laughed, I felt it somewhere beneath my ribs.

Which was becoming a real problem.

I picked up my coffee mostly to give myself something to do with my hands.

Emily glanced at me over the rim of her mug. “You look exhausted.”

I huffed a laugh. “I feel exhausted.”

Her mouth twitched slightly. “Jet lag?”

“Partly.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Could also be that Brad convinced me going clubbing at thirty-one was a good life choice.”

Brad pointed immediately from next to me. “Correction. I gave you the opportunity to make poor decisions. You embraced them independently.”

“Like a patriot,” Dean added solemnly.

“That’s not what patriotism means,” Kara sighed.

Emily laughed softly into her coffee.

God. That laugh still did weird things to my nervous system.

“You’re in Hawaii now, right?” she asked me.

“Yeah. Joint Base Pearl Harbor.”

She chuckled. “That sounds awful.”

I chuckled. “Tragic, honestly.”

She smiled into her mug. “Thoughts and prayers.”

I snorted softly, and her eyes lifted back to mine.

The moment stretched strangely after that.

Not awkward, not uncomfortable.

There was something sitting quietly beneath the surface of the conversation neither of us was touching.

Before I could second-guess myself out of it, I heard myself ask: “So are you seeing anyone?”

The question slipped out casually enough, but internally I immediately regretted having a functioning mouth.

Smooth, Quinn.

Real fucking smooth.

Emily blinked once, clearly caught off guard, then her gaze dropped farther down the table.

I followed it automatically.

Alex.

He sat several seats away beside Dean, talking quietly to one of my cousins while half-listening to whatever story Brad was currently telling. He smiled faintly at something, relaxed enough on the surface that I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual if Emily hadn’t looked at him first.

Then she lowered her eyes almost immediately afterward. “My fiancé and I broke up about eighteen months ago.”

My brain stalled completely. “You were engaged?” The surprise came out before I could stop it.

Emily looked mildly startled by my reaction. “Yeah.”

“Kara never told me.”

A faint flicker crossed her expression. “There wasn’t really much to tell.”

I stared at her for a second longer than I should have.

Engaged.

Emily had almost gotten married.

The realization landed strangely hard in my chest, and I hated that I couldn’t explain why.

I’d barely seen her in over a decade.

So why the hell did that bother me? “Oh,” I said finally, quieter now. “I’m sorry.”

She gave a small shrug, fingertips tracing slowly around the rim of her mug. “It’s okay.”

“No,” I said gently before I could stop myself. “It’s not.”

Her eyes lifted back to mine then, softer now.

I hesitated briefly before asking, “Can I ask what happened?”

Emily exhaled slowly through her nose. “He’s a good guy,” she said after a moment. “Honestly, he was a great boyfriend.” She gave a soft smile, staring into her coffee. “Opened doors, let me steal his sweaters when I was cold. A great boyfriend.”

Something about the way she said it made my chest tighten. “But?” I asked carefully.

She sighed softly and glanced down at her coffee again. “I didn’t love him the way he deserved.”

The honesty in her voice hit me harder than expected. There wasn’t bitterness there. No resentment. Emily glanced up briefly before looking away again. “I tried to,” she admitted quietly. “For a long time.”

Something inside me shifted at that. Because, how awful must that have been? To want to love someone back and just… not be able to.

“He is truly the best kind of guy, I was lucky he wanted to be with me,” she continued softly. “And I kept waiting for myself to feel the same way back.”

I watched her carefully. “But you didn’t.”

She shook her head once. “No.” Another small shrug. “And he deserved someone who loved him the same way.” She paused briefly. “I couldn’t bear hurting him more later when I already knew I was going to.”

Something low in my chest pulled tight unexpectedly, because that kind of honesty couldn’t have been easy.

Most people stayed.

Most people lied to themselves and hoped feelings would magically catch up eventually.

Emily had let someone go instead of settling for halfway. Somehow that made me respect her even more than I already did.

“Was he in love with you?” I asked quietly.

Emily’s eyes flicked down the table again before she could stop herself.

Alex looked up at the exact wrong moment and met her gaze. Something silent passed between them.

History.

Alex looked away first. Emily lowered her eyes back to her mug.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think he still might.”

I blinked once.

Then realization slammed into place so hard I almost sat up straighter.

I looked back toward Alex automatically.

“Wait.” My voice dropped lower. “You were engaged to Alex?”

Emily looked up, surprised. “Yeah. We dated all through college.”

What the actual fuck?

I stared at Alex again

****

He looked exactly like the kind of guy people trusted immediately. Tall, lean, dark-haired in that unfairly effortless way where it always looked slightly messy on purpose, even when it probably wasn’t. He wore thick rimmed plastic glasses that should’ve made him look softer somehow, more academic maybe, but instead they just sharpened everything about him. Made him look more observant. More precise.

Less Harry Potter, more Clark Kent.

He had the kind of face that stayed calm even when everyone else was losing their minds. Strong jaw, perpetually thoughtful expression, eyes that missed absolutely nothing even when he pretended not to be paying attention.

And unfortunately for every man around him, he was objectively good-looking.

The dangerous kind of attractive that snuck up on people because he listened when you talked and remembered things afterward. The kind of guy moms loved immediately and strangers trusted with their coffee orders without thinking twice.

Even sitting halfway down the table, relaxed with one arm hooked over the back of his chair while Dean rambled beside him, he somehow looked put together.

Like his life made sense. Which, knowing now that he’d almost married Emily, made an awful kind of sense too.

Of course she’d loved him, or tried to.

Alex looked like the kind of man you built a stable future with. The kind who remembered anniversaries and picked up prescriptions and knew how to assemble furniture without swearing at it. Like someone who belonged in warm kitchens and holiday photos and normal, happy lives.

Suddenly I understood something deeply unfortunate:

If Emily couldn’t make herself fall fully in love with someone like Alex, then what chance did anyone else have?

“You seriously didn’t know?” Emily asked.

“No.” I laughed once under my breath. “Kara definitely skipped over that detail.”

Em sighed. “That sounds like Kara.”

“That sounds exactly like Kara.”

“How long were you engaged?”

“Two years.” She shrugged.

I blinked and looked at my sister. Emily had been engaged for two years, and Kara said nothing? What the literal fuck.

Emily smiled then, smaller and softer than before, and something shifted low in my chest again.

I leaned back slightly in my chair and lowered my voice instinctively. “You okay being around him this weekend?”

Her expression softened immediately. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “We’re okay.”

“You sure?”

A faint warmth entered her eyes then. “You’ve always done that.”

I frowned slightly. “Done what?”

“Checked if people are actually okay instead of accepting the automatic answer.”

That caught me off guard. “Is that annoying?”

“No.” Her smile deepened slightly. “Not usually.”

That same pull hit me again then. Quiet. Relentless. Dangerously familiar.

Before I could figure out how to respond, Emily shifted in her chair and leaned slightly around me to grab her purse hanging from the neighboring seat.

The movement brought her close enough that her scent brushed over me instantly.

Vanilla and something floral under it… something like, hibiscus.

My body reacted before my brain did.

A dark hallway, velvet curtains. A soft body pressed against mine while I kissed her neck. Hazel eyes behind a black lace mask. The memory slammed into me so hard my grip tightened automatically around my coffee cup.

Emily paused halfway through grabbing her bag. “You okay, Ty?”

Her voice was softer now.

I looked down at her too quickly. “Yeah,” I answered immediately. “Just tired.”

One eyebrow lifted slightly, amusement flickering through her expression like she didn’t fully believe me.

“Mmhmm.”

The corner of my mouth twitched.

Then Kara suddenly clapped her hands farther down the table. “Okay,” she announced. “Everybody out. We have wedding chaos to continue elsewhere.”

Groans and laughter spread around the table while everyone finally started standing, chairs scraping loudly across the floor.

Emily stepped back automatically to give me room to stand, her fingers brushed lightly against my forearm as she moved.

Barely a touch, but my pulse jumped instantly.

I exhaled slowly and forced myself to loosen my grip on the coffee cup before I cracked the damn thing in half.

This was Emily.

Kara’s best friend. The girl who had spent so much time at our house growing up that Mom used to buy her favorite cereal without even asking if she was staying over. Someone woven into the background of my life for so long that my brain filed her under safe automatically. Familiar. History.

So obviously, my head was scrambling things after last night.

That had to be it.

I stood near the restaurant entrance while everyone slowly started filtering outside, watching Emily laugh at something Kara said while she tucked a curl behind her ear. Sunlight poured through the tall windows behind her, catching warm gold through the brown strands. She smiled again, soft and easy, and something low in my chest tightened before I could stop it.

I exhaled hard through my nose.

No. Absolutely not.

My brain was just desperate to solve a mystery. That was all this was. I was exhausted, running on maybe three hours of sleep after two straight weeks in freezing my balls off and one catastrophically bad decision at a masquerade club. My mind was taking pieces of the woman from last night and projecting them onto someone safe because I wanted answers badly enough to invent them.

The scent.

The eyes.

The way my chest reacted every time Emily looked at me too long.

Coincidence mixed with attraction and memory.

Nothing more.

It had to be.

Still, some quieter instinct deep in my gut refused to settle completely.

A flash of a memory I had tried very not to think about the last twelve years flashed through my brain. The way she laughed as we danced like idiots at her Freshman Formal. The way she looked up at me like she wanted me to kiss her while we slow danced.

I physically shook my head, forcing the memory away. That’s all that this was. The last time I danced was with Emily that night, and yeah, I felt… I don’t know, just things, I guess. So it made sense that the next time, all these years later, that I dance with a girl and I have a similar reaction, and not knowing who she is… of course I placed that all on Emily.

It made perfect sense, psychologically. My brain finding patterns, that’s all.

That’s all, damn it.

Emily laughed again, and the sound hit me with the exact same strange recognition I’d felt in that hallway the night before. Not identical. Not enough to prove anything. But enough to keep needling at me in ways I couldn’t explain.

I watched her disappear through the restaurant doors beside Kara and my mother, sunlight flashing across her curls one last time before the crowd outside swallowed them whole.

Then, just before she disappeared fully onto the sidewalk, she glanced back.

Small. Quick. Probably meaningless.

Still, my chest tightened stupidly hard.

Brad slammed into my shoulder hard enough to nearly send me into a decorative plant. “There he is,” he announced loudly. “Captain Broody returns from war.”

I tore my attention off the sidewalk immediately. “You ever consider shutting the hell up?”

“Not once.” Dean snorted beside him while Alex shook his head, already sliding his sunglasses on as we started walking toward the casino exit.

Vegas heat hit us instantly the second the doors opened. Dry and bright after the aggressively air-conditioned restaurant. Tourists crowded the sidewalks in every direction, luggage wheels rattling over concrete while snippets of music spilled out from open casino doors every few feet.

Brad stretched both arms overhead dramatically like he was greeting his kingdom. “All right, gentlemen. Today begins wedding weekend operations.”

“God, don’t let him organize anything,” Dean muttered.

“Too late,” Brad replied proudly. “I’m the groom. I have authority.”

“You absolutely do not,” Alex said, as he slipped his glasses off and replaced them with sunglasses.

Brad ignored him completely as we crossed toward the valet lane. “So here’s the schedule.” He pointed finger guns at all of us. “Tonight is the joint bachelor-bachelorette party.”

I blinked. “Joint?” I shook my head. “As in with my sister.”

Dean pipped up next to me. “It was Kara’s idea.”

I grunted. “That tracks.”

Brad grinned. “Apparently she thinks separating us increases the odds of someone ending up arrested or divorced before Sunday.”

“Smart woman,” Alex said.

Brad nodded solemnly. “She’s trying to keep us alive.”

“She’s failing already,” I muttered.

“Anyway,” Brad continued, “before anyone asks, no, Ty, you don’t have to plan shit.”

“Thank Christ.”

“Kara already handled everything. Which means no strippers,” he said, to which Dean whinned loudly. “She rented a party bus.”

I groaned immediately. Brad pointed at me triumphantly. “That exact reaction is why I’m excited.”

“Please tell me there’s alcohol.”

“There’s absolutely alcohol.” Brad nodded.

“Please tell me there’s also an escape route.”

“Nope.”

Alex laughed quietly beside me. “You’re trapped with us all night, Ty.”

“Fantastic.”

Brad threw an arm around my shoulders as we reached the valet stand. “Relax, Flyboy. We’re hitting clubs, bars, probably making terrible choices. Standard Vegas procedure.”

“I already made terrible choices last night.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Brad’s grin sharpened instantly. “Ah yes. Mystery Mask Girl.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

Dean perked up immediately. “Oh, I haven’t heard this story yet.”

Brad gasped theatrically. “You haven’t? Sit down, children. Uncle Bradley shall tell the tale.”

“I swear to God—”

“Our emotionally unavailable fighter pilot vanished into a hallway with a mysterious brunette and returned looking like someone stole his soul.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “No way.”

Alex looked over at me then, studying my face carefully. “That explains why you looked homicidal afterward.”

“I did not look homicidal.” I scoffed.

“You ripped your mask off like you were declaring war on the club.”

Well, that’s fair.

Brad was enjoying himself way too much now. “He searched for her for like twenty minutes afterward.”

“Fifteen.” All three of them looked at me immediately. I sighed. “Okay, maybe twenty.”

Dean looked delighted. “Damn. She must’ve been hot.”

Every image from last night hit instantly.

Black dress.

Dark red velvet curtains.

Hazel-green eyes staring up at me while my hands pinned her hips against the wall.

My jaw tightened automatically. “Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “She was.”

Brad noticed immediately. His grin faded slightly around the edges. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“I do not.”

“Ty,” Alex said calmly, “you crossed traffic chasing a random woman in a black dress.”

Dean whipped around toward me. “You did what?”

“She wasn’t even the right girl,” Brad added helpfully.

Dean doubled over laughing.

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Can we retire this story immediately?”

“Nope,” Brad replied. “This is the most emotionally invested you’ve been in another human being in, like… ever.”

Alex glanced sideways at me again. “You seriously have no idea who she was?”

“No.” The answer came instantly. “I’d remember her.”

Wouldn’t I?

Something shifted uncomfortably in my chest again.

Emily’s laugh flickered through my head unexpectedly.

I shoved the thought away immediately.

This was a different woman, in a totally different situation.

Completely unrelated.

Dean pointed at me dramatically. “You know what this is?”

“What?”

“You got hit with the rom-com curse.”

“Oh absolutely,” Brad agreed. “Vegas edition.”

“The what?” I asked.

Dean looked personally offended that I even had to ask. “The rom-com curse,” he repeated dramatically. “Classic cinematic affliction. Usually fatal.”

Brad nodded solemnly. “Tragic condition.”

Alex sighed. “You two are unbearable.”

Dean ignored him completely and pointed at me like a professor about to begin a lecture. “It starts when an emotionally constipated man—”

“I’m leaving,” I muttered.

“—encounters one random woman,” Dean continued louder, “and suddenly loses all ability to function like a normal human being.”

Brad chimed in immediately. “Symptoms include staring into the middle distance—”

“You do that constantly,” Alex agreed.

“—becoming weirdly aggressive when people mention her—”

“You keep telling me you hate me,” Brad reminded me.

“—and insisting it’s meaningless while actively making it everyone else’s problem.”

Brad made a motion with his arms gesturing to Dean, Alex and himself.

Dean spread his arms triumphantly, then clapped once, hard. “Boom. Rom-com curse.”

I scoffed. “You idiots are acting like I proposed.”

Brad looked thoughtful. “Emotionally? Maybe.”

“Shut up.”

Dean was fully committed now. “The curse gets worse the less information you have.”

Alex nodded once. “That part’s actually true.”

I looked at him. “Why are you encouraging this?”

“Because you’re making rookie mistakes,” Alex replied calmly. “You’re assigning meaning to mystery.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not,” he said. “You met an attractive woman under bizarrely heightened circumstances. Your best friend is marrying your little sister, you got dragged out of your comfort zone to a masquerade club. And now your brain filled in the blanks.”

Dean pointed aggressively at Alex. “Exactly. Thank you, Doctor Psychology.”

Brad looked delighted. “Mask. Hidden identity. Forbidden vibe. One intense interaction. Then she vanishes forever? That’s not a woman anymore, Ty. That’s a screenplay.”

I rubbed my eyes. “You people are exhausting.”

“No,” Dean corrected, “you’re doomed.”

“Dean,” Alex said flatly.

“No, hear me out.” Dean turned back toward me immediately. “The curse only activates under very specific conditions.”

“Oh my God.”

“You have to meet someone unexpectedly, preferably while emotionally unavailable.”

Brad nodded. “Critical component.”

“There needs to be unresolved sexual tension—”

“Unfortunately present,” Alex agreed.

“—minimal identifying information—”

“Literally no identifying information,” Brad added. “Mask Girl could be anyone. A cocktail waitress. A millionaire. An assassin.”

I dragged a hand down my face and gave him a look. “She was not an assassin.”

Dean pointed at me again. “See? Defensive attachment already.”

I exhaled sharply. “I hate all of you.”

“But wait,” Dean continued, holding up a finger. “Most important part of the curse?”

I shouldn’t have asked. “What?”

He grinned. “You never get over the mystery girl.”

Brad let out a low whistle. “Oooh, that’s the killer right there.”

Dean nodded seriously now, though amusement still danced in his eyes. “Because your brain never gets closure. So instead, she becomes perfect.”

Something uncomfortable shifted in my chest again.

Not because of the woman from last night.

Because for one split second, without warning, my brain threw me back to another girl entirely.

Blue dress.

Hazel-green eyes.

Slow dancing beneath dim gym lights.

I shoved the thought away instantly, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.

Brad noticed immediately.

“Oh no,” he said, staring at me now. “There’s another girl.”

“There is not.”

“Ty” Alex said calmly, “you just looked like someone opened a haunted box in your head.”

Dean’s eyes widened dramatically. “Wait. Is Mystery Mask Girl secretly connected to another emotionally devastating woman from your past?”

“No. That came out way too fast.

Brad made a choking sound. “Oh my god, there absolutely is.”

I started walking toward the valet before they could continue this conversation. Unfortunately, all three of them followed immediately.

Dean jogged up beside me. “Buddy. Pal. My deeply repressed airborne brother.”

“Go away.”

“You are one hundred percent rom-com cursed.”

“I am not cursed.”

“You disappeared into a hallway with a mystery brunette and came out looking emotionally compromised for the first time in the twelve years I’ve known you.”

“I looked normal.”

“You looked like you’d seen god and she rejected you.” Brad said.

Dean lost it laughing.

I pointed at all of them. “None of you are invited to my funeral.”

Dean slung an arm around my shoulders anyway, wiping tears from his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll be there giving interviews about how love changed you.”

“I hate every single one of you.”

Brad grinned. “Yeah, but we’re right.”

Xander barely slept that night.

Not because the afternoon’s misunderstanding. It bothered him how easily she thought he could throw her aside, but it wasn’t what kept him up. She was curled into his side, her naked body pressed against his. She’d fallen asleep hours before, while his knot was still lodged inside her.

He couldn’t sleep because every time he closed his eyes, Ireland waited for him.

Blood dripping on wet stone.

Voices raised in challenge.

The old grey stone estate house lit softly against storm clouds.

Millie standing in the middle of it all, wrapped in purple light and storm clouds.

He had no idea what it meant, but it terrified him all the same.

By three in the morning, he gave up pretending any sort of restful sleep was coming. Carefully, he slipped out of bed without waking her, slipping on a pair of joggers and his glasses, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment was dark except for the dim light above the stove, casting long shadows across half-packed boxes and stacks of folded laundry Millie had abandoned earlier.

He braced both hands on the counter and stared out the window into the rain.

Fionn stirred beneath his skin. You are spiraling.

“I’m planning.”

You are catastrophizing.

Xander exhaled sharply through his nose. “Helpful distinction.”

The wolf said nothing after that, which usually meant he was right.

Xander dragged a hand through his hair and forced himself to think practically.

One week.

Seven days to prepare Millie for a world she didn’t truly understand.

Seven days to lock down business operations here.

Seven days to figure out who in Ireland could still be trusted.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, he had promised her a proposal worthy of her.

Christ Jesus what on earth was he thinking?

A soft sound behind him made him turn.

Millie stood in the hallway wearing one of his old university shirts, sleep still heavy in her eyes. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders.

“You disappeared,” she murmured.

His chest tightened instantly at the sight of her. “Sorry sweetheart. I couldn’t sleep.”

She studied him for half a second before crossing the kitchen without another word. She slid directly into his space, arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

The tension in him eased slowly.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” Her bond awareness was getting sharper already. That was going to help her when they got to Ireland. She needed to learn how to use it to protect herself. As hard as he was going to try, he wouldn’t be able to protect her 24/7. He should be worried about that.

Instead, he just rested his chin lightly against the top of her head and closed his eyes.

“You should be sleeping,” he murmured.

“So should you.”

Fair.

For a while neither of them moved.

“Are you regretting agreeing to take me?”

The question hit him hard enough that he pulled back immediately to look at her. “No.” She held his gaze carefully, searching. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “But that isn’t regret.”

Something vulnerable flickered across her face before she nodded once. “Okay.” She trusted him, fully. Trusted that he would keep her safe. The knowledge felt almost unbearable sometimes.

He kissed her forehead slowly. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”

“You’re coming with me.” It wasn’t phrased like a question.

He smiled faintly despite himself. “Bossy girl.”

“You like that about me.”

“I do,” he admitted, with a soft smile.

He followed her back to bed. This time, with her tucked against his side and one of her hands spread over his chest, sleep finally came.

But the images of Ireland plagued him still, blood dripping on stones, and his mate wrapped in purple light and storm clouds.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning was chaos.

Not dramatic chaos, but something worse: domestic chaos.

Millie’s version of “packing” apparently involved creating increasingly unstable clothing piles across every available surface in the apartment.

For his part, Xander kept making increasingly more complex lists every day, and the fucking things kept disappearing. He swore he had a stack of them sitting on his desk and by the next day when he looked they’d be gone.

Xander found one in the freezer.

Another somehow ended up under a couch cushion.

A third was stuck to his laptop with a magnet clip Millie swore she hadn’t touched.

By noon, he was standing in the kitchen staring at three open suitcases while Millie sat cross-legged on the floor arguing with herself about sweaters.

“We are going to Ireland,” she said. “I need sweaters.”

“You’ve packed twelve.”

“It’s cold there.”

I shook his head. “It is June.”

“It’s still Ireland.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart.”

She shot him a look. “You don’t understand women’s layering needs, Xander.”

“I survived there for twenty-eight years.” He reminded her.

“Yes, but you’re genetically resistant to weather.”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

“Christ, woman, you know you’re supposed to be intimidated by me, don’t you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, well, I’ll take that under consideration.”

And fuck, there it was again, that horrible, dangerous thing where she could drag amusement out of him no matter how grim everything felt.

Fionn approved immediately.

Stop needling her, she’s happy.

“We are not taking all twelve sweaters.” He advised.

“I absolutely am.”

“We are not.” He said staring down at her.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “Ten.”

“Five.”

“Nine.”

“Six.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Eight and I stop hiding your lists.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You hid my lists?”

“No,” she said innocently, batting her eyes at him. “But now you’ll never know.”

He should not have found that as endearing as he did. By the end of the afternoon they settled on seven sweaters, which he was fairly certain meant she had won.

Later, while Millie showered, Xander made calls from his desk in the living room.

Three to Ireland.

Two to New York.

One to a private security contact in Seattle.

By the time he hung up the last one, his jaw ached from clenching it.

“They’re moving faster than Owen thought,” he said quietly.

Fionn’s presence sharpened instantly.

The eastern territory lines were already destabilizing. Smaller packs were splitting allegiance. Challenges had started before formal declarations had even been made.

Which meant desperation was winning over law.

That never ended cleanly.

Xander stared out over the parking lot below.

He had hoped for more time.

Now he wasn’t sure they even had the week.

Millie stepped out from the bathroom, hair braided over her shoulder.

She took one look at his face and sighed softly. “That bad?”

He sighed. “Potentially.”

She nodded once and leaned against the wall beside his desk. It grounded him more effectively than anything else had in years.

“You don’t have to shield me from every update,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“You’re still doing it a little.”

He looked down into his tea. “I’m working on it.”

That earned him a small smile. “I know, and I appreciate it.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Try not to stress out too hard. We don’t know what we don’t know.” He nodded. Sage advice coming from a woman who thought she’d never met a werewolf before him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following day was worse.

Not externally.

Externally, it was productive.

Millie gave notice to Danesh.

Xander finalized temporary management for his contracts and research accounts.

They filed paperwork for the marriage license.

That part nearly broke him, not because he didn’t want it, because he did, he wanted it far more than he thought he would. Sitting beside Millie in the county courthouse while she absentmindedly tapped her fingers against his knee under the table, he had the sudden overwhelming realization that this was real.

She was going to be his wife.

Legally.

Publicly.

Ours, Fionn rumbled with deep satisfaction.

Xander almost smiled despite himself.

Millie glanced sideways at him immediately. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was a suspiciously emotional ‘nothing.’”

He looked at her for a long second. “I like seeing our names together.”

Her expression softened so fast it nearly hurt to look at. “Oh.”

Afterward, they walked back to the truck in comfortable silence. Halfway there, Millie slipped her hand into his.

The bond flared warm and steady.

Mine, Fionn purred inside him. His wolf was becoming embarrassingly sentimental.

That evening, after dinner, Millie fell asleep on the couch halfway through a movie she insisted she was still watching, while Xander worked at the computer next to her.

He’d turned in his chair to stretch, and saw her curled against the cushions with one sock on, the other somewhere under the coffee table, breathing softly.

For a long moment, he simply sat there watching her.

His mate.

His soon to be wife.

The woman preparing to walk willingly into a war beside him without thinking twice.

Fear clawed at his ribs so hard it almost stole his breath. Now that she was coming with him, the stakes had changed completely. He’d always had self interest in maintaining the status quo, the power structure as it had worked for over three thousand years. He didn’t relish the thought that it might end because of him, but now… now he had a true personal stake in this uprising.

A wife, and someday, a family.

If he failed before, he lost a territory.

If he failed now, he wouldn’t just lose his life, he’d get her killed.

Fionn rose beneath his skin like thunder.

We will not fail her.

“No,” Xander murmured softly. “We won’t.”

Millie shifted slightly in her sleep.

Xander crossed the room quietly and lifted her carefully into his arms.

She stirred immediately, blinking sleepily against his shoulder. “M’awake.”

“You’re asleep.”

“Nope.”

“Sweetheart, you were drooling on the sofa.”

“That sounds fake,” she said on a long yawn.

He smiled, shaking his head. By the time he carried her into the bedroom, she was asleep again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next afternoon, Xander parked outside the jeweler ten minutes early.

Rain misted lightly across the street, silver against the pavement.

For a moment, he stayed inside the truck with both hands gripping the steering wheel. His pulse was steady. The kind of dangerous calm that came right before a fight. He blew out a long breath and forced himself to blink. This mattered more than facing challengers ever had.

He thought about Millie standing in the kitchen asking to be chosen.

Not managed.

Chosen.

Another slow breath left him. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and pocketed them as he slid out of the driver side door. Slamming the door closed and stepped up on to the curb, and forced his shoulders as straight as he could get them.

The bell above the jeweler’s door chimed softly as Xander stepped inside.

Warm light spilled across polished glass cases and dark wood displays, the entire shop carrying that quiet, expensive stillness luxury places always seemed to cultivate. Normally, he would have found it faintly irritating.

Today, he barely noticed any of it. A woman came out from behind a corner, her dark hair pulled back from her severe features. “Hello, can I help you find something.”

Xander shook his head, pushing his glasses up absent mindedly. “No, I’m here for a pick up. Xander McCollough.”

The woman instantly warmed. “Mr. McCollough.” The woman behind the counter smiled immediately in recognition. “Perfect timing, it’s ready. Excuse me while I go get it.”

Something in his chest tightened. He nodded once. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She disappeared briefly into the back room, leaving him standing alone near the counter with his hands shoved into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting like a teenager.

Fionn was entirely unhelpful.

You are nervous.

“I’m not nervous.”

You are absolutely nervous.

Xander ignored him.

The woman returned carrying a small dark box carefully in both hands. She set it gently onto the velvet display pad between them and opened it.

Xander forgot how to breathe for a second.

Fucking Christ.

Even knowing exactly what he had designed had not prepared him for seeing it finished.

The moonstone caught the warm overhead light immediately, opaline colors shifting beneath the surface like silver-purple-blue blue smoke trapped inside stone. The cathedral setting lifted it elegantly without looking delicate, vintage details carved with intentional wear into the metalwork so it looked like something old enough to carry history.

Something treasured.

The black diamonds on either side grounded the glow of the center stone perfectly.

Shadow and moonlight.

Softness and strength.

Millie.

His chest tightened hard enough that it almost hurt. “Does it meet to your specification Mr. McCollough?” the woman asked carefully.

Xander stared at the ring another second before answering quietly, “It’s perfect.”

And God, it was. Not flashy, or ostentatious. Beautiful in the exact way she was beautiful. The kind of beauty that revealed itself slowly until suddenly it became impossible to look away.

The engravings along the band were even better than he had hoped, intricate antique flourishes curling through the metal like old storybook vines. He could already picture her turning it beneath the light to study every detail.

Could already imagine it on her hand.

His wife.

The thought still hit him with startling force every single time.

The jeweler smiled faintly, clearly pleased by his reaction. “You designed this yourself?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “That’s rare these days.” She glanced down at the ring again. “You clearly know her very well.”

Something warm and fierce settled low in his chest. “I do.”

The woman carefully closed the box and handed it to him.

The weight of it in his palm felt strangely significant for something so small.

A future condensed into velvet and stone.

“Good luck, Mr. McCollough.”

His mouth twitched faintly. “Thank you.”

Then he walked back outside into the late afternoon sun, the warmth of the day settling across his shoulders as he slipped the ring carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket.

He stood beside the car for a moment, staring out across the quiet street while his pulse slowly picked up.

Tonight.

He was proposing tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By four o’clock, Xander had fully accepted that he had lost his mind.

Not because he was proposing.

That part felt inevitable now. Solid in a way very little else in his life ever had.

No, the madness came from the fact that he was currently carrying lanterns, blankets, food containers, and an unreasonable number of pillows through the woods while arguing internally with a six-hundred-pound wolf spirit.

More candles.

“No.”

Candles would improve atmosphere.

“We already have lanterns.”

Lanterns are not candles.

Xander adjusted the basket beneath one arm. “You are becoming alarmingly invested in ambiance.”

She deserves ambiance.

“That sentence alone is upsetting.”

Fionn ignored him completely.

The clearing came into view through the trees a few minutes later, and despite himself, Xander slowed slightly.

The evening was warm and dry, the air carrying the scent of pine and sun-warmed earth. Golden light filtered through the branches overhead, the last stretch of daylight softening everything it touched.

This was where Fionn had first brought her.

Where she had stood barefoot beneath moonlight looking impossibly small and impossibly brave all at once.

Where she had accepted him without truly understanding what he was.

The memory hit him harder now.

Because she understood now.

Or at least, she understood enough to know exactly what she was choosing, and she was still choosing him anyway.

Something deep in his chest pulled tight.

Quietly, he started setting everything up.

The blanket went first, spread beneath the massive trees near the edge of the clearing where the grass stayed soft and cool even after warm days. Then the lanterns, hung carefully around the perimeter so they would cast low amber light once dusk settled in.

He arranged the pillows next, muttering under his breath when Fionn insisted there still were not enough.

“She is not moving into the forest.”

Comfort is important.

“She’s going to be here for one evening.”

Exactly.

By the time he finished unpacking the picnic basket, twilight had begun creeping through the woods in soft shades of blue and gold.

The entire clearing glowed.

The lanterns flickered gently between the trees. The blanket sat surrounded by soft light and shadows, intimate without feeling overly staged. The air was warm enough that the night promised comfort instead of chill, crickets already beginning their steady song somewhere deeper in the woods.

It looked…

Romantic.

Very romantic.

Alarmingly romantic.

Xander stood in the middle of it all with his hands on his hips, staring at the setup like it had personally betrayed him.

“You’ve created a proposal trap.”

Fionn sounded smug.

Correct.

“I hate that word.”

You are welcome.

Xander rubbed a hand over his face.

Then his phone buzzed.

Millie: Leaving work now ❤️

His chest did that thing again: that terrible, aching tightening she somehow caused with frightening consistency now.

He typed back quickly.

Xander: I have a surprise for you when you get home.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Millie: Should I be concerned?

Xander: Probably.

Three dots appeared again.

Millie: That somehow makes me less concerned, not more.

A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth.

Christ.

He was gone for her. Entirely. Hopelessly.

Fionn practically preened beneath his skin.

Ours.

Xander looked around the clearing one final time, lantern light beginning to glow softly against the deepening dusk. Then he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers carefully around the velvet ring box.

Tonight. His pulse finally started to climb.

Not battle nerves.

Not fear.

Something infinitely more dangerous.

Hope.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Millie

By the time Millie walked the few blocks to the apartment, the sky had begun slipping into that soft golden-blue stretch that only lasted for a another hour or two before dusk fully settled in.

She adjusted her purse higher on her shoulder and let out a slow breath as warm evening air brushed against her skin.

What a completely absurd week.

Three days ago, she had been worried about unpacking the rest of her boxes and whether or not she was going to survive another budget meeting with Danesh.

Now she was apparently preparing to move to Ireland with her werewolf soulmate while some kind of supernatural political war loomed in the background.

And because why not add a little extra chaos to the insanity that is life, unbelievably, the thing currently occupying the most space in her brain was the fact that Xander had already bought her an engagement ring.

Her stomach flipped again.

Weeks. He had been planning it for literal weeks.

A helpless smile tugged briefly at her mouth before she climbed the stairs to the apartment. The apartment was quiet when she stepped inside.

“Xander?” she called automatically.

No answer.

She frowned slightly, slipping her shoes off by the door before pulling her phone from her purse.

Millie: Hey. I’m home. Where are you?

She wandered farther into the apartment while waiting for him to respond, dropping her bag onto the couch. There were still traces of the last two days everywhere. Open boxes. Half-folded laundry. A legal packet from the county clerk sitting on the kitchen counter.

Marriage license paperwork.

The sight of it still made her feel a little dizzy.

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

Xander: Be home soon.

Another message appeared almost immediately after.

Xander: Get comfortable clothes on. We’re going out.

Millie blinked.

Millie: …Should I ask questions?

Xander: You can.

Millie: Will you answer them?

There was a pause before his response came through.

Xander: No.

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Millie: That tracks.

Millie: Should I be expecting my boyfriend or X tonight?

Xander: I am not even going to dignify that with a response, love.

Xander: Wear shoes you can walk in.

Her brows lifted slightly.

Millie: How much walking?

Xander: Enough that I’ll carry you if you complain too much.

Heat crept immediately into her face despite herself.

Millie: Sir, that sounds suspiciously like a threat.

Xander: It was a promise.

Her stomach did another ridiculous little flip. Honestly, it was becoming embarrassing how easily that man affected her now.

Still smiling faintly, she headed toward the bedroom.

The bond between them felt steady tonight. Warm. Anticipatory in a way she couldn’t fully explain. Like something sat quietly behind his emotions that he was trying very hard not to let her feel directly.

That alone made her suspicious.

Millie changed into soft black leggings and one of Xander’s hoodies, the oversized fabric swallowing her hands. She pulled her hair back loosely and swapped her work shoes for comfortable cross trainers.

Then she paused in front of the mirror. “You’re overthinking this,” she muttered to herself immediately.

Because she absolutely was.

The logical part of her knew that, but another part of her kept replaying the last few days over and over again.

The way he had looked at her when she asked if he actually wanted to marry her.

The way his voice had softened when he told her he had already planned to ask.

The fact that he already bought a ring.

Her chest tightened warmly.

No. She was not going to spiral into proposal theories because the man told her to wear practical shoes. That was unhinged behavior. If he was going to propose, she’d probably need heels, and a nice dress.

Nope. She pointed at herself in the mirror. “Stop it.”

A soft knock sounded against the apartment door a few minutes later.

Her pulse jumped immediately.

Millie crossed the apartment and opened the door to find Xander leaning casually against the frame, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dark Carhart jacket.

She immediately forgot every coherent thought she had previously possessed.

He looked unfairly handsome.

The evening sunlight caught against the edges of his dark hair, his glasses slightly lower on his nose like he had been rubbing at his eyes. He wore dark jeans and a charcoal henley beneath the jacket sleeves he had pushed halfway up his forearms.

He looked relaxed, but there was something underneath it too.

Something taut and deliberate humming quietly beneath the bond.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched him lean against the doorway. “Did you just knock on your own apartment door?”

Xander’s mouth twitched faintly. “It’s our apartment now, sweetheart.”

The simple correction made warmth bloom instantly in her chest.

Still, she rolled her eyes dramatically, even as she smiled. “That was disgustingly smooth.”

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he said solemnly. “Something about wanting to make sure my girl still invited me inside.”

Millie stared at him for half a second before heat rushed straight into her face. “Oh my god.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, low and warm and entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re blushing, beautiful.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “I hate you.”

He laughed, flashing those damn dimples at her. “No, you don’t.” Unfortunately, he sounded entirely certain about that. Which was irritating because he was right.

Ugh.

She crossed her arms lightly, forcing herself to fight against the immediate instinct to walk directly into him. “You are being super weird tonight.”

He shrugged, still grinning at her. “I’m always weird.”

“True,” she admitted. “But this is weird even for you.”

That earned another soft laugh from him. “There’s my girl,” he murmured. The affection in his voice hit her square in the chest. Before she could recover from that, he stepped forward, cupped the side of her face briefly, and kissed her softly. Less of a real kiss and more of a simple brush of his lips against hers.

Just warm and grounding and intentional enough to make her stomach flutter anyway. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed once across her cheek. “Come on, sweetheart.”

She followed him downstairs trying very hard not to overanalyze literally everything. She failed almost immediately.

Xander was absolutely acting like a man with a secret.

He opened the passenger door of the truck for her automatically, one hand resting briefly against the top of the frame while she climbed in.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome, love.” His hand brushed lightly across her knee once he settled into the driver’s seat, casual enough that it should not have affected her as much as it did.

The truck rumbled to life beneath them. Millie waited until they pulled out of the parking lot before glancing sideways at him.

“So,” she said carefully.

“So,” he echoed.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He said with a smirk.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”

“A little,” he admitted.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re smiling.”

He huffed. “I smile sometimes.”

“Not like this.”

That got a real laugh out of him, low and warm.

“You’re very observant tonight.”

She nodded. “I have to be. You’re sneaky.”

He snorted. “Says the woman who hid my packing lists.” He gave her knee a playful squeeze.

She made a satisfied noise. “I regret nothing.”

His hand tightened briefly on the steering wheel as another smile tugged at his mouth.

The city slowly gave way to quieter roads as they drove, evening sunlight stretching long across the trees and hills around them. The windows were down slightly, warm air moving softly through the cab carrying the scent of pine and dry grass.

Millie relaxed gradually as the miles slipped by beneath the tires. At first, every shift in the bond between them had made her tense instinctively, waiting for something sharp or dangerous to surface. But whatever this was, it didn’t feel wrong. The connection remained steady and warm beneath her skin, pulsing softly like a second heartbeat tucked just under the surface of her body. Constant. Quiet. Reassuring in a way she still didn’t entirely know how to process.

Still… there was definitely something Xander wasn’t telling her.

Not hiding in the cold, threatening way he had before, with walls and secrets and calculated distance. This felt… different. More controlled than concealed, like he was holding something carefully behind his ribs, containing it with deliberate restraint rather than trying to bury it.

Her gaze drifted toward him again before she could stop herself.

Xander looked perfectly calm from the outside. One hand rested loosely against the steering wheel while sunlight filtered through the trees, flickering across the sharp line of his jaw and catching in the dark strands of his hair, his other hand on her knee when he wasn’t shifting gears. His posture stayed easy, relaxed enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice anything unusual.

But she could feel it now, the tension beneath the surface.

Nerves.

The realization hit hard enough to make her blink.

Xander was nervous.

That alone was unsettling enough to send a nervous flutter spiraling through her stomach.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Millie immediately turned toward the window instead, fixing her attention on the blur of passing trees like they were suddenly fascinating.

“You okay?” Xander asked after a moment, faint amusement threading through his voice.

“I’m great.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhmm.”

A low chuckle slipped out of him. “You suddenly look very concerned, sweetheart.”

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

He laughed again, warmer this time. “You’re sitting there with a very determined face.”

Millie shot him a glare. Xander answered it with an easy grin that looked entirely too pleased with itself, and somehow that only made the heat in her face worse.

About ten minutes later, the road curved again, and something in the scenery tugged at her memory.

Millie slowly straightened in her seat.

Wait.

Her eyes narrowed as the trees thickened around the road, growing more familiar with every passing second.

“No way,” she murmured.

Xander said nothing, and that confirmed it.

Her pulse kicked immediately as recognition settled in.

This was the road. The same one he had driven down the night he brought her out for the full moon. The night everything between them had changed.

Warm twilight filtered through the trees now, the setting sun painting the edges of the forest gold as the truck continued down the narrow road.

Beside her, Xander had gone quieter.

Millie’s heartbeat climbed higher the farther they drove.

Then finally, the truck slowed and turned into the same clearing they had parked in before. The engine rumbled softly as Xander pulled into place and shifted the truck into park.

Outside, the sun hung low against the horizon, casting amber light through the trees while dusk gathered softly at the edges of the woods.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The woods around them hummed softly with evening sounds, wind stirring through the trees in slow waves while the last of the sunlight filtered gold through the branches overhead.

Then Xander unbuckled his seatbelt and looked over at her. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Millie narrowed her eyes immediately. “That tone means you’re up to something.”

His mouth twitched. “I am deeply offended by how little faith you have in me.”

“You literally admitted you had a secret a half hour ago.”

“I admitted no such thing.”

“You absolutely implied it.”

He only smiled as he climbed out of the truck.

Well that wasn’t reassuring.

Millie followed more slowly, her pulse already doing ridiculous things as she shut the passenger door behind her. The evening air wrapped warm around her skin, carrying the scent of pine needles and sun-warmed earth.

Xander came around the front of the truck and held out his hand. The gesture was simple. Casual. Still, something inside her softened instantly.

She slipped her hand into his, and smiled when the bond flared warm and content beneath her ribs.

“There she is,” he murmured quietly, squeezing her fingers once before guiding her toward the tree line.

Millie glanced ahead suspiciously. “How far are we walking?”

“Not far.”

“That sounded evasive.”

“It sounded accurate.”

“Mmhmm.”

He laughed softly under his breath as they stepped onto the narrow trail.

The forest looked different this time. The last time he had brought her here, everything had felt sharp and surreal and terrifyingly unknown. Moonlight and magic and the impossible realization that monsters were real.

Now the woods felt… softer somehow.

Familiar.

Not safe exactly, she wasn’t sure anything connected to werewolves would ever qualify as fully safe, but hers in a strange way. Beside her, Xander kept his pace slow enough for her to follow easily over roots and uneven ground.

Which was thoughtful.

Unfortunately, nature itself seemed personally committed to humiliating her.

Less than two minutes into the walk, the toe of her shoe caught on a root hidden beneath leaves.

“Oh my—” She stumbled hard sideways.

Xander caught her instantly, one arm wrapping around her waist before she could fully faceplant into the forest floor.

Millie clutched his arm with a horrified gasp. “That root attacked me.”

His shoulders shook immediately.

“That’s a very serious accusation,” he said solemnly, clearly seconds from laughing.

“It came out of nowhere, Xander.”

“Sweetheart, it was attached to the ground.”

“And?” A full laugh escaped him then, warm and low and unfairly pretty in the quiet woods.

God, she loved that sound.

He steadied her carefully before releasing her waist. “You alright?”

“Physically, yes,” she grumbled. “Emotionally? No, utter humiliation is running rampant.”

His grin widened, but they kept walking.

For approximately another ninety seconds.

Then Millie stepped directly into a shallow dip in the earth she hadn’t seen.

“Jesus—” She pinwheeled violently.

Xander caught her again, this time he actually laughed aloud.

“Oh my god,” she muttered into his chest. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admitted.

“You’re evil.”

He laughed again. “You’re clumsy.”

“I’m being sabotaged by the environment.” She declared with a nod.

“Ta forest ‘as declared war on you personally, ‘as it?” He asked trying to stop laughing

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That sounded suspiciously Irish.”

His eyes gleamed behind his glasses as he looked down at her, amusement softening every hard edge of his face.

It hit her suddenly, how much lighter he’d become around her.

Not entirely. The weight he carried was still there beneath everything else. Ireland was still waiting for them. So was whatever storm was coming. But he wasn’t “hoodie guy” in the least anymore.

This version of him existed now. Warm. Teasing. Happy.

The realization wrapped itself quietly around her heart.

Xander brushed his thumb once against her side before stepping back again. “Think you can survive the remaining thirty feet?”

Millie narrowed her eyes. “I survived a dinner rush and late nights at a diner half a mile from a major university. I’ll survive the woods.”

“Very brave.”

“I know.” She made it exactly twelve more steps before her shoe slid sideways on loose pine needles. “Oh, for fuck’s—”

Before she could fully lose her balance, Xander’s laughter broke loose outright.

Not the quiet amused huff she usually got from him, but real laughter.

Rich and helpless and completely unrestrained.

Millie grabbed his arm dramatically. “I hate this forest.”

“You are losing a fight against stationary objects.”

“They keep moving!”

“They are trees, sweetheart.”

“That sounds like something the trees would say.”

At that point he bent slightly, laughing hard enough to duck his head.

She stared at him in betrayal. “You’re supposed to support me emotionally.”

“I am supporting you physically with alarming frequency.”

“That was one time.”

“Three.”

She huffed a breath. “Traitor.”

Still grinning, Xander straightened and looked at her for one long amused second.

Then, without warning, he slid one arm behind her knees and the other around her back and lifted her clean off the ground.

Millie yelped automatically, grabbing his shoulders as the world tilted. “Xander!”

“You’ve lost walking privileges.”

Her stomach flipped violently for reasons entirely unrelated to balance. “You can’t just revoke my walking privileges!”

“I can.” He adjusted her more securely against his chest like she weighed absolutely nothing. “I’m very powerful.”

“That is not how laws work.”

“I’m Irish. Different system.”

She barked out a startled laugh. Being held by him was becoming dangerously addictive.

The steady strength of his arms. The warmth of him surrounding her. The quiet ease with which he carried her through the woods like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Millie rested one hand lightly against the side of his neck as they continued through the trees.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this feels suspiciously convenient for you.”

“Hm?”

“You threatened earlier that you’d carry me if I complained.”

“I did.”

“And now suddenly I’m being kidnapped through the forest.”

“You tripped three times.”

“Allegedly.”

His chest vibrated beneath her with another laugh.

The woods grew quieter around them as dusk deepened, but then light beginning to flicker faintly somewhere ahead between the trees.

Millie blinked.

Wait.

Her attention shifted past his shoulder.

Soft amber light glowed through the clearing ahead.

More than one light.

A lot more.

Her breath caught slightly.

Xander felt it instantly.

His arms tightened around her almost imperceptibly as his pulse jumped beneath the bond.

Nervous.

Oh.

Oh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xander

Xander stepped into the clearing and felt his entire chest tighten. He set her down in front of the little oasis he made and stepped a half step back.

The lantern light caught in her hair as she turned slowly beneath the trees, the soft gold glow weaving through dark strands until it looked almost unreal. Behind her, the sunset burned across the horizon in violent streaks of pink and orange and deepening violet, the colors spilling through the clearing like paint across water.

Even to him, it looked almost enchanted.

Like the Fae had cracked open a hidden piece of their world for one evening and allowed her inside it.

And somehow she still outshone all of it.

She stood there in black leggings and his oversized hoodie, cross trainers dusted faintly with dirt from the walk through the woods, and Xander genuinely could not imagine anything more beautiful if he tried.

Not jewels.

Not gowns.

Not queens.

Just her.

His mate.

The woman who had walked willingly into his chaos and looked at him like she still saw something worth loving inside it.

Something deep and aching pulled through his chest.

Perfect.

She was absolutely perfect.

Her voice drifted softly across the clearing.

“It’s amazing.”

Warmth spread instantly through the bond, so strong it nearly staggered him.

Now, Xander, Fionn prompted.

Right.

The proposal.

Xander inhaled slowly, trying to steady the sudden violent pounding of his pulse. Then he lowered himself carefully onto one knee in the grass and let out a silent breath.

This was fine.

He had planned this.

He had a speech.

An excellent speech, actually.

Thoughtful. Romantic. Well structured.

He just needed her to turn around.

Millie turned with a disbelieving smile already forming on her face.

Then she saw him on a knee behind her, and her breath caught sharply.

One hand flew instantly to her mouth, her eyes widening so fast it nearly undid him right there.

And suddenly, nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

His mind went completely blank. Every single carefully prepared word vanished instantly like someone had blown them out of his skull with a leaf blower.

Fionn sounded deeply offended.

Say something.

Xander stared up at her for one horrifying second longer.

Still nothing.

Then, because apparently honesty was all he had left, a quiet laugh escaped him. “I forgot the speech I planned.”

Millie let out the smallest watery huff of laughter behind her hand, her eyes already shining.

Christ.

That somehow made her even prettier.

Xander shook his head slightly, grinning helplessly up at her. “You make me lose my train of thought,” he admitted softly. “That’s… never happened to me before.”

He had spent his entire life composed. Controlled. Deliberate.

Then Millie walked into his world and apparently rewired his entire nervous system. His chest tightened painfully as he looked at her standing there in lantern light and sunset glow.

“You…” Another soft laugh escaped him as emotion clogged unexpectedly behind his ribs. “You are the most amazing creature I’ve ever met.”

She took a deep shuddering breath as she watched him.

“The light to my dark,” he continued quietly, the words settling deep and certain between them. “The half of my soul I didn’t even know I was missing until I found it.”

The bond pulsed hard beneath his skin.

Certain.

Absolute.

Home.

Xander reached into his jacket pocket carefully and pulled out the velvet ring box.

Millie made the softest broken sound when she saw it.

God, don’t cry or I’ll lose the rest of my brain, he thought wildly.

His fingers tightened slightly around the velvet box before he opened it carefully and held it out toward her.

For a second, neither of them moved.

The lantern light caught the ring immediately, the opaline moonstone glowing with that strange shifting light that had captivated him the moment he saw it. Soft silver. Pale blue. A faint wash of violet hidden beneath the surface like moonlight trapped beneath water. The black diamonds on either side sharpened the glow instead of dimming it, dark against light, shadow framing something luminous.

Just like her.

God, it looked like her.

Not polished perfection. Not something cold or overly pristine. Something beautiful because it felt alive. Warm. Ethereal. A little wild around the edges.

The intricate engraving around the band flashed faintly as the light shifted, delicate antique details worked into the metal by hand. He remembered obsessing over every part of it. The cathedral setting. The vintage design. The balance between elegance and strength.

He had wanted something that looked like it belonged to her.

Something worthy of her.

And standing here now, with the sunset burning behind her and tears gathering in her eyes, he had the sudden overwhelming realization that no ring on earth could actually accomplish that.

Still, he hoped this came close.

Xander inhaled slowly, trying to steady the emotion tightening around his ribs. His heart was pounding hard enough now that he could feel it in his throat, his pulse loud in his ears despite the quiet hush of the forest around them.

He swallowed hard as he looked up at her fully.

At the way her hand still hovered near her mouth like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. At the stunned, aching hope written openly across her face.

And Christ.

He loved her so much it frightened him.

Not the sharp, possessive intensity of the mating bond.

Not just that.

Her.

The woman herself.

Her kindness. Her stubbornness. The way she challenged him. The way she looked at him like he was worth saving even when he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it himself. She had somehow become the center of every future thought he possessed without him even realizing when it happened.

Xander swallowed once before speaking, his voice quieter now, roughened around the edges with feeling he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.

“You are my home. My peace. My favorite thing in this entire world.” For one small moment, he simply looked at her, eyes bright with nerves and hope and something so painfully sincere it made his breath unsteady. “Will you do me the most incredible honor,” he asked softly, “of becoming my wife?”

The words settled between them beneath the glow of lantern light and fading sunset.

Millie made the smallest sound then, almost like her breath caught too sharply to fully inhale afterward. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks now.

She stared at him for one heartbeat. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out at first. Her eyes searched his face like she was trying to take in every second of this moment all at once.

Then slowly, shakily, she nodded.

Once.

Then harder.

Emotion overtook the movement completely before she whispered softly, “Yeah.”

The single word hit him harder than any blow he had ever taken in his life.

Relief detonated through him so fast and so intensely that for one disorienting second he genuinely thought his knees might give out beneath him.

Mine, Fionn thundered triumphantly beneath his skin.

Ours.

Joy surged violently through the bond, so powerful and consuming that Xander nearly laughed aloud from the sheer force of it. Or shifted. Or both.

Instead, he stood quickly, almost too quickly, his entire body suddenly too full of feeling to remain still.

He crossed the small distance between them carefully, reverently, like approaching something sacred.

Maybe she was sacred.

Maybe she always had been.

Millie’s hands trembled slightly when he reached for her left hand, her fingers warm and soft against his own. His pulse hammered wildly beneath his skin as he slid the ring carefully onto her finger. Xander held her gently, his thumb brushing once across her knuckles as his chest tightened almost painfully again.

His fiancé.

His future wife.

His mate.

His home.

The moonstone caught the lantern light again as it passed over her second knuckle, glowing softly between them like captured moonlight.

Xander looked up instinctively.

Her eyes met his immediately.

Wet. Bright. Completely wrecking him.

And suddenly all the fear and tension and uncertainty of the last week faded quietly into the background beneath something stronger.

A soft, helpless smile pulled across his mouth, affection and awe written plainly across his face.

“My fiancé,” he whispered as he slid the ring fully into place and rose the final inch between them, one hand lifting to cradle her face gently before he kissed her.

Millie melted into him instantly.

The kiss wasn’t frantic, or desperate.

It was full; a promise of more, of a life built together.

When she curled her hands into the front of his shirt, the newly placed ring cool against his skin, Xander thought distantly that he would burn the world to ash before letting anyone take this from him.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the emotions came screaming up and out of me so fast, I couldn’t stop them. I choked out a sob, and Kieran jerked his head back immediately.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said quietly. “That was…” I stared at his face as the tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks and into my hair. His body still lodged deep inside me, my legs still wrapped tightly around his bruised hips. “…beyond perfect.”

He lifted a hand and wiped at my tears, a slow smile slipped across his face, a grin that was both exceedingly charming and cocky all at the same time. “You sure?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I looked away, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know it could be that… intimate.” I slid my eyes back to his. “Real.” I took a breath. “It just hit me all at once. Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t be sorry.” He whispered. “You never have to apologize to me, River.” I nodded and took a deep breath.

“Kier?”

“Yeah?” he said quietly, adjusting his weight on me, but not moving away.

“I love you.”

He watched me for a long moment, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I love you,” he finally whispered back and pressed a his lips against mine again. I wound my arms around his neck holding him against me, tongue sliding against my lips.

I felt him thickening inside me, and couldn’t help the roll of my hips. He groaned against my mouth, and pressed deeper inside me. We didn’t talk, just moved, my hips rolling to meet each thrust, my heels digging into his thighs.

He pressed his lips to my neck, licking and flicking the soft flesh, making me moan against him. I nudged at his shoulder. “Kieran,” He didn’t stop, but lifted his head, thrusting deeply again. I groaned, and nudged him again. “Roll over.”

He gave me a look that I couldn’t read before he rolled us over. I adjusted my knees on either side of his hips, pushing myself up from his chest. Seeing him under me, his hands on my hips holding me in place was incredibly erotic. I got a clear view of his tattoos and bruises on his chest, his face as I started to move.

His eyes rolled back in his head when I rose up so that only his head was inside me, and then slid slowly back down. God, from this angle he was so fucking deep. I moaned low in my throat, moving over him, my hands on his chest. His hands tightened on my hips guiding my movement, and I closed my eyes, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

Kieran was making these sexy little grunts every time I moved, driving me insane. His hands slid up from my hips to my breasts gripping them as we moved. I gripped his wrists, my head falling back, my orgasm hitting me out of nowhere.

“Kieran, fuck,” I moaned as my body started to convulse over him.

“Come on me, baby,” he groaned under me, his hips thrusting up into me harder. He slid his arms around my back and pulled me down to him. He rolled us back on to my back, his lips finding mine as he pumped into me with long, fast strokes.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, still shuddering, the aftershocks wrecking me. He dropped his head to my shoulder, pumping faster, the bed squeaking with every movement. “Kieran,” I whimpered. His movements were getting faster, jerkier with each thrust.

His back bowed hard, like very muscle in his body contracted at the same time, and he slammed into me hard. “Fuck,” he groaned, shuddering and pulsating inside me. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t smugly satisfied with knowing I made him come twice.

Twice inside of me.

He shuddered above me for a long moment, twitching and pulsating inside me, before he collapsed against me, his entire body seeming to give out on him. I let out a soft sigh, and ran my fingers up his neck and through his short hair. His breathing was ragged in my ear, his arms still mostly wrapped around me.

“Jesus Christ,” he said in my ear. “Woman, you are going to kill me.”

I chuckled and kissed his shoulder. “But think of the smile you’ll have on your face when you die.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows and grinned down at me. “How are you so perfect?”

I snorted. “Oh, I’m not perfect. I’m just really good at flipping the script when I need to.” I lifted my head and kissed him softly. “You, on the other hand, are a fucking god. I have never… like that, like… ever.”

“Well,” he said with a wink. “I aim to please.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh. “Well, you delivered,” I said. “Twice.”

He chuckled, and kissed my forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

I looked up at him, confused. “For what? It kind of seems to me, you did all the work, Kieran.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You were a pretty active participant, love.” He shook his head again, his laugh softening to a smile. I blushed, biting my lip and looking away. He pushed my chin and made me look at him. “I mean it, River. That was…” He looked up and away, as if he was trying to find a the right words. “…like fourth of July fireworks on a random Tuesday night.” He looked back down at me. “Something extraordinary that I will never, ever forget.”

I blushed harder.

“Well, aren’t you just Mr. Charming all of a sudden.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Only for you, sweetheart.” He kissed me again. He slowly slid out of me, and moving to lie next to me. “We should probably clean up and get out of here before your brother murders me.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” I agreed. He stood and held his hand out to me. “How are you feeling? I don’t think that was on your doctors approved activities list.” He chuckled as I took his hand and stood.

“Honestly, I feel tired, but really good. My head is a dull ache, but I think some more caffeine and Tylenol will cure that.” I nodded and moved toward the bathroom, but he grabbed my wrist lightly and pulled me back, before wrapping his arms around me. I never really noticed our height difference until now. Kieran was a full head taller than me. I had to lean my head back pretty far just to see him.

He was watching me with a soft look on his face. “Are you okay?” I asked softly when he didn’t say anything.

He nodded slowly. “I just…” his voice trailed off. He lifted a hand and pushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “Having a moment is all.” He nearly whispered, his hand grazing my cheek.

He started to drop his hand, but I caught it, and pressed my cheek into the palm. “Is this real?”

He laughed and nodded. “Sure as fuck feels real.” He pressed another quick kiss to my lips and then moved toward the bathroom, pulling me behind him. “We need to get cleaned up.”

He moved to adjust the shower temperature, and I shut off the sink. “If there is any hot water left, I’ll be shocked,” I said as I turned around. He tested it and nodded. “There is some, but lets be quick.”

I nodded and followed him into the shower. “Are you okay if I just take a quick rinse?”

I laughed at the sheer absurdity of the moment I was in. “By all means,” I said gesturing to the water.

He laughed and kissed my forehead before turning and ducking under the water. The water slid down his body in ways that made me bite my lip again.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I just had four, four back to back orgasms and I was looking at him like he was a piece of meat and I was starving.

Obviously the only answer was possession. I was possessed by a sex demon and they were addicted to Kieran.

Yep, that was one hundred percent the right answer. Definitely a sex demon.

I mean, in my defense, have you seen this man? He looked like a modern day tattooed Greek demigod, one of those “bad-boy-gone-good” types in the books I hid under my bed. He was muscled everywhere, but not bulky muscle. More like steel cords covered by soft skin. His galaxy tattoo over his right ribs extended back almost to his spine, making me want to reach out and touch it.

But I held back, not because I thought he would mind.

No, because his back was covered almost completely in black and purple bruises. From the base of his shoulders, down to his butt cheeks, his right cheek was bruised almost all the way down. Black and purple bruises blossomed everywhere.

Oh my god, hadn’t I just had my legs wrapped around those bruised hips?

He rinsed off his skin, hand hands sliding over his skin quickly with efficient movements, his head ducking under the water, his dark brown hair turning nearly black when it was wet. He scrubbed his hands through it, then lifted his head, and wiped the water away from his face, pushing his hair back behind him.

He turned, and I knew he caught me staring without him saying a word. He grinned. “I meant it, you know.”

I tilted my head, my blush radiating over my entire body, I was sure. “Meant what?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

He laughed and moved toward me, pinning me to the wall, his hands blocking either side of my head as he leaned in. “That you shouldn’t be embarrassed to look at me.” He whispered as he rubbed his nose against mine. “That this belongs to you now.” I opened my eyes, not even realizing I’d closed them.

He smiled down at me, but it wasn’t cocky. It was reassuring, sweet even. I reached up, touching his jaw with my fingertips, and sighed when he understood, slowly lowering his mouth to mine, and kissing me gently.

It could have so easily turned awkward or cold after what we’d just done, but as he stood there, only touching me with his lips, kissing me tenderly. This was real, and a large part of me didn’t believe it. Kieran, the boy I’d crushed on, was now the man standing naked in a shower, kissing me. Telling me he loved me.

And, despite my best efforts, I was in love with him.

With his sarcasm and dry, dark humor. With his sweet smiles, and winks. With his touch and his protectiveness and the way he made me feel safe, and peaceful. I was totally and completely in love with this man. Maybe I always had been, I thought. It felt so natural. Like it had always existed, and Tim had only been a place holder.

That thought broke my heart.

That I had allowed myself to stay in such a toxic, flat out abusive relationship for so long, that I had allowed someone to lay his hands on me in anger, to hurt me in every way imaginable. When this man, this sweet, tender, powerful, impossible man had been waiting for me and he hadn’t even realized it.

I truly don’t think either of us had.

He lifted his lips from mine, resting his forehead against mine.

“You okay?” He whispered.

I nodded, opening my eyes.

He expression changed. “You sure? You look sad.” He moved one of his hands from the wall to cup my cheek, and I leaned into it, my eyes closing.

“Just thinking about things.” I said quietly.

“What kind of things?”

“Regrets, mostly.” He didn’t say anything, but his other hand cupped the other side of my face.

“About what just happened?” He said slowly.

My eyes flew open. “God, no!” He huffed a laugh, which made me smile. “Just… that I could have been here, with you, instead of three thousand miles away with someone that…” I shrugged my shoulders. “…wasn’t you.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between mine, the words settling between us. “You’re here now.”

I nodded. “Yeah.” We stared at each other for a long minute.

“We’re so fucked,” he said slowly, a grin splitting his lips.

I sighed and laughed. “It would appear so.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

“We’re so fucked,” I said slowly, the grin still tugging at my mouth.

She sighed, but there was a laugh in it. “It would appear so.”

For a second we just stood there, foreheads touching, the steam from the shower curling around us in lazy white ribbons. The bathroom was warm, the air thick, the mirror fogged over so completely the rest of the world might as well not have existed.

And honestly, I wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t.

But life, unfortunately, had other plans.

I pulled back first with a quiet exhale and smiled at her. “Come on,” I said softly. “You go ahead and finish up. If we stay in here any longer your brother’s going to start thinking we’re doing it again.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god.”

She shoved my shoulder lightly as she stepped past me, sliding into the last of the hot water. I turned to give her a little privacy, knowing full well I had left her quite a mess.

I wasn’t sure if that made me proud or freaked me out. Never once in my life had I gone without a condom. Not even when I was drunk or high. Honestly when I was drunk… well whiskey dick is a real thing. I’d never taken the risk that I just took with River. I knew I wasn’t at risk of any sort of disease or anything like that, but I could have just gotten her pregnant.

I stepped out of the shower, grabbing the first of two towels on the rack, running it quickly over my hair and shoulders before dropping it around my waist and moving to the sink. I scooped up my discarded clothes as I went, dropping them on the sink in front of me.

I stared at my reflection, before the movement behind the opaque shower caught my attention. I watched her in the mirror, moving quickly under the water, only really able to see her outline. What the fuck had I been thinking? I shook my head, my eyes flicking back to my own reflection.

That was the problem, I hadn’t been. I wanted her too badly to stop, and now… there could be real consequences to my actions. I didn’t know if she was on any sort of birth control or what her thoughts were if she did get pregnant.

I sighed and shook my head. We were going to need to have a serious conversation. A very deep and personal conversation, and I was both terrified and curious to know what she was thinking. In the end, whatever happened, it was her body, and her choice. I strongly believed that, but that didn’t negate the conversation from happening.

She turned the water off, and slid the glass door open

I watched her step out of the shower, grabbing the second towel from the rack and drying herself quickly as I watched in the mirror. She glanced up and saw me watching her, and smiled at me. I grinned like a teenager, and started to organize my clothes on the counter.

When I looked up again, she was moving to the counter, the towel now wrapped on her head. I glanced between us and sighed. It was unfair really. I looked like hell, hair sticking up in every direction, a bruises still coloring the side of my ribs and right peck from the explosion the yesterday.

River, on the other hand, looked like she had stepped out of some unfair universe where people just woke up beautiful. She caught me looking at her as she slipped her panties on and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered quickly, pulling my shirt on over my chest.

She didn’t buy it, but she let it go.

We dressed quickly in the comfortable silence that only existed between people who had already crossed a lot of invisible lines. No awkwardness, no careful dancing around each other. Just the quiet rustle of fabric and the low hum of the bathroom fan.

River finished first and stepped over to the sink, pulling her toiletries bag open. I leaned around her long enough to grab my toothbrush and the few things I’d left out earlier.

Once I was done, I started tossing everything back into the bag with quick, efficient movements. Toothbrush. Razor. Deodorant. A couple other things.

Behind me the blow dryer roared to life.

I tried not to look.

I really did, but the sound alone made it impossible not to.

River stood in front of the mirror, head tilted slightly as she worked the dryer through her hair. The dark strands lifted and moved in the warm air, catching the light from the overhead fixture.

She wasn’t doing anything special. Just drying her hair, and she still looked like the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.

Effortless.

That was the word that kept coming back to me. There was nothing forced about her. No careful posing or practiced movement. She existed in her own skin in this easy, natural way that made it damn near impossible to look anywhere else.

Her shoulders were relaxed. Her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she ran her fingers through her hair. I was standing there like an idiot, holding a bottle of shampoo, staring. I tore my eyes away and shoved the rest of the toiletries into the bag before I embarrassed myself.

Focus, Donovan.

You’re supposed to be packing, not drooling over your girlfriend. But even when I forced myself to look down at the suitcase instead, I could still see her in my peripheral vision. The way she leaned closer to the mirror. The way the dryer shifted in her hand. The quiet little movements that made up the rhythm of her morning.

God help me.

I was completely gone for this woman. I knew I loved her, don’t misunderstand, but this simplicity, the domestic quality of it. She could have been doing a crossword puzzle and I would probably would be just as obsessed.

I zipped my toiletries bag shut and set it in the suitcase, closing the lid with a quiet snap.

Behind me the dryer finally clicked off.

The sudden silence made me look up before I could stop myself. River lowered the dryer and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it slightly as she studied her reflection.

Then she glanced over at me, and caught me staring.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Enjoying the view?” she asked sweetly.

I didn’t even bother pretending anymore. “Very much.”

Her cheeks colored, but the smile stayed.

God help me, that might have been the most dangerous thing of all.

She shook her head slightly, as if trying to hide her smile, and turned back toward the mirror to gather the rest of her things. The motion sent her hair sliding over her shoulder. I forced myself to look away and focused on the suitcase instead, pressing down on the lid before pulling the zipper closed with a firm tug.

“Everything packed?” she asked as she reached for her toiletries bag.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Got your stuff in here too.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the suitcase and then back at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged, then winced. I didnt realize how much I shrugged. This was going to be a long fucking week. “You were busy.”

What I didn’t say was that watching her dry her hair had been distracting enough to make packing feel like the more productive option.

She stepped closer and slipped her toiletries bag into the outer pocket of the suitcase. Her fingers brushed mine for the briefest moment before she zipped it closed, and the contact sent a small, warm ripple up my arm.

It was ridiculous.

I had known River for years. She had always been around in some from, even when she’d been in North Carolina, part of the background rhythm of my life, familiar and comfortable in a way that made her presence easy to take for granted. While I hadn’t seen her in twelve years, I knew where to notice if I’d wanted to. I’d just been too stupid to notice.

Or maybe I had and deliberately pushed the thought aside before it could lead anywhere dangerous. Either way, that version of reality was gone now. Now I noticed everything. Every smile. Every glance. Every accidental brush of her hand against mine.

I leaned back against the dresser and folded my arms, watching her finish packing.

She caught me looking and lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re staring.”

“I know.”

“You’re not even trying to hide it.”

“Nope.”

She let out a small huff of laughter and shook her head again, though there was something soft in her eyes when she looked at me. “Should I be concerned?” she asked.

“Probably,” I said honestly.

That made her laugh outright, and the sound of it filled the room in a way that made something in my chest loosen.

God, I loved that sound.

She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and glanced around the room, scanning it like she was mentally checking that nothing had been left behind. Her gaze drifted toward the bed.

We both looked at it at the same time.

The sheets were still tangled and the blanket rumpled and half kicked off the bed, the entire bed looking like a very obvious reminder of everything that had happened in the last hour. There were what looked like smears of, what I could only assume was my come, across the sheets.

River’s face turned pink instantly.

“Wow,” she muttered.

“Yeah.”

She pointed vaguely at the bed. “That’s… very obvious.”

“Extremely.”

For a moment neither of us moved. Then she let out a quiet groan and dragged both hands over her face. “My brother heard you last night.”

I nodded. “I’m aware.”

She closed her eyes, mortification clear on her face. “He probably heard us in here, too.”

“Almost a guarantee.” I agreed.

“And now that bed exists.”

“Also aware.”

She dropped her hands and stared at me. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“I’m choosing denial,” I said.

“About what?”

“That Cade is ever going to bring this up again.”

She stared at me for a long moment before snorting. “You’re delusional.”

“Probably.”

She dropped her bag and immediately started pulling up the sheets. “I’m not leaving my brother to clean up our sex sheets,” she muttered as she began stripping the bed.

I chuckled and shook my head, moving to the other side and pulling up at the sheets. Once the bedding was completely off, I gathered it in my arms and carried it down the short hall to the laundry room. I dropped the sheets into the open washing machine, added detergent, and pressed the start button before turning back.

River was standing in the doorway watching me with an amused expression.

“What?” I asked.

“Kieran Donovan does laundry,” she said with a smirk.

I raised an eyebrow. “He also knows how to cook and wash dishes, too.”

She laughed and stepped forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “You’re adorable.”

I chuckled and slid my arms around her. “I am a man of many talents, sweetheart.”

“Stop flirting with my sister where I can hear you,” Cade called from his home office.

I couldn’t stop the laugh that I barked out at his order. “We’re leaving,” I called back, “so you don’t have to hear us anymore.”

Cade snorted from the other room. “Good riddance. If I have to hear you nut one more time anywhere near my sister, I’m going to kill both of us.”

River made a choking sound shaking her head before tugging lightly on my hand. I grabbed the suitcase handle and lifted it easily. “Well I think he heard our morning escapade,” I said quietly.

“Gee, you think?” Cade called from the office. “Fucking thin walls, dude, and neither of you is very quiet.” There was a snort from the office. “Did make for an interesting video conference though.”

River’s face was deep red, mortification plain as day on her face as she stared and blinked at me, unmoving.

“You ready?” I asked.

“Beyond,” she said. “Let’s leave Oscar the Grouch home alone.” She added loudly.

“Ha-ha,” Cade said flatly from his office. “Please just leave.”

We started toward the door together, stepping out in the late morning sunshine. I took a deep breath, grinning. Portland in late June was hit and miss. Some years it was still rainy, some years it was a heat wave. This year, it was perfect. Upper seventies temperature wise, nice breezes, and just the right amount of sunshine.

We walked to my truck, and I placed out bags in the back seat, where it would be cleaner than the truck bed, and reached for her door handle to open it for her. My hand clasped the handle, but before I pulled it, River caught my wrist.

I stopped and turned back.

She was looking at me with that thoughtful expression she got sometimes, like she was still processing everything that had happened over the last day. “What?” I asked gently.

She hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer and rested her hand lightly against my chest. “I meant what I said earlier,” she said softly. “About regrets.” Her fingers curled slightly into my shirt. “I regret that it took this long,” she continued. “That I wasted so much time with someone that wasn’t you.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say.

My mind filled with responses all at once, each one crowding the others out before it could fully form. I could have told her that none of it had been wasted time, that life didn’t work like that. I could have told her that if she hadn’t lived every moment that led her here, she might never have ended up standing in front of me now. I could have told her that none of what happened with Tim was her fault, that loving someone who turned out to be wrong for you didn’t mean you’d failed.

I could have told her that I would have waited for her anyway.

God knew I probably already was, without even realizing it.

But every one of those thoughts felt too big for the moment. Too heavy. Too much like something that deserved more than a quiet conversation beside my truck in the late morning light.

The truth was, I had my own regrets tangled up in it too.

Regret that I hadn’t seen it sooner. That somewhere along the line I had convinced myself she was off limits because she was Cade’s little sister, because she had been with someone else, because it was easier not to look too closely at what was standing right in front of me.

Regret that I hadn’t paid attention to the way she always seemed to fit into my life like she’d been built for it. Regret that it had taken something as messy and painful as everything she’d gone through to bring us here.

There were a hundred things I could have said. A hundred different ways to answer her.

But none of them felt right.

Instead, I reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger there for a second longer than necessary.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I have some, too.”

Her eyes searched mine for a moment, as if making sure I meant it. Then she smiled. It was small, real, and warm enough to settle something deep in my chest. I squeezed her hand once and nodded toward the door. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here, babe.”

I opened the door and held out a hand to help her into the seat. She climbed in, settling comfortably as I closed the door behind her. I walked around the front of the truck, climbed in behind the wheel, and started the engine.

The truck rumbled to life beneath us.

For a moment neither of us said anything. Then I glanced over and caught her watching me, that same quiet smile still on her face. I reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before shifting the truck into gear and drove us home.

The truck rumbled steadily beneath us as I drove, the quiet hum of the engine filling the cab. River’s hand had been resting in mine for most of the short drive, her fingers warm and relaxed between my own.

We drove another block in comfortable silence before something nudged at the back of my mind. Not urgent. Not enough to ruin the moment.

Practical.

Real.

I exhaled slowly, glancing over at her. She was looking out the window now, but the small smile from earlier hadn’t completely faded.

“Hey,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

She turned her head, eyes flicking to mine. “Hey.”

I hesitated for half a second, then decided to just say it. “We should probably talk about something.”

Her brows lifted slightly, not alarmed, just curious. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” I said quickly, a faint huff of a laugh slipping out. “Just… responsible.”

That got a small smile out of her. “Okay. Now I’m intrigued.”

I glanced back at the road, then over at her again. “This morning,” I started, then paused, choosing my words a little more carefully. “We didn’t exactly… plan ahead.”

There was a beat of silence, then I saw it, the way realization clicked into place on her face, followed by a faint flush rising up her neck.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” I muttered, running a hand briefly along the back of my neck before returning it to the wheel. “I just, wanted to check. Make sure we’re… covered. Or if we need to be thinking about getting Plan B.”

I didn’t want it to sound like I regretted anything.

Because I didn’t.

Not even a little.

But this mattered too.

She shifted slightly in her seat, turning a little more toward me. “I’m on the pill,” she said after a second, her voice steady despite the lingering color in her cheeks. “I have been for a while.”

Some of the tension I hadn’t fully acknowledged eased immediately.

“Okay,” I said, nodding once. “Okay, that’s good.”

She let out a small breath. “Yeah. So… we should be fine.”

“Yeah,” I echoed, quieter now.

I should’ve left it there. Instead, my brain, apparently committed to making this as awkward as possible, kept going.

“I mean,” I added, immediately regretting it as the words started forming, “not that it would be—bad.”

I felt her look at me. I kept my eyes on the road. “Not that I’m saying we should—” I cleared my throat. “Or that it’s a good idea. It’s not. Logically, at all.”

Smooth.

Real smooth.

“I just—” I huffed out a quiet breath, shaking my head at myself. “I wouldn’t… hate it.”

There was a pause.

A longer one this time.

And because I apparently hadn’t embarrassed myself enough yet, the truth slipped in underneath it, quieter but more honest. “I think I’d… actually—” I stopped, jaw tightening slightly before I forced the words out anyway. “I think I’d love it.”

I winced faintly, like I could physically feel how insane that sounded out loud. “That came out wrong,” I added quickly. “Timing-wise. It’s terrible timing. I know that.”

I finally glanced over at her.

She wasn’t laughing, but she wasn’t panicking either. She looked thoughtful.

“Kieran,” she said gently.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“I get what you’re saying.”

That surprised me enough that I blinked, glancing over at her.

She shifted a little more toward me, her fingers tightening around mine. “I mean… yeah, it’s ridiculously soon, and no, I’m not ready. Not even close, if I’m being honest. Especially after everything with Tim. I’m still… working through a lot of that.”

I nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

She gave me a small smile at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.

“There’s also…” she hesitated, her gaze dropping to where our hands were still linked. “There’s something else you should probably know.”

Something in my chest tightened at her tone.

“My OB back in Charlotte, she put me on the pill because my symptoms were pretty bad,” she continued, quieter now. “I have PCOS and endometriosis.”

I frowned slightly, trying to follow. “Okay…”

“She told me,” River went on, her voice thinning just a little, “that I’ll probably need medical intervention if I ever want to get pregnant. Like… IVF. It’s not impossible, but it’s not… simple either.”

That hit me in the chest hard. Not because of what it meant for me, but because of the way she said it. Careful. Like she’d already braced herself for a negative reaction.

She let out a small breath, her shoulders lifting in a half-shrug that didn’t quite hide anything. “So I just… I get it, if that’s a deal breaker for you.”

I blinked. What?

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was easing off the gas, scanning the road for a second before turning into an empty parking lot. I put the truck in park a little harder than I meant to and turned fully toward her.

“What do you mean, a deal breaker?” I asked.

She didn’t look at me.

Just shrugged again, smaller this time. “You just said you’d like me to get pregnant at some point. I can’t say that will ever happen. Not in a normal sense, anyway.”

My chest pulled tight and sharp, immediately. “River.”

She still wouldn’t look at me. I reached for her hand again, firmer this time, not giving her the option to pull away. “Hey. Look at me.”

It took a second, but she did. There it was. That quiet, braced expression, like she was already halfway out the door, just waiting for me to confirm it.

“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “No, we’re not doing that.”

Her brows pulled together slightly. “Doing what?”

“Deciding for me what matters,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “Or what I’m going to walk away over.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything.

“I love you,” I said, simpler this time. “If we have kids someday?” I continued, softer now. “Great. However that happens. Naturally, IVF, adoption, fostering, hell, if we end up with a house full of dogs and no kids at all…”

A small, crooked smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. “I’ll still be a happy man.”

Her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to figure out if I meant it. “I’m not in this for a specific outcome,” I added quietly. “I’m in this for you. Whatever our life looks like, we build it together. That’s the point. We figure it out. We adapt, make it ours.”

Her gaze dropped away, staring down at our hands. I could feel how hard she was struggling with what I was saying. I had no idea what her ex said to her about this, what trash he’d filled her head with, but that wasn’t me.

That wasn’t going to be us.

“You don’t get disqualified from a life with me because something might be harder,” I said, a little more firmly now. “That’s not how this works.”

She let out a shaky breath. “You make that sound really easy.”

“It’s not easy,” I admitted. “I choose you,” I said. “That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”

She swallowed, her voice softer when she spoke again. “Even if it’s… messy?”

I huffed a quiet breath. “It’s definitely going to be messy.” That pulled the smallest hint of a smile from her. “But yeah,” I added. “Especially then.”

She shook her head faintly, like she still didn’t fully believe it..

“Okay,” she whispered.

I squeezed her hand again, grounding both of us. “Okay,” I echoed.

River

Morning found me all at once this time, no drifting, no soft climb out of sleep. Just awareness. The light was soft, slipping through the curtains in thin, pale stripes that stretched across the bed and over us.

Kieran was still out cold.

For a second I didn’t move, didn’t even breathe differently, like I might somehow disturb the quiet just by existing inside it. My head was still on his chest, exactly where I had fallen asleep last night, his arm under my neck.

I could hear his heartbeat if I focused.

Slow. Steady.

Thank god.

That was the first real thought that took hold in my brain. Not about last night, not about anything else. He was okay. He was still here, still breathing. The relief sat deep, heavier than I expected it to be.

Carefully, I shifted just enough to look at him without actually pulling away. His face was softer in sleep. The tension he carried when he was awake, that sharp, guarded edge, was gone. His brow was smooth, his mouth relaxed, parted just slightly as he breathed.

There was still a faint bruise along his temple, just at the edge of his hairline. It made something in my chest tighten again, sharp and protective.

Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it as the memory of last night slipped in front of me. It didn’t come back in pieces, it hit all at once. The way he looked at me when I pulled his dick out of his pants, the way he let me take control without a single second of hesitation. The sounds he tried, and failed, to hold back. The way he said my name like it meant something different than it usually did.

I smiled remembering how he said my name as he came, his hands in my hair. The way he moved under my mouth, the way he tasted when he flooded my throat.

And the after, how easily he pulled me in. No awkwardness, no weird pause.

Careful, I shifted my body away from him. I didn’t pull away completely, but eased the pressure, like I was testing the boundary without actually crossing it.

He didn’t wake. Didn’t even stir, except for a small, almost imperceptible exhale that brushed warm breath against the top of my head.

Good, he needed the sleep. Jon had been pretty clear about that when he brought Kieran back yesterday: rest, minimal stimulation, low lights, no unnecessary movement.

Which definitely meant I should not have sucked his dick last night.

Slowly, carefully, I shifted just enough to ease my leg free from where it was tangled with his, testing each movement so the mattress didn’t dip too much. His arm tightened reflexively for a second, like his body was trying to keep me there, but he didn’t wake.

I paused, watching him. When his breathing stayed even, I gently guided his arm back down, resting it against the bed instead of me.

I slid my legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly. I stretched slowly, before moving to the window and pulling the curtains more tightly, tipping the room further into darkness.

I moved as quietly as I could to the door, stopping to look once more at the man who had completely stolen my heart. He hadn’t moved, his arm that had held me against him, was still stretched across the bed, his head still turned to where I had been.

For a second, I considered slipping back under his arm. Just for a minute, just until he woke. I discarded the idea almost immediately. Kieran needed to rest, to heal. If I climbed back into bed with him, I’d probably do something I shouldn’t. Like straddle his hips and fuck him until were both screaming.

I opened the door to the bathroom, and closing the door behind me as carefully and quietly as possible. Once the door was closed, I turned on the lights, and for a second, I just stood there in the dim light. I need to make sure I hadn’t imagined any of last night, that I had actually given a man with a severe head injury a blow job in the middle of the night.

I feel heat creeping up my neck, and suppressed a sigh. Yeah, I’d done that.

I reached for my toothbrush, going through the motions automatically—paste, water, rinse—my eyes flicking up to the mirror more out of habit than intention. I didn’t really look at myself at first. Just… existed in the routine, letting it steady me.

But my mind didn’t stay quiet.

It drifted, inevitably, back to him.

The way he’d been sleeping, arm stretched out like he was still holding onto me even after I’d moved. The way his face had softened, like whatever he carried during the day had loosened its grip, just for a little while. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing under my cheek.

I paused mid-motion, toothbrush still in hand, my gaze finally settling on my reflection.

This shouldn’t feel like this.

That thought came quick, instinctive.

We’d only been back in each other’s lives for a month. A month. And yeah, I’d known him forever, in that distant, childhood way, but not like this. Not like I knew the man in that bed.

I rinsed my mouth, setting the toothbrush down slowly, my fingers lingering against the counter as I leaned into it slightly.

It wasn’t just the history.

It was Kieran. The way he paid attention. The way he held me like it mattered, like I mattered. Like he understood, on some level, exactly how much space I needed, and never once tried to take more than I offered.

I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head faintly, like that might settle something.

It didn’t. The truth was already there, sitting heavy and undeniable in my chest. I loved Kieran. I had loved him for years. Sure, it had started as some general teenage crush, but at some point, it had changed into a bone deep kind of affection that I knew was irreplaceable.

Being with Tim, and everything that had come with him, I had built walls so high around myself, I wasn’t sure anyone could ever scale them. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. I believed I could and would be okay on my own.

How does the song go? No man, no cry?

Kieran didn’t just slip past the walls, he made me want to tear them down brick by brick. He was warmth, light, joy, peace and safety. He made me laugh, never pressured me for anything more than I could give.

He felt like home.

Every inch of him, every laugh, every quiet glance, every careless touch, whispered that I could rest here, that I belonged here, and I didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

I had never expected to feel like this, so wholly, so completely. I knew already that I was in deeper than I had ever allowed myself to imagine. I had known I was in deep, but after watching the news on repeat yesterday, not being able to get ahold of him, not knowing if he was alive…

Everything came in to sharp focus. Kieran worked a dangerous job, and everyday he came home was a blessing. I wasn’t going to pretend anymore that I could just wait and tell him I loved him at some future point down the road.

Because, it wasn’t guaranteed that the road would even exist.

I glanced up at myself and frowned. Stop it, I told myself. I was not going to let myself think about that. Kieran would come home to me.

And that was that.

I wouldn’t borrow trouble. I just had to hold this, right here, right now.

I let my hands linger on the countertop, staring at my reflection, trying to capture the way my chest felt full and open, yet fragile all at once. I could feel the softness of his arm around me, the way he had fallen back asleep without a thought, trusting me to be there, and it made my stomach twist with a dizzying combination of happiness and fear.

I had no idea how to articulate it, so I didn’t even try. All I knew was that Kieran Donovan was mine in this moment, and it was everything.

Everything about him made me relax in a way I hadn’t thought possible. As much as it terrified me, as much as I knew loving him fully could leave me vulnerable, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling it, from wanting it, from wanting him.

I breathed in deeply, pressing my palms to the sink, letting the words and the memory sink in. I had fallen, completely and irreversibly, and there was no turning back.

I turned off the light of the bathroom, and slowly opened the door. Kieran was still in the bed, sleeping deeply.

I moved as quietly as I could to the bedroom door, stopping to look once more at the man who had completely stolen my heart. He hadn’t moved, his arm that had held me against him, was still stretched across the bed, his head still turned to where I had been.

I eased the bedroom door closed as quietly as I could behind me, pausing for a second in the early morning sunlight of the hallway. I padded down the hallway barefoot, the wood floor faintly cool under my feet. The faint smell of coffee hit me before I even reached the kitchen, which meant Cade was already up.

Of course he was.

I stepped into the doorway and found him leaning against the counter, arms folded, a mug in one hand. His dark hair was still messy from sleep and he looked like he’d been awake for exactly long enough to become irritated by the world.

Which, knowing my brother, was about thirty seconds.

His eyes lifted the second I walked in, and narrowed immediately.

Oh boy.

“Morning,” I said carefully, moving toward the cabinet for a mug like this was a completely normal morning.

He didn’t answer, but I could feel him staring at me.

I poured myself a cup of coffee anyway, because caffeine was the only thing standing between me and the memory of last night hitting me full force.

Unfortunately, that memory was already knocking.

Kieran’s hands. His voice. Heat crept up the back of my neck and I focused very hard on not thinking about it while Cade continued to stare holes into the side of my head.

Finally he spoke. “River.” That tone. Flat. Dangerous.

I took a slow sip of coffee and turned around. “Yes, brother dear?”

His eyes narrowed further. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you don’t know what I’m about to say.”

I sighed. Right. This. “Cade,” I started, trying for patience, “it’s early—”

“I heard you.” The words landed like a brick.

I closed my eyes for half a second.

Yep. There it was.

When I opened them again, Cade was still standing there with the expression of a man who had experienced something deeply traumatic.

“You heard… what exactly?” I asked cautiously.

His face twisted in horror. “Oh I don’t know,” he said dryly. “Maybe the fact that my little sister and my best friend were apparently recreating a goddamn romance novel twenty feet from my bedroom.”

My face went hot instantly. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” he said, jabbing a finger in my direction. “My thoughts exactly.”

I turned back to the counter and buried my face in my hands for a second.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying. Dig a hole, throw me in and just walk away.

Behind me Cade kept going. “Do you have any idea how thin these walls are?”

“Please stop talking.” I groaned.

“I could hear everything.”

“I said stop.”

“Every—”

“Cade, for Christ sake.”

He finally stopped. I turned back around slowly, pointing a finger at him. “You could have knocked on the wall or something.” I muttered.

“Oh sure,” he said flatly. “Because that would have made it better.” He knocked on the counter, in a mock gesture. “Hey, could you stop giving my best friend such a loud blow job, in there?” He said in a mocking tone, then snorted. “Therapy. I am going to need a lot of therapy.”

My face was flushed with mortification, embarrassment and the wish that I die right this very minute. I took another long drink of coffee and tried to regain some dignity.

It wasn’t working.

Cade scrubbed a hand down his face. “I am never going to un-hear that.”

“Well I’m never going to un-hear you telling me that you heard it,” I shot back, irritated.

He gave me a look. “You’re my little sister.”

I gave him and exasperated look. “Cade, I’m twenty-six, I’ve had sex before.”

He snorted. “That doesn’t make it better.”

I sighed and leaned against the counter. “Look, Cade… I didn’t exactly plan for an audience.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Oh you planned that?”

I choked on my coffee. “Oh my God, stop!”

He shook his head like he was physically trying to shake the memory loose. “I’m serious. I’m going to need therapy.”

“You’re being dramatic.” I said rolling my eyes.

“He literally screamed your name.”

“Fuck, stop talking, Cade. I mean it.” My hands flew up to cover my face again. “I hate you.”

“He also said—”

I held up my hand, glaring at him. “Cascade Ryan Scout, if you finish that fucking sentence, I will pour this scalding coffee right over your fucking head. Understand?”

That finally shut him up, for about three seconds. He sighed heavily and leaned back against the counter again, studying me. His expression shifted slightly. Less horrified, and more… concerned.

“You okay?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard. “Yeah,” I said slowly.

He tilted his head toward the hallway. “You sure about that?”

I knew what he meant. This whole situation with Tim. Starting something new and all-consuming with Kieran. Everything. I wrapped both hands around my mug, letting the warmth settle me for a second.

“Yeah,” I said again, softer this time. “I am.” I sighed. “Cade, he’s… different.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know if that makes any sense or not.”

Cade watched me for a long moment, then he sighed. “Just… don’t break him.”

“What?”

“He’s my best friend,” Cade said slowly, “and you’re my little sister. If this goes sideways I’m the one stuck in the middle.”

I stared at him. “You think I’m someone who would hurt him?”

He shrugged. “I think feelings make people stupid.”

Fair.

I took another sip of coffee. “Well good news,” I said dryly. “We’re already stupid.”

Cade snorted. “Agreed.”

The tension eased just a little.

I sighed. “I think we’re going to go stay at Kieran’s place.”

Cade snorted. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

I shot him a glare over the coffee mug. “Do you want to hear an encore?”

He winced. “That’s not funny, River.”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to be funny, but chances are, more things are going to happen and if you don’t want to be listening, either you invest in some great noise cancelling headphones and don’t come in unannounced, or we’re going to go stay at his place.”

“And when he’s back to work? You’ll be there alone.”

“So noise cancelling headphones then?”

Cade shot me a glare.

I heard footsteps sounding down the hallway, a second before Kieran appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair messy, looking like he’d just crawled out of the world’s best nap.

Cade’s eyes flicked past me.

“Hey, what’s up?” Kieran asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

I turned toward him and couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

“Hey, there’s my zombie,” I said softly. “How are you feeling?”

He gave me a sheepish grin. “Relaxed.”

Cade made a noise of absolute disgust and shoved off the counter. “Fucking disgusting,” he muttered as he stomped past Kieran on his way out of the room.

Kieran blinked after him, before turning to look at me, a confused look on his face.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “He heard you.”

It took him a second. “Last night,” I qualified.

I saw the realization hit. “Oh… uh…” he turned back toward the hallway where Cade had disappeared. “Shit.”

I took another sip of coffee and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yep.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

I woke up, blinking against the morning light, and then it hit me. Last night. The memory flashed hot and bright across my mind, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

River wasn’t in bed, but I could hear movement elsewhere in the house, footsteps, the low hum of conversation. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching. My body ached, and my head was pulsating, but I wasn’t sure if that was the mild concussion or the fact that I hadn’t had caffeine in the last 24 hours.

I pulled a shirt from the drawer and slid it on, tugging it down around my hips. While it wasn’t like Cade hadn’t seen me shirtless before, this was still his house, and he probably didn’t want me parading around with my bare chest out around River, even if we were an item now.

I opened the door and made my way quietly down the hall.

In the kitchen, Cade and River were mid-argument, voices low but heated.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, stepping into the room.

Both of them froze.

River looked at me and grinned. “Hey, there’s my zombie,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”

I gave her a sheepish grin. “Relaxed,” I admitted with a shrug, then winced. Yeah, shrugging was still a no go.

Cade rolled his eyes. “Fucking disgusting,” he grumbled as he passed me on his way out of the room.

River sighed once he was gone.

“He heard you.” I didn’t understand. “Last night.” It took me a second, but then it clicked

“Oh… uh… Shit.”

Well fuck. Of course he had. I had tried to be quiet at first, but when her mouth wrapped around me, and her tongue started moving… yeah, I kind of lost my shit for a while. I felt my cheeks burning. It felt like I got caught doing something that felt all too right, but was a little bit wrong.

River laughed, a little flustered but still smiling. “It’s fine,” she sighed. “That’s why we were arguing. I think we should go stay at your place now. You know… without an audience.” She gave a delicate shrug. “And, of course, Cade thinks not.”

I nodded. I got it, he wanted her here because he could protect her, and she wanted privacy to do… well all the things she wanted to do with me, without an audience that consisted of her brother.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter. “What about a compromise?” I said slowly. “You’re with me when I’m not working, and when I am, you stay here with Cade.”

She considered it for a moment, biting her lip. “Yeah… that might work for him.” I nodded. I knew it wasn’t sustainable, but it was a start.

She stepped closer, her posture suddenly hesitant. “I hope that what I did…you know… last night… was okay?” she whispered unable to look me in the face. “I didn’t take advantage of you or anything.”

I set the mug down, and reached out, pulling her against me. “Honey, you were fucking incredible.” She nodded, still not looking at me. “River, that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever had happen to me.”

I nudged her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “Really. I promise. I don’t know if anything could ever top that.” I winked at her, grinning. “Well, maybe you on top while you ride my–”

She laughed, slapping a hand over my mouth. I grinned, chuckling, under her hand.

She grinned, that mischievous little curve of her lips. “Kieran Donovan, you have quite a mouth on you.” She said, sliding her palm off my lips.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what kind of things I can do with this mouth.” I leaned down and kissed her lightly. “But you will.” I chuckled, a hand sliding to her jaw and kissed her again as her cheeks turned the most delightful shade of pink.

For a moment, the morning chaos, the heat of the fire, all the fear and panic from the past days, they felt miles away. It was just her, me, and that impossible, perfect warmth we shared.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

We stepped into the bedroom together, the door swinging open with a soft creak behind us. Morning light filtered through the curtains in thin gold stripes, stretching across the bed.

I stopped just inside the room.

The bed was a mess.

The sheets were twisted and rumpled, the blanket bunched near the middle like it had been kicked and dragged around during the night. Nothing dramatic, but it was very obviously the kind of bed two people had slept in very little.

My face warmed immediately.

Kieran noticed it too. He glanced at the bed for half a second, then looked away with a small, almost sheepish exhale like he’d decided the smartest move was to pretend it wasn’t there.

He crossed the room and crouched by the closet instead, pulling our suitcases out from where they’d been shoved the day before. The wheels bumped softly against the floor as he dragged them out and set them near the foot of the bed.

I sighed before I could stop myself.

He looked up at the sound. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. But it wasn’t really nothing.

It was the lingering embarrassment from the kitchen. The memory of Cade’s face. The horrifying realization that my older brother had heard things that no older brother in the history of older brothers should ever hear.

Kieran unzipped one of the suitcases and started opening drawers like he’d already moved past the awkwardness and into practical mode.

I watched him for a second before moving toward my bag. “Before we leave,” I said, pulling the zipper open, “I want to get a shower.”

He nodded immediately, already reaching into a drawer.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” I dug through my things and pulled out a clean shirt, a pair of leggings, underwear and bra, folding them over my arm.

“Do you want me to pack for you?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he started pulling his own clothes out.

I shrugged.

“I mean, if you want to,” I said. “But I can do it when I’m done.” I pointed a finger at him. “But don’t over do it. If you start to feel off, just lie down, okay?”

He nodded once and kept moving, folding things and dropping them neatly into the suitcase with quiet efficiency. It was almost like he was on autopilot, hands moving from drawer to bag without much thought.

I stood there for a second watching him.

He looked a little tired still, hair sticking up in places from sleep, jaw shadowed with the beginnings of stubble. But there was something steady about the way he moved. Calm. Focused. Like this was just another simple thing to take care of.

And the sight of it made something warm and complicated twist in my chest.

A few days ago Kieran had just been Cade’s best friend. Someone I knew, someone I’d grown up around, someone who had always been there in the background of my life in that casual, familiar way. Someone I was trying to stay away from because I was tired the rollercoaster he was putting me on.

Now I was standing in a bedroom with him while he packed our suitcases like this was normal.

Like we’d done it a hundred times before.

The speed of it should have scared me more than it did, but… it didn’t.

I shifted the clothes in my arms and headed toward the bathroom, desperately trying to not overthink it. The quiet in the bathroom felt different immediately. More contained. The sounds from the bedroom dulled through the wall.

I set my clothes on the counter next to my toiletries bag and turned on the shower. The pipes rattled faintly before the water started rushing, the steady sound filling the room.

Steam began curling into the air almost right away.

For a moment I just stood there, looking at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, I looked like a younger version of the bride of Frankenstein. My dark curls were in a shambles, sticking up at odd angles and I winced. Of course Kieran saw me like this. My cheeks still faintly pink form embarrassment and mortification, and my brain was still trying to process the fact that Cade had heard us.

Well, he’d heard Kieran. I groaned quietly and leaned my hands on the counter.

God.

The embarrassment alone was enough to make me want to hide in this bathroom forever.

Cade had heard his little sister giving his best friend a blow job.

A fucking blow job.

An enthusiastic fucking blow job.

My eyes squeezed shut for a second. I was never going to hear the end of that. Ever. Cade would absolutely bring it up at the worst possible times. Holidays. Family dinners. Random Tuesday afternoons. The thought made my stomach twist again.

But underneath the mortification and the embarrassment, there was another truth sitting there just as clearly.

I didn’t regret it, not even a little.

I looked back at my reflection, studying the woman staring back at me.

Everything about the last couple of days had escalated so quickly it almost felt unreal. Feelings that should have taken months or years to build had crashed into place in what felt like a matter of hours. Moments that should have been careful and slow had turned into something intense and immediate before I’d even had time to stop and question them.

None of it felt wrong. Being with Kieran didn’t feel reckless, it didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt natural. Like it was something that had been quietly building for years without either of us noticing until it suddenly, we did.

I could faintly hear him moving in the other room, the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing, fabric rustling as he packed. The normalcy of it was strangely comforting.

Yes, everything was happening quickly.

Yes, my brother had accidentally overheard far more of my life than he ever should have.

But when I thought about last night, about the way Kieran had looked at me while I had him in my mouth, his eyes wide, full of desire and something tender, it made me feel powerful, in control and wanted.

I hadn’t felt any of those things in literal years.

I knew Kieran would never hurt me physically, he wasn’t that kind of man, not by any stretch of the imagination, and before I’d even realized I’d done it, I’d handed him the keys to my emotional wellbeing.

He’d may never hurt me physically, but he could ruin me emotionally.

I pulled off my sleep shirt and shorts, folding them into a small pile next to my clean clothes and stepped into the shower, closing the opaque sliding glass door behind me. I stepped under the stream, letting the heat slide over me. The hot water relaxing me, allowing me to let all other thoughts slip through my brain, and just feel the relaxation that came with hot water.

I was washing my face when the knock on the door came. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s just me. I got you all packed, I just need to grab our toiletries when you’re done.” He said, cracking the door just enough to call into me.

I couldn’t open my mouth, I had my foamy face soap all over, my eyes squeezed shut. “Mmhmm,” I said as loudly as I could, hoping he heard me.

“River?” He said, louder. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” I said again, trying to be louder.

“Sweetheart?” I could hear the door squeaking, opening wider.

I ducked my face under the water, scrubbing quickly, trying to remove the soap so I could answer him. When I felt it sufficiently cleared, I moved out of the water, and swiped my hands across my eyes in reflex. I turned toward the door, and stopped short. Kieran’s shape on the other side of the opaque door.

“I’m fine,” I squeaked. “I was just washing my face.”

He didn’t move.

“Kieran?”

I heard him sigh. “I just… give me a second.” He said, his voice rough.

I moved to the door of the shower, and slid it just enough to poke my head out. He was standing facing the shower, hands fisted at his sides, already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Kier, are you okay?” I asked, suddenly concerned.

Was it is head? I know concussions are difficult to get through, though I had never had one. Cade had a nasty one in high school, and I remember how dizzy he’d gotten for months afterwards, just randomly. “Are you dizzy? Do you need to sit?”

His pale green eyes opened and caught my face, peering at him through the crack in the shower door. He slowly shook his head. “No, I’m not dizzy.”

I felt my brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Oh I don’t know.” He said, tone both sarcastic and teasing. “The sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, is naked, soaking wet, and the only thing between her and I fucking like rabbits in that shower is the fact that she hasn’t invited me in.”

I felt my jaw drop, and my eyes widen.

Holy shitfire, did he actually just say that?

He grinned at me slowly, pulling his t-shirt over his head. His chest and ribs were a riot of bruises, even under all the ink on him. There was a particularly nasty purple, blue and black bruise blossoming on his left side, under his “47” tattoo across his ribs and low abdomen. Two more seemed to crisscross under his right peck.

It was both arousing and terrifying.

The pain he must be in right now sucked the air from my lungs.

I blinked, staring at him as he started to unbutton his jeans and pulled them off, his underwear and socks following them quickly. “Scoot over, River.” He said reaching for the shower door. I moved back and out of the way, my brain completely short circuiting, as he slid the door open and slipped into the shower stall with me.

Sudden shyness made my entire body flush. I looked down and instead of looking at the floor as I had intended, I saw an eyeful of Kieran. A large, very excited to see me, eyeful of Kieran that I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from.

His hand was suddenly on my chin, lifting my eyes to his.

“We don’t need to have sex, River,” he said softly. “But I would like to touch you. Even if nothing happens. I would like to just have a moment with you.”

I knew he was telling the truth, even if his body was reacting differently, I could see it in his eyes. He just wanted to be with me, near me.

I nodded, and stepped into his embrace. My wet body pressing against his mostly dry one, my head resting against his chest. I held my arms in front of my breasts, not sure I was ready for him to see me completely. He dropped his check to the top of my head, sighing, as his hands wrapped around my back.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” I asked. I hadn’t done anything.

He tightened his hold slightly. “For taking care of me. If you hadn’t been here, I would have just been home alone.” The thought of him being so hurt, and having no one take care of him broke my heart.

“I’ll always take care of you, Kier.” I said without thinking about it.

Not that I didn’t mean it, I just hadn’t realized how much I did mean it.

He lifted his cheek and kissed the top of my head. “I know, sweetheart.”

I slipped my arms out from between us, and pressed my chest to him, my arms wrapping around his ribs lightly, fully aware of the darkening bruises. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Between the heat of the water beating on my back, and the warmth of Kieran against my front, I felt almost sedated. Relaxed to a degree I hadn’t realized I could be.

“Kieran?” I whispered quietly.

“Yeah, honey?”

I swallowed. “I…” I took a deep breath. “I haven’t been with anyone since Tim, and the last time that we… you know.”

His arm tightened around me. “You don’t have to say anything that make you uncomfortable, honey.”

I nodded. “I know, but it’s just…” I swallowed again. “It’s been a long time.”

He stilled, his breath stopping. “I know, I'm not trying to push.”

I could still hear Tim’s words in my brain, telling me all the reasons he couldn’t stand to fuck me. I was too blubbery, too jiggly and that I needed to go on yet another more restrictive diet; that I needed to fix my hair, cut it, color it, or a thousand other reasons that had to do with my physical appearance.

I’d internalized every single one of them.

I’d worn makeup I hated.

Cut my hair, colored it the way he asked, even though I hated it. I looked terrible as a blonde.

I’d gone on such restrictive diets that I had to even monitor the amount of water that I was drinking so I didn’t bloat. None of it helped. None of it made him desire me physically. In the end, I knew it was because he was sleeping with Tara. Thin, perfect Tara with her tiny boobs and size two waist.

Before Tim, I hadn’t been ashamed of my body. I was a curvy girl, for sure, and I had gained weight as I’d gotten older, but I had a soft figure. Hourglass shape, with the right outfits, DD bordering on DDD boobs, and a size 22 pant size. For being five foot seven, I thought I’d looked good.

Until Tim told me otherwise. He was the only man to ever see me naked, and if he could see all those things about me as flaws, then they must be. Right?

I had internalized those thoughts, those remarks for so long, I felt nothing but shame when it came to my own body.

“Are you sure he wasn’t impotent? I mean,” his gaze roved over my face. “You are literally the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t he get it up?” He smirked. “Because I don’t have that problem,” he said inclining his head to his rock hard dick between us.

I laughed without even meaning to and I shook my head.

I mean, it would explain some lingering questions…

But he’d been fucking Tara, so no, not impotent. I shook my head. “I don’t think so, because I caught him fucking the only friend I had.”

Kieran shrugged. “He could have popped a pill.” He smirked at me. “Honestly, though, sweetheart, I don’t care, about anything that happened between you and him.” He pulled me back against his body, his eyes closing at the contact. “I want all your memories to be of me from now on.”

I watched him, my heart swooning in my chest, my brain sitting back with popcorn ready to watch whatever porno ensued, while my vagina was standing at attention waiting for marching orders.

I slid my arms from his waist and up his chest, allowing myself the delicious sensation of his skin under mine. I slipped my hands into his hair at the nape of his neck and smiled at him. I knew it was a shy smile, because I was still feeling shy, but I didn’t want to be. Not with him.

“So let’s start making memories.”

He groaned, as his lips found mine.

It was a whole new level of insane, feeling his naked flesh against mine as we kissed. Feeling him hard and pulsating, pressing against my stomach and his chest against mine. I lifted up onto my toes and pressed myself harder into him when his tongue touched mine.

He groaned into my mouth, turning us, and moving me toward the back of the shower, pressing me against the shower wall. He pulled his lips away, kissing my jaw and neck. “I’m serious, love,” he said as he kissed. “I just want to touch you.” I moaned low when his hands slid up my ribs and cupped my breast.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “You have perfect tits, River.” He lifted them, rolling his thumbs over my hardened nipples. I moaned again, my hands gripping his shoulders. He leaned down, slipping a nipple into his mouth, suckling gently, then flicking it with his tongue. My hips bucked involuntarily, as I moaned as quietly I could, now painfully aware that everything could be heard in this house.

While his mouth was busy exploring my nipples, his other hand reached down and slipped between my parted thighs. I felt my nails dig into his shoulders when he slipped a finger between my lips and pushed inside me. How could one finger feel so incredibly thick? My hips jerked, my vagina on high alert, ready and waiting.

“Fuck River,” he said, pumping his finger into me slowly. “Sweetheart, you are so tight.” I groaned again, and then gasped hard enough that my lungs hurt when his thumb found my clit, pressing lightly while his finger continued to pump me slowly.

My entire body started to tremble. No one had ever given me an orgasm before. Only me, and only in the dark when I was alone, but nothing had ever felt like this. My legs started to quake, and I gripped his sounders tighter. His lips found mine, the pressure on my clit increasing slowly, until I was gasping into his mouth.

“Kieran,” I cried out quietly, trying not to embarrass myself by coming.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered into my ear. “Come on my fingers.”

It was like the gasoline on a fire. I gasped, and his mouth slipped onto mine, as my body clenched around him, my orgasm cresting. I started to buck uncontrollably against him, forcing his finger deeper inside me, the stimulation both better and overwhelming all at the same time.

Nothing I had ever experienced had could ever compare to this. I’d only ever used my own fingers on my clit, I didn’t realize having something inside me while I came would feel so much better. I shook hard, unable to hold myself up, but he seemed to know that, bracing my weight with his thighs.

Slowly I came down, my legs still shaky, my eyes were squeezed shut, my head resting on his chest now.

His finger still pumped slowly inside me, but his thumb had moved away from my clit. My body still hummed, relaxed, but also, somehow, still ready. I lifted my head and caught his eyes. “I’ve never… with someone else… I mean.”

Kieran tilted his head to the side. “He never made you come?”

I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. “No, he said I was frigid.”

Kieran snorted. “Yeah if the Sahara is frigid, maybe.”

He pushed his body against mine, reminding me of how hard he was. “If you were frigid, I wouldn’t be so fucking hard for you.” He whispered in my ear.

“You wouldn’t be thinking about how much better it will feel with my cock inside you instead of one finger.” I blushed, turning my face away from him. “Admit it, beautiful. You want to feel me inside you.” I nodded. I did, I really, really did. “Are you sure?” He whispered, his voice rougher suddenly. I looked back up to him, and saw it then. The raw, naked desire.

“God, yes,” I said.

He grunted then, sliding his finger from inside me and pushing the shower door open, and stepping out pulling me behind him. He moved to the counter and turned the faucet on full blast before turning to me and giving me a wink.

I stood behind him, dripping from the shower, not fully understanding what was happening when he moved away from the sink and opened the door to the bedroom, still pulling me behind him. His back was covered almost completely in black and purple bruises. From the base of his shoulders, down to his butt cheeks, and even down a bit on his right cheek, black and purple bruises blossomed everywhere.

He pulled me to the bed, then stopped and pulled me to him, his hands moving to my wet hair, and his lips finding mine. I leaned into him, my arms wrapping around his waist lightly, careful of his bruised body. “I didn’t want our first time in a shower.” He said against my lips as he pushed me gently onto the bed.

He followed me down, and it felt like his hands were everywhere. On my hips, my breasts, my legs. I arched against him, trying hard and failing to stay as quiet as possible. He kissed his way from my neck to my breasts then down to my pussy. “I need to taste you,” he whispered. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself, and truthfully, I didn’t care.

No one had ever put their mouth on me there before.

He pressed his hands into my knees, pushing them up toward my tummy, then out, opening my thighs. I was exposed as I could be, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t embarrassed, but I was. Kieran was seeing me in ways only my ex had, and he’d rejected me physically.

Kieran… he seemed to be memorizing everything. “Perfection,” he murmured, one of his hands sliding down from my leg, and over my exposed body. I shuddered, my eyes slipping shut when he slid his fingers over my clit. My back arched into his touch, my hands clawing at the bed.

I felt him shift, and then I felt his lips, tentative at first, but then more sure, parting me, licking me, tasting me. I heard him groan, and my eyes opened. I looked down, mesmerized by the sight of him, his large hands on my thighs holding them open, his mouth pressed against me, his eyes closed.

He shifted slightly, and opened his eyes, catching mine immediately. Without taking his gaze from mine, I watched as a hand slid from my thigh to my entrance, pushing inside me. I moaned loudly, my entire body convulsing around him.

He licked me slowly, his finger moving just as slowly, and it was driving me insane. I moaned his name, my back arching again. I felt him twist his hand, and then it was there, on that pressure point I hadn’t realized had existed until he’d found it in the shower.

He pressed against it and rubbed it with his fingertip, deep inside me, while his tongue lapped and flicked at my clit.

“Kier, I’m… I’m…” I moaned, my thighs widening of their own volition, my hands sliding to his head, holding him there.

“Come on me, River.” He whispered against me. “Come on my tongue.”

I couldn’t stop it, even if I had wanted to. The tremors started in my legs, and rolled up by body like a wave onto the sand. I screamed long and hard as I came. I felt my entire body tighten then shatter into a million pieces against him. I’d never in my life felt anything like it.

I went limp under him, as I felt him slip his finger from my body. He pressed kisses against my heated skin as he worked his way back up to me. He pressed a long hard kiss to my lips, forcing me to taste myself on him.

I should be ashamed to say I liked it, but I’m not.

I gripped his shoulders, holding him tightly against me as we kissed. He settled between my thighs, rubbing against me. “You still okay with this?” He asked against my lips. I could feel him sliding along me, and groaned.

“God, yes.” I reached between us, wrapping my hand around him making him hiss against my lips. I slid him against me, moving him so his tip was pressing against my entrance. He didn’t ask permission, he didn’t need to. He pressed his chest closer to mine and started to push inside me. His forehead pressed to mine as he pushed, his eyes closed tightly as if he were in pain.

I have never felt so full in my entire life. It was painful, but only in the way that it hurts when you stretch a muscle that hasn’t been used in far too long. I knew I would be sore later, but the pain was nothing compared to the feelings of wonder and pleasure that were sparking through my entire blood stream.

When his hips finally rested against mine, his full length inside me, his eyes opened, and I almost fell apart. “Are you okay, babe?” His voice was whisper soft, but rough, like he was doing everything in his power to keep his head in the game.

I nodded, my eyes glued to his, the pale green almost gray in the dim light of the bedroom. His hands pulled mine from his shoulders and set them on the pillow next to my head, his fingers lacing with mine.

He pressed his hips against me tighter, pushing himself deeper, and I did moan then. He was hitting something inside me that I’d never felt before. His forehead dropped to my shoulder as he slowly pulled back and then pushed forward again. “Oh god,” I whispered, gripping his hands tightly.

“Fuck, River,” he groaned in my ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

My hips were moving against him against him, and I hadn’t realized I was moving. He lifted his head from my shoulder and kissed my jaw, up to my lips again. I pressed my lips against his, his tongue sliding against mine as his pace came faster, his thrusts a little harder.

Nothing had ever felt this good before.

Not Tim.

Not my own fingers.

Nothing had made me feel like this.

I felt it then, the pressure building under my skin. That all too familiar pressure that he’d just released moments ago with his mouth and his fingers, was now rushing back, faster than I’d ever experienced, I was so close it stole my breath.

“Shit,” he hissed against my mouth. “Should, fuck…” he pushed harder. “Fuck, River should I pull out?” He didn’t give me time to answer, kissing me. He ripped his mouth away, grunting again. “Can I come inside you?”

That was all it took. I felt my orgasm crest, my walls clamping down on him as I gasped his name. He pressed his mouth tightly against my own, swallowing my screams. My hands tightened against his, my hips bucking wildly against him.

“River,” he grunted, his body jerking against mine, I felt something I’d never felt before. Warmth, spreading through my core, warm wet heat spreading through me.

Oh Jesus, he was coming inside me.

Tim always insisted on condoms, and I was perfectly fine with that.

Now, I opened my eyes, and watched as Kieran pumped into me, his face an inch from mine, his eyes on mine as he shuddered against me. “I love you,” he whispered, and pressed his mouth to mine.

It was the most intimate thing that I had ever experienced.

We lay there a long time, both of us trembling, hearts racing, kissing coming slow now. I had never felt so cherished, so loved in my entire life.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the emotions came screaming up and out of me so fast, I couldn’t stop them. I choked out a sob, and Kieran jerked his head back immediately.

River

I hadn’t slept well. Not really.

Now that I knew what it felt like to fall asleep wrapped in Kieran, warm and solid, steady, it was almost impossible to settle without him. The bed felt too big. Too quiet. My body kept reaching for something that wasn’t there, shifting toward empty space that stayed empty.

I’d given up eventually, throwing the covers back and dragging myself out of bed, already annoyed with myself.

It had only been two nights.

Two.

That was it. There was no reason for me to feel like this, restless, off-balance, like something was missing. It wasn’t rational.

It was clingy, and I hated that.

It was a really bad look.

The coffee finished brewing, and I was pouring a mug when I heard Cade moving down the hall.

“You know,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen, voice still rough with sleep, “having you around might be okay if you keep having the coffee ready when I get up.”

I snorted, not looking at him. “Good morning to you, too.”

He grabbed a mug, filled it, and leaned back against the counter like he had nowhere else to be. “You have court today?”

“No, but I have a few meetings and a deposition this afternoon.” He took a sip, then glanced at me. “River, you really do make the best coffee.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “You didn’t have to make it. That’s the only difference.”

He grinned. “Very true, Bug.”

I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t have much energy behind it.

“I’m going to be home until Kieran gets here,” he added.

I paused, glancing over at him. “You don’t have to—”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Look, this is what we all agreed to, right?”

I exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Yeah,” I muttered, pushing away from the counter.

I took my coffee into the living room and dropped onto the couch, curling one leg under me as I grabbed the remote. I turned the TV on more for noise than anything else, something to fill the quiet.

Maybe check the weather.

I’d been thinking, if it wasn’t too hot, maybe we could go for a hike. Or drive out along the old Columbia River Highway, windows down, nowhere to be.

Something easy. Normal.

The TV murmured in the background, the local news blending into the rhythm of the morning. I cradled the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers, barely tasting the coffee.

Then something on the screen shifted. The chyron caught my eye before the words registered.

FOUR-ALARM WAREHOUSE FIRE - 1 FIREFIGHTER INJURED

Everything in me went still. Cold spread down my spine, sharp and immediate. I grabbed the remote and turned the volume up, my fingers suddenly unsteady.

The footage cut in, nighttime, but lit like day by fire. Flames tore through the roof in violent bursts, rolling upward in thick waves. Smoke poured into the sky, dense and black, swallowing everything above it.

“Cade!” I called out, my voice cracking. “Cade!”

The dark haired male reporter’s voice was calm.

“First on scene was Engine Forty-Seven.”

Footsteps, fast, down the hall. He ran into the living room, shirt unbuttoned, tie around his neck. “What,” he started, then stopped cold when he saw the screen. “Holy shit,” he breathed, dropping down onto the couch beside me.

My breath stopped. Engine 47 meant Kieran.

I leaned forward without realizing it, the coffee in my hands tipping dangerously close to the edge of the mug as my grip tightened. My heart started pounding, hard, fast, loud enough I could hear it in my ears.

“One firefighter was transported to the hospital after sustaining injuries in an explosion inside the building. Officials say the blast is believed to have been caused by a buildup of heat and gases, triggering what’s known as a flashover event. Crews were forced to temporarily pull back before re-entering the structure.” They showed some images from the fire, much earlier in the morning, before the sun came up.

“At this time, authorities have not released the identity of the injured firefighter, citing the ongoing nature of the incident and pending notification of family members. The extent of the firefighter’s injuries has also not been confirmed, though they were removed from the structure by fellow crew members and placed into an ambulance at the scene.”

“Video from the response shows the firefighter being removed from the structure by fellow crew members and taken directly to Engine 47 for initial treatment at the scene. Officials say he remained there as crews worked to stabilize him before he later lost consciousness and was transferred into a waiting ambulance. He was then transported to Legacy Mount Hood Medical Center for further evaluation and treatment.”

“Officials say updates will be provided as more information becomes available.”

The anchor’s expression on the desk shifted slightly as the footage cut back to the studio, still composed, still professional, but softer at the edges.

“We are, of course, keeping all those involved in our thoughts this morning,” she said. “And we send our prayers to the firefighters, their families, and everyone impacted by this developing situation.”

The screen replayed it again.

The blast hit first, one firefighter thrown backward onto the gravel of the parking lot, another slammed hard into the wall just inside the building.

My eyes caught on the second figure. Not clearly, the footage shot from a good distance away.

He rolled onto his stomach like it took everything he had left, dragging himself up on shaking arms. For a second, just a second, it looked like he might walk out. Before he took his first step, his weight gave out and he dropped back down hard, motionless for a beat too long. He tried again, but collapsed onto the ground before he even got up.

From a distance, I saw movement rush in, two firefighters grabbing him under the arms, hauling him toward Engine 47. The camera struggled to keep up, shaky and too far away, but it followed enough to show them laying him against the side of the rig.

An oxygen mask was forced over his face.

He didn’t fight it.

I saw him rip it away, violent, uncoordinated, before doubling over the side of the engine. Even from that distance, even through the grainy footage, it was obvious what happened next. He was sick over the side of the truck, body folding in on itself as someone moved in behind him.

The camera jolted, then cut away too quickly, back to fire, back to chaos, like it couldn’t hold on to what it had just captured, but I didn’t need it to stay on him.

I already knew. I knew that jaw, that chin, that hair.

Even if it wasn’t clear. Even if it wasn’t close.

It was Kieran.

My heart slammed so hard it hurt. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no,” I dropped the mug on the coffee table and grabbed my phone with shaking hands.

River: Are you okay?

I didn’t wait for a reply, pulling up his contact on my phone. My fingers shook as I hit call. It went straight to voicemail.

I texted again.

Nothing.

If I looked away, it would somehow make it worse. Cade was already pulling his phone out, his arm coming around my shoulders automatically, grounding, steady. I leaned into him without thinking, my entire body tight with panic.

The footage looped again. That moment, over and over. Cade lifted his phone, calling. We both listened, but it went straight to voicemail.

The next four hours were hell. I sat there, barely moving, eyes glued to the screen like it might suddenly give me more, another angle, another update, something that would tell me he was okay. My phone stayed clutched in my hand, screen lighting up every few seconds as I checked it again and again.

“You don’t know it was him,” Cade said for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice calm, even. “You couldn’t see his face.”

I shook my head, but the motion was weak, unconvincing.

“Engine 47,” I whispered. “He was there.”

Cade exhaled slowly, squeezing my shoulder. “And he’s one of the best guys they’ve got.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, burning.

“He’s fine, River,” he continued, firmer now. “If anything, he’s probably one of the guys who dragged that firefighter out.”

But every time the footage replayed, all I saw was the second body, slamming into the wall, collapsing, and not getting back up. It kept looping behind my eyes, sharp and intrusive, like my brain had decided I didn’t get a say in when it stopped.

I was still stuck there when the door open.

At first, I didn’t really register it. The sound blended into everything else, the TV still running, the dull noise in my head, the lingering echo of what I’d just seen. Even footsteps didn’t fully break through it. Not until a voice cut cleanly across the silence.

“Hey, beautiful girl.”

My head snapped up so fast my vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting slightly as my focus tried to catch up with my body.

Kieran stood in the doorway.

For a second, my brain refused to process it.

He was there, but not like usual easy way. Not solid in the way I’d started to rely on without realizing. His skin was pale under the living room light, almost gray around the edges. His eyes were half-lidded, like the brightness of the room hurt more than it should. One shoulder sat lower than the other, his posture slightly off, like his balance wasn’t fully his anymore.

Like gravity was optional and he wasn’t entirely sure which way it was supposed to pull him.

Jon was right beside him.

One hand was locked firmly around Kieran’s forearm, not restraining, steadying. Anchoring. The kind of grip that said I won’t let you fall, I’ve got you.

“Oh my God—Kieran!” I breathed.

The sound that came out of me wasn’t really a word as I jumped off the couch before I registered moving, crossing the room in two steps and crashing into him.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the impact, his body tightening reflexively like it hurt more than he wanted to show. One hand came up anyway, settling at my back, slower than usual, but there.

He smelled faintly like smoke still, but underneath it was hospital, cleaner, sharper. Antiseptic and oxygen. Like he hadn’t fully left that place behind yet.

Relief hit first, hard and immediate. So intense it almost buckled my knees. The fear followed right behind it, just as sharp, just as heavy.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. “Are you okay?” I whispered.

His expression softened, like he was trying to find a version of himself that wouldn’t scare me.

“I took a hit,” he said gently. His voice was rough, slightly slow around the edges, like his thoughts had to catch up to his mouth. “Concussion, and cracked ribs. Bruises. Mild smoke inhalation.”

A small exhale. “I’m gonna be fine. Just… noise and light are rough right now.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the windows, then back to me, like even the daylight was too much.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Jon said from beside him, steady as a wall. “ED did an MRI. No bleeding, no swelling. His brain’s good. Just needs sleep and rest.”

I looked at Jon then, really looked, searching his face like there might be something hidden underneath the calm.

Nothing.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself. “He’s okay?” I asked again, quieter.

Jon nodded slowly, his eyes watching me. “Yeah, River. He’s going to be fine.”

Something in my chest finally loosened, but only slightly, like a knot that had been pulled just a fraction less tight. Cade came closer now, standing just behind me. Jon shifted Kieran subtly toward me again, easing his weight without fully letting go, then straightened.

“One of the guys will bring his gear by later,” Jon said, glancing at Cade. “Truck too. We’ll get everything over here.”

“Appreciate it, man,” Cade said.

Jon gave a quick nod. “He’s gonna be out of it for a bit,” Jon added, eyes flicking briefly back to Kieran. “Keep things quiet. Low light. He declined pain management in the ED, so Tylenol every six hours. If he throws up again, gets worse, or can’t stay upright—call me.”

“We got it,” Cade said.

I looked at him. “You’re a paramedic, too?”

Jon smiled, “Yeah, can’t leave this one to himself.”

Kieran snorted, then winced. Jon shook his head grinning. “Dude, not the time.” Kieran groaned in response, and leaned on my shoulders.

Jon gave a final assessing look at Kieran, quick, practiced, the kind that came from watching too many people get hurt and needing to be sure they weren’t about to get worse.

Then his gaze shifted to me. “Call if anything changes. I’m going to leave my phone turned up.”

I swallowed hard, something tightening behind my eyes. “Jon… thank you.”

He held my gaze for a second longer than I expected. Then he gave a small nod, sharp and final, before turning toward the door. Cade gave him a final wave before closing the door.

The house clicked back into silence as the door shut softly behind him.

It wasn’t the same silence as before.

This one had weight in it.

I turned back to Kieran immediately, sliding his arm more securely over my shoulders before he could shift away. “Okay,” I said softly, forcing my voice to steady. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

His head tipped slightly, like even that small movement cost something.

“Do you need some help, River?” Cade asked, hovering close.

I shook my head quickly. “No. I’m okay. We’ll just go slow, right, Kier?” He just leaned into me a little more, and let me lead him down the hall to the guest room.

Cade gave me a nod and followed closely behind us as we moved.

Kieran let me guide him, his weight heavier than I expected, his steps slow and slightly uneven as we made our way down the hall. Every time he stumbled even a little, my heart jumped into my throat.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured, more for myself than for him.

“I know,” he said softly.

We reached the guest room, and I pushed the door open with my foot, keeping the lights off like he needed. The curtains were already drawn, the room dim and cool.

Perfect.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, a shaky breath leaving him like even that short walk had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.

Cade poked his head in the room before I shut the door. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” I nodded. “I already talked to the office, the deposition was moved, so I’m home the rest of the week.” I hugged him.

“Thanks, Cade.” I whispered in his ear as I hugged him.

“Take care of him, okay?” He said quietly. I nodded against his shoulder.

I stepped back and closed the door, Cade retreating down the hall to his office, and turned back to Kieran. “What can I do?”

“I need a shower,” he murmured. “Please, no lights. I can do it in the dark.” His hand found mine, grip loose but deliberate. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said reassuringly. After the hours of not knowing if he was okay, I was terrified to let him out of my sight. I guided him to the bathroom, keeping everything dim. “Do you need help undressing?”

He tilted his head and gave me that familiar, crooked grin. “Only if my… rebar gets a good rubdown.”

My eyes flew wide. “Kieran Donovan, are you serious right now?”

He chuckled softly as he worked at his belt. “Baby, you’re gonna learn, I never joke about a good rebar rubdown.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks despite everything else happening. “When you’re healed,” I said firmly, “I’ll consider it. For now, let’s focus on getting the smoke smell out of your hair.”

I helped him with his shirt and socks, then started the water for him. “I’ll just be right outside the door if you need me,” I said, and stepped out while he finished undressing and showered. I waited just outside the door until he called my name, quiet and soft.

When I stepped back in, I stopped short.

A towel sat low on his hips, knotted loosely like he’d thrown it on in a hurry. Water still clung to his skin in scattered droplets, catching the small bits of light as it tracked down his chest and disappeared into the fabric. His hair was damp too, darker than usual, pushed back messily like he’d run his hands through it more than once.

The tattoos were impossible to ignore up close.

I’d seen pieces of them before, edges of ink peeking out from sleeves, a glimpse along his ribs, but never all of it at once like this. They wrapped his arms in dark, intricate lines, a galaxy of blue and black curved over his chest and ribs on his right, the number ‘47’ on his left ribs. It was more than I’d ever taken in at one time, and my brain stalled for a beat too long trying to process all of it at once.

I realized I was staring. Heat rushed up my neck immediately.

Slowly, I forced my gaze upward, dragging it away from his chest to his face like it required effort.

He was already looking at me, grinning like the damned Cheshire cat. “Enjoying the view?”

My blush hit fast and unforgiving, spreading across my cheeks in a way I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hide. I should’ve looked away, should’ve said something clever or at least remotely composed.

Instead, I nodded.

I stepped closer, holding out the clothes I’d brought folded neatly in my hands. “Clean underwear and pajama pants,” I said, aiming for normal and landing somewhere slightly too quiet.

He took them from me, but didn’t let go right away.

His fingers closed around my wrist, warm and steady, and he gave a gentle tug that pulled me half a step closer before I could think about resisting it.

“Don’t feel embarrassed looking at me,” he whispered, eyes steady on mine. “All of this belongs to you now.” The words sent a shiver through me, equal parts desire and tenderness, and for a moment I forgot to breathe.

I swallowed. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

He leaned down and kissed me lightly, reverent despite the exhaustion. “Promises, promises,” he murmured, a soft laugh in his voice.

For the first time since I had seen the news, I let myself believe, really believe, that he was going to be okay.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

I woke later that afternoon in pieces, like my mind had to find its way back to my body before it was willing to fully arrive.

Everything hurt before I was even awake. My head throbbed in slow, steady pulses that made it hard to tell where the pain ended and my thoughts began. My ribs ached when I shifted, a deep soreness that pulled through my torso with even the smallest movement. My throat was dry and tight, like I’d been breathing smoke long after I should have stopped.

For a while, I just lay there and let the ceiling come into focus.

The room was quiet in a way that felt unfamiliar at first. Soft light filtered through half-drawn blinds, spilling across the floor in warm, pale stripes. It didn’t take long to place where I was, but it still took me a moment to accept it. Cade’s house.

And then I heard her.

River’s voice drifted in from the other room.

She was talking to Cade, low and easy, like the morning hadn’t been shattered by anything at all. There was a soft laugh somewhere in it too, something light and normal that didn’t belong to the world I’d left earlier. The sound of it hit me hard in the chest, sharp enough that I had to pause just to breathe through it.

Relief came in a wave so strong it nearly unsteadied me.

I stayed there longer than I needed to, just listening. Letting it anchor me, one voice at a time, until the edges of everything else stopped feeling so far away. Her presence, even just through sound, pulled me back into something that felt real.

Eventually, I moved slowly. It wasn’t easy. My body felt heavy, every joint had to be negotiated with before it would cooperate. My legs swung off the bed slower than they should have, and the moment my feet hit the floor I could feel the weight of everything again, the concussion, the bruises, the lingering ache in my ribs.

I made my way to the bathroom on pure instinct.

The mirror caught me in pieces when I turned on the light.

I didn’t look like myself in any way that mattered. My skin was pale, drawn tight from exhaustion and smoke exposure. Dark circles sat heavy under my eyes, and my hair stuck out in uneven angles like I’d given up on it halfway through sleep. A dark bruise colored my temple up to my hairline on my left temple. There was a faint, unsettled feeling in my balance that made me brace one hand against the sink without thinking.

I stared at my reflection for a second longer than I needed to.

It didn’t change anything.

I splashed cold water on my face anyway, letting it shock me back into something closer to alertness. The water helped more than I expected, cutting through the fog just enough for the world to feel slightly less distant when I straightened.

When I stepped back out, I could hear the living room more clearly again.

Cade shifting around, something set down on a table, River’s voice still soft but closer now.

I stopped in the doorway without meaning to.

She was standing just inside the open bedroom door, holding a plate in one hand and a can of Coke in the other. For a moment, I just looked at her.

The sunlight coming through the window caught her in a way that made everything around her look warmer, like she brought it with her. Her hair was a little messy, like she hadn’t bothered fixing it, and there was something steady in the way she stood there that made my chest tighten again.

The rest of it, the fire, the noise, the impact, the hospital, felt distant enough that I could pretend it belonged to someone else.

All of it narrowed down to this.

Her, right there in front of me.

I didn’t realize I’d been standing still staring at her until she smiled and ducked her head.

She stepped forward and held out the plate like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I made you something,” she said.

“An angel of mercy,” I said instead, quieter than I intended, stepping forward. I held her face in my hands, kissing her softly. When I pulled up, I pressed my aching head against hers. “Hey, baby.” I whispered.

“Hey handsome,” she whispered back.

When I finally opened my eyes, she was smiling up at me, and for a second everything I’d been holding in, everything I wasn’t ready to say yet, pressed against the inside of my chest.

I caught it before it spilled out. Not yet. It was too new, too fragile. I just let my hands rest lightly on her cheeks instead, grounding myself in the fact that she was here, my thumbs running lightly over her cheeks.

“Come on, sit down before you fall down,” she said softly, and led me to the side of the bed.

“Thank you,” I said simply, sitting down slowly.

She handed me the opened Coke, and I took a long, grateful sip, letting the fizzy sweetness fill my chest and calm the tightness that had built from panic and smoke inhalation. I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, letting her presence anchor me to the quiet, safe here-and-now. It was grounding. Healing.

“God bless Coke,” I murmured, and she laughed. The sound wove through the room, a gentle, steadying reminder that life still had sweetness, even after chaos. “What time is it?” I asked, glancing toward the shaded window.

“Just after seven. You slept all day.”

She placed the plate with the sandwich in front of me. Peanut butter and strawberry jelly, my favorite.

“You remembered.” I said as I inhaled deeply, savoring the faint sweetness, the comforting, familiar aroma. She sat next to me on the bed, and smiled.

“Hard to forget. It was one of the only things you ever made at our house.”

I took a bite and groaned immediately. Damn it, she had a way of making even the simplest things feel magical, like she had some secret recipe for happiness.

“You’re going to make me fall in love with you,” I said, completely serious, “if you keep spoiling me with delicious food and kisses.”

She chuckled and brushed a hand through my hair, warm and grounding, her touch sending a shiver through me despite the exhaustion that weighed me down. “How are you feeling?” she asked, eyes soft, filled with worry but tempered with humor, the way she always balanced strength and care.

I swallowed another bite, deadpan. “Like I got exploded.” Her glare was instant, sharp, yet laced with a quiet humor. I chuckled, which made me wince at the pain in my head. “Honestly, a little more myself?” I shrugged, then winced. No shrugging, yet. Got it.

I took another bite, letting the sweet and salty flavors keep me in the here and now. “Still have a horrific headache, and my whole body is one giant bruise.” I sighed. “And I am so fucking exhausted. I’m probably going back to sleep after this.”

She nodded, brushing my hair back from my eyes with a delicate touch that made my chest tighten. “Good. You need the rest, Kier.”

She was right. Another sip of Coke, a careful dose of Tylenol PM, and the sandwich finally finished, and the world softened at the edges. The harsh lines of the room, the ringing in my ears, all of it became manageable, background noise. I let my body sink back into the sheets, River sitting beside me, her presence steady, protective, grounding. Every breath she took, every slight movement, reminded me that I was safe, that I wasn’t alone.

I reached out slowly, almost tentatively, to touch her hand. Her fingers curled around mine, warm and soft, and I let them rest there, holding them lightly but deliberately, memorizing the reassurance her touch brought. The sensations were simple, but for me, they were profound. They reminded me that I was alive, that I had survived, and that I had someone to return to, someone who made survival worth it.

I could still feel it if I focused too long. The way the air inside the structure had turned wrong, too hot to be survivable, visibility dropping to nothing. Flashover conditions. I remember thinking that. I remember the calculation, the urgency, the part of my brain that was still trained to recognize when a building stops being predictable and starts becoming something you can’t outpace.

Then the explosion came. I remembered how it lifted me, threw me sideways like I didn’t weigh anything. I remember the impact more than the fall. My back slamming into something solid, helmet snapping hard.

Then everything became too much at once.

Heat. Smoke. The roar of the fire swallowing itself and everything around it. The PASS alarm screaming inside my helmet, relentless, like it was the only thing still trying to tell the world I was down.

I remember trying to move and not really getting anywhere. My body didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore. Just weight and noise and impact and the sense that the structure was still collapsing around us in slow, invisible pieces.

And through all of it, all I could think of was her. Heard her voice telling me to move, to get up.

I remember thinking of her in flashes I didn’t ask for. Small things, ordinary things that suddenly felt like they were the only real things I had left.

When I went down the second time, I remember thinking I wasn’t getting back up, not because I didn’t want to, but because I literally couldn’t.

I remember thinking I was sorry that I wasn’t making it back to her. That I’d told her I would. That I’d let her believe I’d be there and now I was running out of ways to fix that promise.

I swallowed hard, the memory sitting heavy in my chest as I finally let it surface fully into words. “I thought I wasn’t going to make it out,” I said quietly, my voice rougher than I expected. “When the blast hit, I couldn’t tell where anything was for a while. Everything just collapsed.”

I felt her shift from her place sitting near my knees, turning to face me fully. I kept my eyes closed. I couldn’t open them. It hurt, and I didn’t want to see her mixed with the memories I wanted off my chest.

“We were in a bad spot already. Flashover risk was high and we knew it. We were trying to get ahead of it, but we were behind it.” My jaw tightened slightly. “And when it went, it just took everything with it.”

Another pause, smaller this time.

“I remember thinking I was done,” I admitted, quieter now. “Not in a dramatic way, just that I wasn’t going to walk out of it. That I wasn’t going to get back to you.”

My throat tightened, and I exhaled slowly through it. “I kept thinking about how I’d told you I’d be back, and how I wasn’t going to be. And how much I,” I stopped myself, the words catching before they could fall out too fast. I swallowed again, forcing them steadier. “How sorry I was. That I didn’t get to keep that promise.”

My hand shifted slightly until my fingers found hers again, needing the contact more than I wanted to admit.

“I just needed you to know,” I said, voice softer now, closer to her than the memory. “Even when I thought I wasn’t going to make it, it was you. You were what I saw, what I could hear.” I swallowed.

I finally opened my eyes searching her face, grounding myself in the fact that she was real, here, breathing.

Her face was closer than I expected.

Not in a way that startled me. In a way that felt like she’d been there the whole time, just waiting for me to catch up.

Her eyes were locked on mine, wide and searching, like she was trying to read everything I hadn’t said out loud. There was too much in them to take in all at once. Relief, sharp and immediate, still lingering from the moment she’d realized I was standing in that doorway. Fear, quieter now but not gone, sitting just beneath the surface like it hadn’t decided if it was allowed to leave yet.

Her lashes were damp, like she’d either just blinked away tears or hadn’t quite managed to. There was a faint flush high on her cheeks, uneven, like emotion had been sitting there too long. A strand of hair had fallen loose near her face, catching in the light, and she hadn’t bothered to fix it.

She didn’t look put together.

She looked real.

Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, then didn’t. Her breathing wasn’t quite steady either, just enough of a hitch in it that I could see she was holding something back.

Her hand tightened around mine, not hard, but firm enough that I felt it all the way through me. Like she needed to be sure I was solid. That I wasn’t going to disappear if she let go.

I could see it in her face. She had seen something that morning that she couldn’t unsee… and she was here anyway.

Still looking at me like I had made it back to her when she hadn’t been sure I would.

My chest tightened at that, something quiet and overwhelming settling in behind it.

“You’re here,” she whispered, like she needed to say it out loud to believe it.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Yeah,” I said, just as quietly. “I made it.”

She didn’t answer right away, but she leaned forward.

It was slow, almost careful, like she wasn’t sure if I was fully there yet, or if I might break under too much at once. Her hand stayed wrapped around mine as she closed the small distance between us, her other hand coming up to rest lightly against my jaw.

Then her lips pressed to mine.

Soft. Barely there.

For a second, everything else fell away again. The ache in my body, the lingering noise in my head, the weight of what I’d just said. All of it quieted under something simpler. Warmer.

I felt it before I fully registered it. A single tear slipping free, trailing from her lashes, warm as it slid down and landed against my cheek. It slid slowly down my skin.

“Kieran?” she whispered, her lips still brushing mine, her breath warm and uneven.

“Yeah?” I murmured, my eyes still closed, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. I didn’t move, I didn’t want to. Not when she was this close, not when I could feel the slight tremor in her breath, the way her hand held onto mine like it mattered.

The silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t empty. Her breath hitched once, soft and unsteady, brushing across my lips.

“I…” she started, then stopped.

I felt her shift closer instead of pulling away, her forehead resting lightly against mine now, like she needed the support as much as I did. Her grip on me anchored there, warm and certain, even if her voice wasn’t yet.

“I love you, too.”

My eyes opened slowly, my breath caught halfway in, not sharp, or panicked. Just… held there, like my body didn’t know what to do with something that felt this big. For a second, I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All I could do was feel it, the weight of her words, the way they wrapped around everything I’d been carrying and made it lighter.

My hand tightened around hers in response, my eyes flicking between hers.

“Yeah?” I asked softly, the word barely more than an exhale. There was disbelief in it, but not doubt. Just the kind of quiet wonder that came from hearing something you didn’t realize you needed this much.

Her eyes searched mine, not guarded, not hesitant anymore. Vulnerable in a way that felt deliberate, like she was choosing it. Like she was choosing me.

It hit me then, fully. Not just what she’d said, but what it meant.

She had just seen me at my worst. Broken, burned out, barely holding myself together, unable to take care of myself fully. She’d been watching the news when I came in, that footage on repeat. She probably thought she might have lost me before she ever really had me.

And she stayed anyway.

A weight in my chest gave way with the realization. In a way that felt like something long held too tight had finally been allowed to loosen.

I lifted my hand, slower than usual, still careful of the lingering ache in my ribs, and brushed my thumb gently along her cheek. The skin there was warm, soft, still damp from where tears hadn’t fully dried.

“You don’t have to say it because of today,” I said quietly, not pulling my gaze from hers. “Because of what happened.” My voice was steady, but there was something underneath it. Something rawer. “I don’t want it to come from fear.”

Her expression shifted immediately, softening under my gaze. Her hand moved from where it rested against my jaw, sliding up to cradle the side of my face more fully, her fingers threading lightly into my hair. She shook her head once, small but firm.

“It’s not fear,” she said, her voice still soft but stronger now. “It’s not because I thought I lost you.” She took a breath, like she wanted me to hear every part of this. “It’s because I realized how much there was between us to lose.”

My throat tightened, and for a second I didn’t trust myself to respond. I just looked at her, taking in every detail like I needed to memorize it. The steadiness in her voice. The way her eyes didn’t waver. The way she held onto me like she had no intention of letting go.

“You were already there,” she added, quieter now. “I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

That did it. Whatever I’d been holding onto finally slipped.

I let out a slow breath, something unsteady easing out with it. “Yeah,” I said again, but it wasn’t disbelief anymore. It was acceptance, relief.

My hand slid from hers to her wrist, then up her arm, grounding myself in the feel of her, the warmth of her skin, the fact that she was here and not just something my brain had conjured up in a moment I thought might be my last.

“I heard you in there,” I admitted quietly. “In my head. When everything went sideways.” I swallowed. “It was your voice.”

Her breath caught, and I felt it.

“It’s probably the only reason I kept fighting to get up,” I added, not looking away. “Because the idea of not getting back to you—” I swallowed. “That wasn’t an option I could accept.”

Her hand on my face pressed harder, grounding me in the here and now, like she knew my mind was taking me back to that moment, when I couldn’t get up, couldn’t breathe. When all I could think was I’m sorry, baby.

“You did get back to me,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I did.” I murmured, my voice breaking a little even through I tried to hold it steady. “I fought like hell to get back to you. I’m not losing you now.”

I slid my hand up to her neck, and pulled her closer, pressing my lips to hers, not light this time. There was weight behind it now. Meaning. Everything we finally said wrapped up in something simple and real.

When I pulled back, I didn’t go far.

“You’re it for me, sweetheart,” I whispered. “I love you.” I felt her breath hitch against my lips, and I kissed her again, softly, still chaste, but as if I were sealing the words into us both.

I stayed close, close enough that our foreheads still touched, that our breaths still mingled in the small space between us. “This,” I murmured, my voice low, steady now in a way it hadn’t been before. “This is what I was fighting to get back to.”

River sat up slowly, one hand slipping into my hand that had been around her neck, the other hand still resting against my face and neck. “Promise me that you’ll rest now,” River whispered, her voice low, steady, and sure, threading through the fog of my thoughts.

“I promise,” I said, my eyes falling closed, my voice raw, nearly strangled with emotion. “Don’t leave.”

She brushed a strand of hair back from my forehead, lingering for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Her words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, grounding me, steadying me. I could feel the tension in my muscles start to lessen. I let myself sink deeper into the mattress, River still sitting beside me, her hand resting lightly on my cheek. Her warmth, her attention, her quiet strength, they tethered me to a peace I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.

She leaned slightly closer, tilting her head, her eyes soft and concerned. “You’re safe now, Kier. You’re with me. I’ve got you,” she whispered, her voice wrapping around me, steadying me, a balm to my frayed nerves.

Her hand tightened around mine in a small, comforting squeeze, and I let myself relax into her touch, feeling the tension of the fire, the concussion, the panic, all melt just slightly. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me now.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, closing my eyes, letting my body sink fully into the sheets, letting her warmth and presence protect me, comfort me. “You and me.”

This was real. This was safe. This was home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next time I woke, it was the middle of the night. I glanced up at the clock beside me, it was just after one in the morning.

Confusion came first. Something warm pressed against me, soft hair tickling my nose. Then realization hit, hot and instant. River. She was curled against my shoulder, one arm draped across my abdomen like she had claimed me in her sleep.

Even in sleep, I had curled around her, instinctively, like I knew I needed her close. My chest thudded with relief. I tightened my hold on her, pressing a careful kiss to the top of her head, running my hands along the curves of her body beneath the sheets.

Safe.

She shifted, moving closer, one leg lifting to rest on my thigh, and my body betrayed me instantly. I groaned quietly, hating myself even as it happened. I watched in horror as the loose sheets covering us began to rise, forming an obnoxious tent I couldn’t fix without waking her.

Panic clawed at me. I was supposed to be the calm, steady one. Instead, I was staring down the consequences of… well, everything. My face heated, and I could feel my ears burning.

Desperation made me start reciting quietly to myself, the names of the 1942 Yankees lineup, despite the fact that it was making my headache worse. Better a headache than a fucking tent.

Lou Gehrig. Joe DiMaggio. Bill Dickey. Red Ruffing. Spitting them out like some ridiculous incantation. I had no idea if it was the anxiety, the embarrassment, or the fact that she was literally pressed into me in a way that made my heart race, but it was all I could think to do.

I prayed silently that she stayed asleep. I was going to be mortified beyond belief if she woke to this. My cheeks burned at the thought, my fingers digging lightly into the mattress as I tried to keep my breathing steady.

All the while, she was there, oblivious, warm, soft… and mine. Which made the whole situation worse. I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against me, the soft skin of her arm wrapped around my abdomen, making the muscles there contract painfully.

Her head shifted against my chest, her sleepy voice rumbling softly. “Kieran...? Are you okay?”

I wished the floor, or the universe, would swallow me whole. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, I’m grand. How are you? Or: No, I’m dying of literal mortification. Neither sounded right. Maybe I could pretend to be asleep.

She moved again, pulling her body slightly away, like she was afraid she was hurting me.

“I’m okay,” I bit out, voice tight. “Just… uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Kieran, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, moving away from me.

I tightened my arm behind her, holding her closer. “No, honey. It’s not you,” I said, feeling about two inches tall. Well… maybe closer to eight.

I kept my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to look at her, not like this.

“What?” she murmured. Then she paused. “Oh.” Her voice held that soft little laugh. “Rebar.”

If I wasn’t so mortified, I would’ve laughed. I groaned silently, wishing I could just die. Throw me in a hole and walk away.

“Do you... need help with that?”

My eyes flew open then. “What?”

She was biting her lower lip. “Did you need help with that?” She said gesturing with a tilt of her head to the tented sheet.

Was I dreaming? That’s what this was wasn’t it. A concussion induced fantasy.

Before I could decide if she were serious or not, her hand started to slide down my abdomen, fingertips brushing against my pajama bottoms. I hissed a breath at her touch. “Is that a yes?” She whispered as she moved her body, her hand sliding lower while her lips found mine.

I didn’t think anything would top kissing her lips, until her hand wrapped around my shaft. I gasped in to her mouth. That seemed to make her grin against my lips. She wasn’t even touching the skin yet, just her hand wrapped around my shaft with layers of pajama pants and boxer briefs between us.

“Kieran?” She asked sliding her hand down my shaft, making my eye roll back in my head. I groaned, completely unable to form words.

Taking me at my lack of words, she moved her hand to push the front of my sleep pants and underwear down. In moments, my cock popped free of my clothes, still covered entirely by the sheet. Her hand slowly moved over me, gripping me at the base. I swallowed a moan and squeezed my eyes shut.

Do not come yet, I started to chant mentally. Do not come yet. She’ll think you’re a two pump chump. But fuck me sideways, it was taking every bit of control I had not to come in her hand as soon as her fingers started to move.

I was trying to not make any noise, knowing Cade was in the next room. Her hand started to slide up the shaft, stroking me gently, her wrist twisting as she moved up. Her palm slid over the tip, smearing my precum against her hand, and I groaned, my hips bucking into her hand involuntarily. I felt her breath hitch, and her hips moved against mine.

She started to pump me slowly, her hand now slick from my pre-come, tight as she slide from base to tip, swirling her palm around my crown on each up stroke. I groaned low in my throat.

“Fuck, River...” her hand started to pump faster, as if she could read exactly what my body was trying to tell her. It was excruciating, I wanted to thrust into her hand, wanted to just release. I felt the familiar tightening in my balls and I knew it was out of my control now.

“Shit, baby, I’m really close,” I ground out.

She moved suddenly flipping the sheets down, baring my flesh to the entire room. I looked down and saw her hand wrapped around me, the sight so erotic I had to tense the muscles in my legs and abs to hold off my orgasm. Her hands were small, and made my already decently sized cock look massive.

She crawled over me, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and gave me a wicked look.

I knew what she was going to do a split second before it happened. She stroked all the way down and replace her hand with her mouth, keeping her left hand on my base, holding it steady, while her right hand moved to my balls, cupping them.

“Oh my fucking Christ,” I breathed. “River, you…” I groaned as she licked my crown. “..you don’t have to do this.” I slipped my hands in her hair as she moved down, tongue swirling around my crown then my shaft and the I was hitting the back of her throat, completely ignoring my pleas.

“Oh fuck, River,” I moaned, as my hips pumped forward into her mouth and throat. “River, I’m really close, you need to move,” I groaned. I looked down at her, and knew in that moment, this would be burned into my brain for the rest of time. Her dark head bobbing all the way down to my hips, my cock in her throat, her eyes shining brightly.

I swear if she had lifted her head off my cock, she’d have a smirk on her face.

She looked up at me, and winked.

She fucking winked.

Her mouth full of my cock, my hands in her hair and the woman fucking winked at me.

I couldn’t stop the roar that ripped from my chest, “I’m coming,” I yelled. “River, oh god, River,” I knew I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop, my orgasm screaming through me. My eyes rolled back as my body bucked of its own volition. I could feel her swallowing me down, her throat working, her tongue continuing to swirl.

Every muscle in my body trembled with my seemingly never ending orgasm. I pumped into her throat, and felt her swallow every single spurt.

It ended slowly, my exhausted body collapsing back into the bed, completely languid, and only half conscious. I felt her mouth slide off of me, and carefully pulled my underwear and sleep pants back into place. She placed a soft lingering kiss on my abdomen, right above my pajama pants, and slid back up into my arms as I started to drift off again. I turned into her burying my head in her hair.

“Thank-you,” I murmured already starting to doze.

She giggled. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Besides I hear a good orgasm can help with headaches.” She replied with a laugh.

“Umm.” I murmured. “I’m pretty sure that’s true. I feel better already.”

She was giggling as I fell asleep again.

Kieran

I woke before the sun.

It was the kind of waking that came softly, without panic or alarms or the residual ache of a bad night’s sleep. For a few disoriented seconds, I didn’t move. I just breathed and listened.

The house was quiet, deep quiet. The kind that only existed in the earliest hours, when the world hadn’t decided to start waking up yet. Somewhere far off, a appliances hummed. There were no sirens. No radios. No controlled chaos.

She was still curled against me, warm and solid, her back tucked into my chest. My arm was still beneath her head. Her hair had come loose, strands fanned across my forearm and my collarbone. Every breath she took brushed her back lightly against my chest.

I had woken up next to women before in my youth. Plenty of times, too many times, if I was honest. Those mornings had always been about escape, about slipping out before names or expectations or regret set in.

This was different. This felt sacred. Fragile, like something that needed protecting.

Carefully, slowly, I tilted my head just enough to look down at her. Her face was turned slightly toward the mattress, her lips parted in sleep. There was a faint crease between her brows even now, like her body hadn’t fully let go of the fear from the night before.

I shifted just enough to free my arm, then slid it back beneath her head more carefully, adjusting until she sighed again and relaxed. My other hand moved on its own, resting over her ribs while my thumb traced slow, absent circles.

I had pulled people out of wreckage. I had held strangers together while waiting for help. I had watched life flicker out in my hands. I had coached women, and caught new life in my hands before we could get them to a hospital.

None of that compared to the weight of that moment.

I pressed my forehead lightly to the back of her head and closed my eyes, memorizing the way she felt, the way she smelled, the simple miracle of waking up beside her like this again. Yesterday had felt like such a fluke, like I may never get the chance to wake up with her hair in my face, her body against mine again.

But here she was, curled against me like I was her safe place.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

5:00 a.m.

The number glared up at me from my watch like an accusation. I let out a slow sigh, careful not to jostle her too much. If I didn’t leave by six fifteen, I wasn’t going to make shift change. And if I didn’t make shift change, Mateo would never let me live it down.

I started to ease away from her, inch by inch, already missing the warmth of her body against mine.

No such luck.

Her hand tightened around my wrist, fingers curling like she was anchoring me in place. My chest did that stupid, painful swelling thing again. I leaned over her carefully and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“Hey,” I murmured. “Honey, I’ve gotta get ready for work.”

She groaned, low and sleepy, pressing back into me like her body was staging a protest. For half a second, I considered calling in sick. Quitting my job. Moving to a cabin somewhere in the woods and never leaving this bed.

Then she exhaled, nodded faintly, and shifted, lifting her head off my arm.

“Unacceptable,” she muttered, but she rolled onto her back anyway, pushing her hair out of her face with a sleepy swipe.

I propped myself up on my elbow, taking her in, rumpled, bare-faced, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it.

I traced the small details, the faint crease between her brows, the slow blink of her lashes as she started to wake, the way her hand had curled loosely near her face, like she hadn’t quite decided if she was getting up yet or not.

My heart thudded hard in my chest.

I’d seen her a hundred different ways growing up, laughing, annoyed, stubborn as hell, but this… this felt like something I hadn’t been meant to see.

Something that felt like it belonged to me now, in a way that made my pulse slow and steady instead of restless.

I reached out before I could stop myself, brushing a piece of hair back from her face, my fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Morning, pretty lady,” I said, quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open a little more at the sound, still heavy with sleep, and landed on me. “How on earth are you this charming this early?”

I chuckled softly. “Natural talent.”

I leaned down and kissed her, slow and unhurried, like I was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth before my job pulled me away. She sighed into it, her hand drifting up to the back of my neck.

“I really do have to get ready,” I said against her lips, even as I immediately nuzzled into the soft skin of her neck. “I absolutely do not have time for a make-out session,” I added, my voice already betraying me.

She laughed softly beneath me. “Are you telling you or me?”

I groaned and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Both of us.” My mouth drifted across her collarbone, and she made a soft sound that went straight down my spine.

“Five more minutes?” She asked on a soft whimper.

How the fuck could I resist that? “Yeah,” I groaned, and rolled over onto her, slipping between her thighs, pressing my body onto hers, my lips finding hers again. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her body rolling under mine.

I groaned into her mouth, our tongues tangling together. I was rock hard, and having a hard time not griding hips against her just to feel the friction. Her body arched against me, and I lost the only restraint I had, and ground into her, my right hand moving from where it rested holding me up, to cup her breast over her tank top.

I shuddered, my thumb rolling over her hard nipple. She gasped into my mouth, her chest arching into my palm. I kissed down her jaw to her neck. “Fuck, I want you so bad, River,” I murmured against her skin.

Her only response was to lift her hips and grind on me. My hand on her tit tightened as I ground back down against her. She whimpered beneath me. I kissed her collarbone, my tongue flicked over the sensitive skin. Her hands moved, holding on to my shoulders, her short nails biting into the skin.

I kissed her tank top covered sternum, then against my better judgement, I pressed a soft kiss to the side of her breast. She hissed a breath, her nails biting harder into me. I grinned to myself, then leaved in, and pressed my lips against her still covered nipple.

Her hips bucked against mine and it was like cold water.

God, I wanted inside her, but not here, not like this. Not when I had to get up and go to work. I didn’t want a quick fuck before work. I wanted to worship, touch, taste every single inch of this body. I wanted to feel her come on my fingers, wanted to taste her as she came on my lips, and god, did I want to hear her scream my name while I fucked her.

I dropped my forehead to her chest with a defeated groan. “Okay,” I muttered. “I have to get up.” I shuddered a breath. “I really have to go to work.” I said again. I lifted my head and pressed another kiss to her collarbone an she made that noise again that made me want to just rip her shorts off and slide into her, consequences be damned.

Late for work? Who fucking cares, I was just inside River.

Yeah, I’m sure the Cap would just love that excuse.

“Fuck,” I grunted, pulling myself away. “Babe, I really have to get ready for work.”

“You keep saying that,” she mumbled, wrapping her legs around my hips and rolling against me. I flexed my hips, rubbing against her that felt like the most amazing torture imaginable.

“I’m trying to do this right,” I whispered before I nipped at her neck again.

“Very noble,” she moaned into my ear. She slid her tongue around my earlobe, and my eyes rolled back in my head.

Shit, I was about two second from coming in my pants.

I groaned as I rolled off of her, and moved to the edge of the bed. “Shit.”

She blinked at me when I sat back. “What?”

I shook my head. “It is way too easy to get carried away with you, babe.” She raised an eyebrow.

“And that is bad, how?”

I grinned, though I could feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. “I need a cold shower and to recite the names of all the 1934 Red Sox players.”

That seemed to click. Her lips curved slowly, something wicked flashing in her eyes. “Oh,” she said lightly. “That bad?”

I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that bad.” I laughed again. “Couldn’t you tell?”

She blushed, and god, it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. “Oh, I noticed.” She whispered.

She was literally perfect. A temptress just moments before, now she was shy about knowing I was hard as a rock for her. I leaned back, stole one last kiss, quick, lingering, and a little dangerous, then sat on the edge of the bed and glanced down at myself.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “What is this? Concrete and rebar?”

She lost it, rolling onto her stomach to muffle her laughter in the pillow. I looked over my shoulder and flashed her a cocky smile. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” I told her. “You did this.”

She nodded, completely unrepentant. “And I will do it again,” she promised, still laughing.

I shook my head, chuckling to myself as I stood and headed for the bathroom.

Yeah. I could absolutely do this for the rest of my life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

River

The bedroom felt noticeably quieter once the bathroom door clicked shut behind Kieran. A moment later the shower started, water rushing steadily through the pipes in a low, familiar hum that filled the house with soft background noise. I stayed where I was for a few seconds, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling with a ridiculous smile still lingering on my face. My body felt warm and loose from sleep, but more than that, it still carried the memory of him, his arm around me, the weight of his chest against my back, the steady rhythm of his breathing in the dark.

My body was humming in a way it hadn’t in over a year… maybe longer, if I were honest with myself. Kieran woke up the part of me that still enjoyed the touch of another human, that still wanted to trust that the touch wouldn’t end in pain.

I remembered his discussion with himself or maybe to an entity, about me last night.

“Don’t let me make her feel like I don’t love her. Please don’t let her ever question that.”

My heart fluttered at his words echoing through my brain. He hadn’t said the words to me, not really, he thought I was asleep, but still…

Kieran Donovan loved me.

Me, River Scout, the dorky little sister of his best friend. The one who always wore her hair in braids and those ridiculous Harry Potter-esque glasses my mother insisted I wear. That dorky girl who helped both Kier and Cade with their high school homework when I was in middle school. The one who had been able to boss him around as a kid, like I already had him wrapped around my finger. Cade had hated that. I could remember more than once Cade telling Kier he was going to spoil me.

But Kier always did what I asked, without fail, without having to ask a second time.

Kieran Donovan, the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life, a literal fireman paramedic, loved me.

Me.

Was this the Twilight Zone?

You know what, no. I’m not going to look to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

Eventually I pushed the blankets aside and sat up, stretching slowly until my muscles loosened and the last remnants of sleep began to fade. The house was still dim, the early morning light just barely starting to creep in around the edges of the curtains. I slipped out of bed and moved quietly down the hallway toward the kitchen, drawn by habit more than anything else.

Coffee came first. It always did. The elixir of the gods, of life itself.

The kitchen tiles felt cool beneath my bare feet as I stepped inside. The faint blue-gray light of dawn filtered through the window above the sink, giving the room a soft, quiet stillness that only existed in the earliest hours of the day. I moved through the familiar motions without really thinking about them, placing the filter in the machine, scooping the grounds, filling the reservoir with water. My body operated entirely on muscle memory while my mind lingered somewhere else entirely.

Mostly on the man currently occupying the shower down the hall.

I could still feel the places where he had been pressed against me in bed, the lingering warmth of his body wrapped around mine. Just thinking about it made my chest tighten in a way that felt both overwhelming and strangely peaceful.

The coffee machine finished brewing with a soft gurgle, pulling me back to the present. I poured myself a mug and leaned against the counter, wrapping both hands around the ceramic to soak up the warmth as I stared out the kitchen window at the lightening sky. The first sip was strong and bitter in the best way, and I let out a quiet sigh as the heat spread through my chest.

Outside the kitchen window, the sky was beginning to lighten. The deep darkness of night had softened into a pale blue-gray, the kind of color that meant the sun would be climbing over the horizon soon whether I was ready for it or not. I closed my eyes for a moment and simply stood there, enjoying the quiet.

That was when I heard him.

The sound was subtle, barely more than the faint shift of footsteps moving through the hallway, but something in me recognized it instantly. I didn’t need to see him to know it was Kieran.

Still, I turned. Even though I had expected him, my breath caught in my throat the moment I saw him standing there.

He was dressed for work now. The transformation from the sleepy man who had been tangled with me in the sheets with me only minutes earlier, to fully outfitted paramedic was startling in the best possible way. Black cargo pants sat low on his hips, paired with a dark station T-shirt tucked neatly into them. A black leather belt circled his waist, the metal buckle catching the early morning light. His hair had been combed back but still held the faint dampness of the shower, and his freshly shaved face made the sharp lines of his jaw even more pronounced.

There was something about the whole picture that struck me harder than I expected. He looked steady. Grounded. Like someone who belonged out there in the world doing something meaningful.

The kind of man people relied on.

He noticed me staring and broke into a crooked grin. “I knew I could trust you with the caffeine.” His voice carried that familiar warmth that made my stomach flip in a way I was still getting used to.

I laughed softly and set my mug down on the counter. “Do you have time for a cup?” I asked, already turning toward the cabinet to grab another mug.

I barely took a step before I felt him behind me.

The shift in the air was immediate. Heat surrounded me as his hands settled firmly on my hips, pulling me back against him with an ease that suggested he had done it a thousand times before. His face dipped into my hair, and I felt the gentle brush of his mouth against the side of my neck.

“Mmm,” he murmured near my ear, his voice low and rough in a way that made my stomach flip. “I’d rather spend my time on things other than caffeine.”

I couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out as his body pressed closer. The memory of his earlier predicament flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Feels like you might still have an issue with… rebar… back there,” I said lightly, wiggling my hips just slightly against him.

Yep, rebar remained.

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

Before I could respond, his hands shifted. In one smooth movement he turned me around, lifted me clean off the floor, and set me down on the kitchen counter as if I weighed nothing at all.

“Kieran!” I yelped, startled laughter bubbling out of me as I grabbed his shoulders for balance.

“Much better,” he said with a satisfied grin. “Now we’re eye level.” He stepped between my thighs, pushing them further apart, and yanked me forward, so I was sitting on the edge of the counter. “Okay?” He asked softly, his nose sliding along mine.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

His hands were still resting on my hips when he leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, the kind that made time blur at the edges. My arms slipped instinctively around his neck as I kissed him back, completely forgetting about the coffee cooling on the counter beside us. For a few seconds the rest of the world simply disappeared.

He groaned into my mouth, wrapping his arms around me, and pulling me tighter against him. I felt like I couldn’t get close enough, touch him enough. I pulled him closer with my legs, wrapping them around his hips.

Kieran grunted his approval in my mouth, as one hand slid up my ribs toward my chest. His hand slid over my breast, and arched my body into him. “Fuck,” he grunted and ran his thumb over my nipple.

I whimpered, and he pressed his lips against mine again, his thumb and fingers plucking at my hardened nipple. “I’m going to be thinking about this my entire shift,” he said slowly.

“Yeah?” I whispered against his lips.

He kissed my cheek and then my jaw before he kissed my neck. “Fuck, River, you have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

I did my best to roll my body against his, to rub against him. “I have an idea.” I whispered back. “Your rebar is pretty obvious.” He flexed his hips, pushing himself tighter against me.

His hand at my waist came up to my hair, fisting in it and then pulling me back to his lips. He tasted like toothpaste and–

“Fucking Christ almighty.”

The voice shattered the moment like a dropped glass.

Both of us jumped. Kieran dropped his hands from my chest and hair, and I let my legs fall off his hips. I popped a hand over my mouth, my eyes wide.

Cade stood in the kitchen doorway, one hand dragging down his face like he was trying to wipe away the image in front of him. The expression he wore suggested he deeply regretted every decision that had led him to walk into the kitchen at that exact moment.

Kieran, however, looked entirely unbothered.

He flashed Cade an easy grin before leaning in to kiss me one more time, quick, but full of quiet affection. Then he lifted me off the counter and set me gently back on my feet.

“I’ll be back tomorrow around eight in the morning, okay, sweetheart?” he said softly. I nodded. “Okay, be safe. Text me.”

“I will,” I said nodding. I leaned up to press a small kiss against his chin. “Go save lives, handsome.”

Cade groaned loudly behind him. “Yeah. Just… go.” He said waving him away.

Kieran pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and grinned as he stepped away. “Jesus, Kier, just leave already.” Cade grumbled. Kieran laughed as he brushed past him and headed toward the front door. He grabbed his work bag that he’d set by the door the night before, and just before stepping out, he glanced back over his shoulder. Our eyes met across the kitchen, and he gave me a quick wink.

Then the door closed behind him.

For a few seconds, I remained standing exactly where I was, still smiling in a way that felt completely out of my control.

“You look like a lovesick teenager,” Cade muttered as he wandered over to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug.

I turned and shot him an exaggerated glare. “And you’re becoming a scrooge,” I replied. “You need a girlfriend.”

“Pfft.” He snorted and took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, like I need a hole in my head.”

Normally I might have argued with him, this morning, though, I didn’t even bother. Because somewhere out there, driving through the waking city, was a man who had chosen me.

A man who loved me.

Standing there in the quiet kitchen, with the morning sun just beginning to creep through the windows, my brother muttering about needing a bell around his neck, I realized something with absolute certainty. I couldn’t think of a single thing more a girl could ask for.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kieran

By mid-morning, the teasing had reached full force. I should have known better than to expect mercy from a room full of firefighters with nothing better to do between calls. The day room had settled into its usual mid-shift rhythm, coffee mugs scattered across the table, the television muttering quietly in the background, boots kicked off near the couches while the guys leaned back pretending to relax. In reality, everyone was half-alert, always waiting for the radio to crack to life.

And I had given them something far more entertaining to focus on.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and I knew without looking it was River’s name glowed on the screen. My chest did that stupid little flip, and I caught myself smiling, just like I always did.

Damn it.

I shoved it back in my pocket, hoping the grin didn’t reach my face.

Mateo was the first to notice. “Oh my God,” he groaned dramatically from across the room, hand to his forehead like I’d just committed a crime. “Look at him. Look at his face. I’m gonna throw up.”

I rolled my eyes without looking up. “You’re being dramatic,” I muttered.

Jon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, squinting his blue eyes at me like I was a rare species in the wild. “No, seriously. That’s the face. That’s the exact face my cousin made when he got engaged.”

“I’m not making a face,” I said flatly.

Matt, leaning against the wall with his third cup of coffee, pointed at me. “You absolutely are. It’s the ‘I just got a text from my girlfriend’ face.”

Lucas grinned. “Correction. That’s the ‘I’m in deep and don’t even realize it’ face.”

I leaned against the wall. “You’re all insufferable,” I said, but I couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile.

“Not even close,” Declan said cheerfully from the far end of the table.

Mateo wandered over and gave me a shove on the shoulder. “Last guy I saw grinning like that at his phone ended up proposing. You planning that already, or what?”

I shot him a look, folding my arms over my chest. “First of all, she’s–”

“Ah!” Jon interrupted, pointing at me like he’d caught me in the act. “Did you hear that? He hesitated. That’s hesitation. That’s the sound of a man already picturing wedding invitations.”

“Please stop talking,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Lucas nudged me. “Come on, man. You’ve checked that phone like ten times in the last fifteen minutes.”

I shook my head, trying to focus. “That’s not true.”

Matt snorted. “It absolutely is.”

“Besides,” Mateo added with a grin, “we all know how this goes. First it’s texting. Then it’s bringing her to the station barbecue. Then suddenly we’re all wearing suits and you’re crying through your vows.”

I stared at him. “You are unbelievably committed to this bit.”

Mateo just shrugged. “I care about your future.”

I felt the corner of my mouth twitch upward. I knew they were relentless, but the truth was, I couldn’t entirely blame them. Even I knew this felt different.

My phone buzzed again. I froze.

Jon pointed at me like a referee calling a foul. “There it is!”

I pulled it out. River’s message filled the screen.

River: Ok, I will. Be safe. Miss you. ❤️😘

My chest flipped again, that stupid little warm rush spreading through me. I knew I was grinning at my phone, probably looking like a love sick idiot, but it was impossible not to. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and tried to focus on the teasing around me, though I knew it was hopeless.

Mateo leaned over my shoulder. “Oh my God, he’s smiling.”

“I’m not smiling,” I muttered, though the corners of my lips betrayed me.

“You are,” Lucas said with certainty.

Jon added, “Just sitting there like a lovesick puppy.”

I shook my head. “You’re all insufferable,” I said.

That was when the tones dropped. I’d never been so relived for a call in my career.

It was like that the rest of the day, every time we had time between calls, it was time to make fun of me, but we’d only have minutes of down time before the tones would drop again.

I was just starting to drift off on the couch a little after two in the morning, some random infomercial on the TV, lighting the room softly, when the tones dropped again, but this time, the sharp crackle of the radio cut through the room with it.

The sound didn’t just wake me, it snapped something tight inside my chest. Every conversation died instantly. Every head turned toward the wall speaker.

“Warehouse fire, possible victims trapped inside.”

That switch flipped. Fatigue? Gone. The long shift, the bullshit jokes, the quiet moments, they all disappeared like they’d never existed. My body was already moving before the dispatch finished.

This was muscle memory. This was survival.

I shoved my legs into my turnout pants, yanked the suspenders up, jammed my arms into my coat. Helmet. Hood. Gloves. Every movement was fast, precise, ritualistic. The kind of rhythm you only earn after years of doing this job… and years of fighting like hell to be the kind of man who deserved to.

Every buckle I snapped into place grounded me. Kept me sharp, kept me present.

We piled into the engine, boots thudding against metal, doors slamming hard enough to rattle the frame. The siren wailed to life a second later, high and relentless, cutting through the night as the rig lurched forward.

Lights strobed red and white across the cab, flashing over faces, gear, hands already moving on instinct. Someone was calling something out up front, but it got swallowed by the engine’s roar and the scream of the siren.

Outside, the city dissolved into streaks of color, headlights smearing into long white lines, the little traffic out at two a.m., jerking out of the way, shadows snapping past us in jagged bursts. Every turn came fast and sharp, the weight of the engine shifting beneath us as we tore through intersections without slowing.

By the time we rolled up, the warehouse was already fully engulfed.

Flames ripped through the roof in violent bursts, rolling up into the sky like mild detonations. Windows blew out one after another with dull, concussive thuds, coughing out black smoke and shards of glass.

The entire structure seemed to pulse, walls bowing outward, then sucking back in, as if the building itself were trying and failing to breathe. I don’t know who first described a fire as a living thing, but they weren’t wrong. Fires, especially big ones like this, were absolutely alive. Pulsating and moving, eating every drop of oxygen and flammable material available.

Thick, black smoke churned upward in heavy columns, swallowing the sky whole. It blotted out everything, the stars, the streetlights, the distance, until the world narrowed to fire, heat, smoke and ash.

The second my boots hit the pavement, it hit me. It wasn’t warmth, not even heat, it was pressure. No one tells you about the pressure, just the heat, the smoke. But the pressure… it hits like a fist to the chest, and if you’re not prepared for it, it will knock you on your ass.

It slammed into my chest and shoulders, pressing through the layers of my gear like a physical weight. It wrapped around me, suffocating, invasive, alive in a way that made my instincts spike. My face shield fogged instantly, vision smearing as sweat broke across my skin in a sudden, overwhelming rush.

The air felt wrong. Superheated. Hostile.

Every breath through the mask came thin and dry, like I was pulling air through sandpaper. Mechanical. Not enough.

“Reports say at least five inside!” someone shouted, their voice sharp, urgent, barely cutting through the noise.

Five.

Five people in there.

My jaw tightened as I clipped my regulator into place. The connection locked with a solid click, followed by the sharp, pressurized hiss of oxygen flooding the line, loud in my ears, louder than my own breathing.

“I’ve got air. Donovan going interior,” I barked into the radio, voice clipped, automatic. Mateo was there before I even turned. One look, steady and focused, and he gave a nod.

“Santos on Donovan’s six,” he said through the radio.

We moved for the structure. The heat intensified with every step, pushing against us, thickening the air until it felt like we were walking into resistance. I took point, Mateo’s gloved hand locked onto my left shoulder, a constant anchor as visibility dropped off almost immediately.

We pushed forward, shouting as we went.

“Fire department! Call out!”

“Anyone inside, make noise!”

Our voices disappeared almost as soon as they left us, swallowed whole.

The doorway hit like a boundary line; one step through, and the world collapsed into black and orange. The fire owned the space now. It wasn’t fit for any living thing anymore. It crawled and surged across the ceiling in rolling waves, thick and turbulent, heat banking down low enough to make my instincts spike.

Flashover territory. Shit.

“Fuck,” I muttered, sweeping my light across the room, trying to read the conditions through the chaos. We were already running out of time, we’d walked in behind the fire instead of ahead of it. “Watch for flashover,” I yelled into the radio. Mateo’s hand tightened on my shoulder in acknowledgement.

The smoke was absolute.

It didn’t drift or hang, it filled, dense and choking, eating the beam of my flashlight until it dulled to a weak, useless glow. It didn’t illuminate anything, just marked where my hand was.

Every step became deliberate guesswork. My boots probed forward before committing weight, crunching over debris I couldn’t see. My free hand swept low and wide, gloved fingers dragging across broken surfaces, wood, metal, something that shifted and gave way under pressure.

I dropped lower, instinct forcing me down, trying to stay beneath the worst of the heat. Even there, it pressed in, relentless.

The noise… It wasn’t background noise. It was everything.

Fire roared like a living thing, deep and hungry, filling every inch of space. It screamed through the structure as it fed, devouring whatever it could reach. Metal shelving twisted somewhere nearby with a high, tortured shriek. Glass burst in sharp, violent pops deeper inside. Above us, the ceiling groaned, long, heavy, unstable.

I moved anyway.

Slow and methodical. Sweeping, pausing, listening.

“Fire department! Call out!”

I strained for it, any break in the noise, any human sound. A voice. A cough. Movement. Anything, but there was nothing.

There was just the constant roar of the fire, the twisting of metal, the sound of wood popping.

Then the radio cut through it: sharp, distorted, urgent. “Pull back! Pull back now!”

My head snapped up, but the command came too late.

The explosion didn’t sound like a bang. It was pressure first, a violent, concussive force that hit my chest like a sledgehammer. For a split second, everything seemed to fold inward then the world itself was torn apart.

The world detonated in every direction. Heat, light, sound. All at once, everywhere.

The blast threw me sideways, lifting me off my feet like I weighed nothing. I hit hard, back first, then helmet, slamming into something unyielding. The crack of impact kicked all breath from my lungs, and rang through my skull, a sharp, blinding spike of pain detonating behind my eyes.

For a second, everything went white. Not bright, but empty, wiped clean.

Then the ringing came screaming in. High-pitched, constant and consuming. It drowned everything else out.

My body didn’t want to respond. I was on my back, limbs scattered, heavy and distant, like they weren’t mine anymore. My chest locked up, muscles seizing as I tried to pull in a breath through the regulator, and couldn’t.

Nothing.

Panic flared fast and sharp, my PASS alarm shrieked to life beside my ear.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Firefighter down.

I blinked, and winced. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Nothing in my body was responding the way I needed it to.

Kieran, get up, handsome. Get up, you have to get up now.

River? I blinked in confusion.

Move! My brain screamed, over and over, but my body lagged behind, stuck somewhere between command and action. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus, to anchor myself in the moment, and instead, I saw her.

River.

The way she laughed when she was teasing me, head tipped back, eyes bright, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. The memory hit too clean, too vivid, her hands in my shirt, the warmth of her, the way she’d leaned into me like I was something she needed.

Yesterday morning, kissing her awake, slow and quiet, before I had to leave.

The image clung, pulling me under.

I coughed hard, the force of it ripping through my chest, making my head explode. Even through the mask it sounded violent, raw. My throat burned like I’d swallowed flame, every inhale scraping dry and wrong.

Black crept in at the edges of my vision, closing in, narrowing everything down to a tunnel. I could hear her laugh again, too close, too real, like she was right beside me.

Kier, I need you to get up. It was her voice, clear as a bell. Come on, handsome, get up.

I forced my body to respond.

I rolled onto my stomach, slow and clumsy, arms shaking as I dragged them under me. My gloves slipped against debris, glass, ash, something jagged that shifted under my weight, but I pushed anyway, teeth clenched, vision flickering.

Come on, Kieran. You can do this. Get up.

I got halfway before the world tilted violently. My head spun hard enough to turn my stomach, nausea surging up fast and hot. I was by the entrance Mateo and I had come through, but I was still in the building.

Through the haze, I caught movement.

Mateo.

He’d been thrown clear, past the threshold, his body hitting the gravel outside with a heavy impact, but he was moving. Relief hit sharp and immediate, but it didn’t last.

I tried to stand fully and went straight back down. My body giving out, slamming hard against the debris-strewn concrete. The impact jarred through me, knocking what little air I had left from my lungs.

The darkness pushed in harder this time. I was going to pass out, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I lay there, collapsed on my stomach like a rag doll that had been thrown aside, glass crunching beneath me, ash clinging to my gear. My eyes slipped closed before I could fight it.

I’m sorry, baby. I am so fucking sorry.

The thought came quiet. Clear. I saw her again, sitting on the kitchen counter, hair a mess, smiling at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Kissing me like she needed me. Like I was the air she breathed.

My brain snapped back hard. No! We only just got her, we can’t leave her, not to him.

Tim.

His name cut through everything. Fear sliced through me. I couldn’t leave her to Tim alone.

I wouldn’t.

I tried again, forcing my arms under me, pushed, but my gloves slipped on the debris and I went back down. The darkness surged, swallowing more of my vision.

Keep trying, handsome, her voice in my head said, but there was nothing left to give.

Everything hurt.

My skull pulsed in deep, heavy throbs, each one worse than the last. My lungs burned, raw and shredded, every breath a fight. Even inside the gear, I could feel heat lingering against my skin, seeping in, suffocating; pressing in like it wanted to finish the job.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel the numbness soaking in.

Please, please don’t hate me for this, sweetheart. I had plans for us. If I could have said her name, I would have.

One more regret that my last words wouldn’t be her name.

Hands grabbed me, strong, solid and familiar. I could hear voices, I was pretty sure it was Jon and Matt, but I didn’t care. I didn’t fight it. They hauled me back, dragging me out of the structure and into the night air.

Cool air hit me like shock: sharp, sudden, almost painful against my overheated skin.

Someone tore my mask free, my head hanging loosely as they dragged me.

I sucked in a breath, cold, fresh and unfiltered. It burned going down, too sharp, too fast, but it was air.

Real air.

God.

They dragged me farther, setting me against the side of the engine. My chest heaved uncontrollably, breaths tearing in and out like I’d been underwater too long. My whole body shook, hard, violent tremors as the adrenaline crashed through me all at once.

I lifted my head just enough to see that Mateo was a few feet away, already up, already swearing, already moving.

He was okay.

Jon dropped in front of me, pulling an oxygen mask down and securing it over my face with practiced efficiency. “You know the drill, Kier. Breathe slow.”

I gave a small slow nod, though everything inside me felt anything but controlled.

“You gonna pass out?” he asked, eyes scanning me, sharp and assessing.

I pressed the heel of my glove into my forehead and immediately winced as pain flared white-hot behind my eyes.

Yeah. Concussion. The signs stacked fast, ringing ears, spinning balance, nausea rolling heavy in my gut.

I didn’t answer, didn’t get the chance.

I lurched forward suddenly, ripping the mask off as my stomach turned hard. I barely got my head down before I threw up, violent, uncontrollable, everything in my system coming up at once.

“Jesus,” Jon muttered beside me, already digging through the med bag.

I sat back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my glove, blinking hard to clear my vision. Jon had his helmet off now, sweat dampening his blond hair, firelight flickering across his face in uneven flashes.

He looked up at me, and the world folded in again. Black rushed over everything, fast and total.

“Shit,” I whispered.

There was nothing after that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I came to slowly, like I was being dragged up from somewhere deep and heavy.

The first thing I noticed was the light, far too bright. I groaned and held my hand in front of my face. The nurse immediately turned it down to a too bright, but at least manageable brightness.

It burned through my eyelids before I even fully opened my eyes, a dull throb already building behind them. For a second, I didn’t move, just lay there, disoriented, listening. Monitors beeped steadily somewhere nearby. Voices murmured in the distance. The air smelled sterile, sharp with antiseptic.

I was in the ED.

Fuck.

The hours blurred together. Forms, signatures, questions I had to answer twice because I couldn’t track what I’d already said. Vitals taken, retaken. A blood pressure cuff squeezing too tight around my arm. A pulse ox clipped to my finger, blinking steadily like it had all the time in the world.

Time dragged. Every second stretched thin and useless, and all I could think about was my phone.

River.

The last text I’d sent her, some time around eight o’clock last night. I could still see it in my head. Tones dropped. I’ll be back soon. Nothing to worry about.

Somewhere between then and now, my phone had disappeared. Not that it mattered, I couldn’t look at the screen right now even if I’d wanted to.

No update. No follow-up. Nothing.

The thought sat heavy in my chest the entire time. Just thinking of her her waking up, checking her phone, seeing nothing. Waiting.

The hours of observation crawled by. One MRI, far too many cognitive tests.

Follow the light, count backward, remember these words, say them again, stand up straight and lift your foot.

Each one slower than it should’ve been, my brain lagging just enough to piss me off.

Finally, the attending physician cleared me.

Concussion, a hairline fracture on two of my upper ribs at the back. Then there was the deep, ugly bruising along my back and ribs that would make the next week miserable. Some mild smoke inhalation. Nothing that a week filled with sleep and rest wouldn’t fix. I declined the offer of narcotic pain management and opted for OTC remedies.

Yeah, we were absolutely going name brand for this pain. I might even by stock in Tylenol.

It felt like I’d been run over, and I would know.

I was still rubbing at the back of my neck, working at the stiffness there, when I pushed through the ED doors and stepped out into the corridor.

Jon was leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting a while, arms folded over his chest, but the second he saw me, he straightened, shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes swept over me fast, sharp, taking everything in.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said automatically, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. “Been better.”

He held my gaze for a second, weighing it, then gave a single nod. Accepting it, or at least choosing not to push. “Cool. Let’s go.”

I blinked at him, thrown off. “I can grab an Uber—”

“Nope.” He jerked his head toward the parking lot, already turning.

I let out a tired breath, too drained to argue properly. “My truck—”

“Handled,” he cut in. “The guys are already figuring it out. It’ll get back to your place.”

I hesitated for half a second, then shook my head. “Not there. I’m staying at Cade’s, with River.”

There was a beat. Jon didn’t smirk. Didn’t make a comment. Didn’t even raise a brow. He just nodded. “Alright. We’ll get your gear and your truck over there sometime today.”

Simple. Done.

I followed him out, my pace slower than I wanted to admit. Each step sent a dull, echoing throb through my skull, like my heartbeat had relocated behind my eyes. My balance was just slightly off, not enough to stop me, but enough to make everything feel a fraction unstable.

“You want a chair?” Jon asked, not teasing. “You look like you’re about to fall over, man.”

I swallowed. “No, lets just go.” He nodded, but moved next to me, clear that if I needed something for balance, all I had to do was reach out, but also close enough that if I passed out again he could catch me.

The cool air outside helped, just a little. Cleared the sterile hospital smell out of my lungs, replaced it with something real.

The second I dropped into the passenger seat, I let my head fall back against the rest and closed my eyes.

I instantly regretted it.

The darkness wasn’t empty. It came alive immediately, orange flashes, violent and sudden. Heat rolling across my skin, pressure slamming into my chest all over again. The explosion replayed in fragments, out of order, too fast and too close.

My jaw tightened hard. I dragged in a slow breath through my nose, forcing control back in piece by piece.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four.

Repeat.

Control it.

“You gonna puke?” Jon asked, already reaching toward the glove box.

“No,” I muttered. “I’m good.”

“Mmhmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Plastic crinkled, and he shoved an emesis bag into my hands anyway. “Use that if you do. I’m not cleaning up your puke today.” He snickered. “Not that you have anything left the way you painted the engine with it.”

I cracked one eye open, squinting at him. “Why do you even have an emesis bag in your glove compartment?” I groaned. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Don’t answer that.”

He didn’t, but I did hear a snort under his breath.

The engine turned over, and we pulled out. The motion hit me immediately.

“Mateo?” I asked softly, not opening my eyes.

“Fine,” Jon responded quietly. “Pissed off and bruised, but fine.”

I sighed. “Good.”

A low, steady pulse built behind my eyes, syncing with every movement of the car. Turns made it spike. Bumps sent sharp jolts through my skull and down my spine, each one enough to make my teeth clench.

I kept my eyes closed anyway. Watching the world move felt worse.

“What time is it?” I asked after a minute, my voice quieter now.

There was a brief pause. “Just after ten.”

My eyes snapped open. “Ten?” It came out sharper than I meant it to. I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling hard. “Fuck.”

“You alright?” Jon asked, glancing over.

“I told her I’d be back by eight,” I said, the words low and tight. My stomach twisted hard at the thought. River alone. Already shaken from the other night. Waking up and I’m just… not there. Cade would already be in court, and she’d be in the house alone.

“She’s probably worried,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Jon didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t try to soften the edge. “Then we’ll get you there,” he said, steady and certain.

I leaned my head back again, closing my eyes despite the flicker of heat still waiting for me behind them.

Everything hurt.

My lungs still burned with every breath, like the smoke hadn’t fully cleared. My head throbbed in slow, heavy waves. My ribs ached every time I shifted. Even my bones felt heavy, like the fire had sunk into them and refused to let go.

I was bone weary, and let myself fall asleep in the seat next to Jon. Not that I had much of a choice.

Wednesday Afternoon

Vegas hit different after Alaska.

Honolulu was humid air and saltwater and sunlight reflecting off the Pacific. Alaska had been two straight weeks of frozen airfields, brutal wind, and training exercises that left everybody smelling like jet fuel and exhaustion.

And now?

I stepped out of the terminal at Harry Reid International into dry desert heat that felt like opening an oven door.

“Fucking Christ,” I muttered under my breath.

The air practically sucked the moisture straight out of my skin. It felt wrong after Hawaii. Wrong after Alaska too, honestly.

Everything about Vegas felt over stimulating after spending fourteen days in freezing isolation with a squadron of sleep-deprived fighter pilots.

Neon signs flashed from every direction. Slot machines chimed inside the airport itself because apparently Vegas couldn’t even let you collect your luggage in peace without trying to rob you blind.

I adjusted the strap of my carry-on over my shoulder and rolled the stiffness out of my neck as I moved through the terminal.

I was still dressed travel civvies: black t-shirt, faded jeans, boots, tattoos visible beneath sleeves because I’d stopped caring years ago whether people stared. My duffle bag bumped against my leg as I walked, every muscle in my body reminding me I’d slept maybe three hours total over the last twenty-four.

Two weeks in Alaska.

Twelve hours of travel.

And now eight straight days of chaos.

Outstanding.

“Jesus Christ, Quinn.”

I grinned before I even turned around.

Brad Livingston came at me like a linebacker, one hand slamming into my shoulder hard enough to nearly knock me sideways.

I barked out a laugh immediately.

“There he is,” I muttered.

“Still ugly as hell, I see,” Brad shot back.

“Still built like a refrigerator.”

He laughed and yanked me into a quick hug, the kind men only gave people they trusted completely.

It had been years since the Academy, but Brad was still one of the few people on earth who required absolutely zero effort from me.

No posturing. No explaining. I could just be who I was, no questions asked.

“Dude,” he said as he stepped back, looking me over. “You look tired.”

“I just spent two weeks freezing my ass off in Alaska,” I replied. “Then immediately got on a plane to Vegas for your wedding circus.”

He laughed loudly. “That bad?”

I deadpanned. “At one point my eyelashes froze together.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So if your wedding planner starts talking to me about flower arrangements before I’ve had caffeine, I’m becoming a flight risk.”

Brad shook his head, grinning as we started walking toward baggage claim.

“Man, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “You, too.”

We fell into step easily after that, talking the way men who’d known each other too long usually did. Half updates. Half insults.

“How long are you in town?” he asked.

“Eight days,” I replied. “Figured I’d actually burn some leave for once.”

Brad glanced over at me. “No emergency deployment waiting for you back home?”

I snorted. “Shockingly, the base survived without me for two weeks already.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Agreed.” I said with a shrug, “But my XO basically threatened me with a crime if I didn’t start taking some time.”

Brad barked out a laugh, his dark blond head falling back on his shoulders. “Sounds about right for you.”

We grabbed my checked bag and headed toward the rental counters.

I’d reserved a full-size SUV because between the wedding party, luggage, and inevitable drunken stupidity, somebody was going to need extra seats eventually.

Brad watched me sign the paperwork and shook his head.

“You always over prepare.”

“I prepare exactly enough,” I corrected.

“You rented the military version of a soccer mom vehicle.”

“I rented something capable of surviving your bachelor party.”

He grinned. “That’s fair actually.”

I tossed my bag into the back once we reached the parking garage and slid behind the wheel.

The second the AC hit my face, I nearly moaned.

“God bless modern engineering,” I muttered.

Brad laughed as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“Kara’s already here,” he said as I pulled out of the garage. “Got in yesterday with the bridesmaids and wedding planner.”

I huffed a laugh immediately. “How many color-coded folders are involved?”

“You joke, but she actually has binders.”

“Of course she does.”

My little sister had never done anything halfway in her life. I would have been shocked to shit if her wedding was different.

The Strip rose around us as we drove, massive hotels glowing against the darkening desert sky. Vegas looked ridiculous from every angle, like someone had taken every bad decision humanity ever made and turned it into architecture.

Brad glanced over at me after a minute.

“You good?”

I looked over briefly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged one shoulder casually. “You’ve been running nonstop for like eight years. Just making sure you remember how to be a person outside a cockpit.”

I snorted softly. Brad had always been observant in the most annoying possible way. Probably why we were still friends honestly.

“I’m fine,” I said finally. “Just tired. I sat next to this old dude who not only slept on my shoulder,” I said holding up one finger, “but also snored like he was actually trying to create his own brand of turbulence,” I said holding up a second finger. I sighed then. “I think I got like 40 minutes of sleep the whole flight.”

He nodded once like he believed me enough not to push further. That was another reason we’d stayed friends this long. Brad knew when to leave things alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hotel was absolute chaos when we pulled up.

Valets swarmed the front entrance. Bellhops pushed carts overloaded with luggage. Tourists and guests clustered in little dressed-up groups near the entrance already drinking like it was their new career in life.

I killed the engine and climbed out, stretching my back hard enough to make something pop. “Oof,” I groaned, then started pulling bags out of the car. I slung my duffle over my shoulder, and grabbed my carry on before rounding the car and handing the keys over to the valet and taking the ticket.

The second we walked through the front doors, the noise doubled.

Slot machines.

Music.

People yelling.

Wedding chaos layered over casino chaos layered over tourists.

I looked around once slowly and sighed. “Yeah,” I muttered. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“We’re going out.”

I looked up from the beer in my hand just in time to catch my future brother-in-law grinning at me like he’d already decided I was coming whether I agreed or not.

I arched a brow. “I literally just got here.”

“And?” Brad leaned back against the hotel suite counter like he had all the answers. “It’s Vegas.”

“My sister would be horrified to know you’re trying to corrupt me before the wedding,” I said dryly.

“Your sister spent the last six months planning centerpieces with military-level precision,” he shot back. “Trust me. She wants all of us out of her hair tonight.”

Brad barked out a laugh. “Come on, man. Club down the strip. One night before everybody gets trapped in tuxes and family obligations.” He held his hand up. “No strippers, just booze and dancing.”

I took another pull from my beer, letting the cold settle across my tongue while I considered it. “I don’t dance.”

Brad nodded. “Hence the booze.”

I could’ve said no.

Honestly, I probably should have.

I’d landed in Vegas barely two hours ago after twelve straight days of training exercises in Alaska, and my internal clock was still completely wrecked. My body felt heavy in that specific way it always did after flying too much in too little time. Not exhausted exactly.

Just over worked.

The smart choice would’ve been food, a shower, maybe six uninterrupted hours unconscious in a cold hotel room before wedding chaos officially started tomorrow.

Instead, I stood there in the middle of a luxury suite surrounded by loud idiots and half-unpacked garment bags while the Strip glowed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Brad and Kara’s wedding weekend had already turned everything into controlled chaos. Family arriving. Bridesmaids shrieking somewhere down the hall. My mother texting every twenty minutes asking if I remembered some random cousin I hadn’t seen since I was eight. My sister alternating between emotional and terrifying depending on the hour.

And me?

I’d spent the last few months buried so deep in work I’d forgotten what it felt like to exist outside of schedules, briefings, and flight plans.

Vegas was supposed to be a break.

At least temporarily.

I exhaled slowly and glanced toward the massive windows overlooking the Strip. Neon flickered across the glass in violent colors while the city below came alive inch by inch as dusk settled over the desert.

The night felt restless already, which probably should have been red flag number one.

“Fine,” I said finally. “But the second somebody suggests body shots or karaoke, I’m gone.” I shuddered. “No one is drinking shit off my chest and I sure as fuck am not drinking off some stranger’s body.”

Brad pointed at me immediately. “You saying that just guaranteed both things happen.”

I snorted. “I’ll leave you here.”

“You love me too much.”

I snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Dean laughed and tossed his room key onto the counter. “Ten minutes. Change clothes. Hydrate. Try to look more emotionally available.”

“Impossible task,” Brad muttered.

I flipped him off on instinct and headed for the door while they laughed behind me.

My room was three floors up and blissfully quiet compared to the circus downstairs. I tossed my duffel onto the luggage bench, dropped my carry on with my laptop on the desk and finally took a second to breathe.

The silence settled around me immediately.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I rolled my shoulders once, tension cracking through my neck and upper back. Flying always left it there eventually, especially after long weeks. Most people thought fighter pilots lived on adrenaline and ego.

In reality, the job was a shit ton of paperwork, and discipline.

Precision.

Control.

One mistake in an F-22 didn’t just affect you. It affected everyone in your airspace, and generally involved some sort of congressional hearing.

Hard pass.

There wasn’t room for distraction at forty thousand feet moving two and a half times the speed of sound. Sometimes I forgot how to turn that part of myself off when I landed.

I stripped out of my travel clothes, showered fast, then stood in front of the mirror tying to comb my damp hair while steam still fogged the edges of the glass.

For a second, I barely recognized the man staring back.

Too serious lately.

Too tired.

My executive officer had practically ordered me to take this leave before I burned myself straight into the ground. Apparently snapping at maintenance crews and surviving on caffeine wasn’t considered healthy leadership behavior.

Weak smile, dark circles under my eyes, shoulders still tight.

Yeah. Maybe Vegas wasn’t the worst idea after all.

I changed into jeans and a fitted charcoal button-down, rolling the sleeves to my forearms before grabbing my wallet, room key and phone. Casual enough not to look like I was trying too hard. Clean enough for whatever upscale nightmare Dean had picked for the night.

By the time I got back downstairs, the rest of the guys were already halfway drunk on anticipation alone.

“You clean up nice, Captain,” Alex announced dramatically as we headed toward the elevators.

“Say that again and I’m leaving you on the sidewalk.” Alex seemed like a nice guy, but I didn’t know him like it knew Dean and Brad. The three of us had attended the academy together, and Alex was a teacher that Brad had somehow befriend in the last year and a half.

“See?” Dean said to the others. “Emotionally unavailable.”

The elevator ride down was loud and crowded with guests, tourists, and women dressed for destruction. Vegas energy buzzed everywhere already, all excess and temptation wrapped in neon.

Outside, warm desert air hit me immediately.

The Strip looked alive.

Massive digital billboards flashed overhead while traffic crawled bumper to bumper beneath impossible amounts of light. Music drifted from open casino doors. People spilled across sidewalks carrying drinks bigger than their heads. The whole city felt electric after dark, like everyone here had collectively agreed consequences could wait until morning.

Brad slid into the passenger seat of my rental SUV while the others piled in back.

“You sure you’re okay driving?” Dean asked.

“I’ve had one beer.”

“Military answer.”

“It’s the correct answer.”

“Boring,” Dean muttered from the back.

I smirked and pulled into traffic.

The drive only took ten minutes, though Vegas somehow stretched time at night. Every casino bled into the next in gold and glass and noise. Tourists wandered into crosswalks like they had a death wish. Limousines crawled beside rideshares while bass from nearby clubs vibrated through open windows.

The guys argued over music behind me while I drove mostly on autopilot, one hand loose on the wheel.

For the first time in weeks, there was nothing expected of me tonight.

No flight schedule.

No mission briefing.

No pressure.

No paperwork.

Just my sister and Brad’s wedding weekend, old friends, maybe some new ones, a hot girl or two, and temporary freedom. The thought loosened something in my chest I hadn’t realized was wound tight. This week was about spending time doing fun things, not paperwork. Not training.

My little sister marrying my best friend.

Chaos incarnate.

As we pulled up near the club, I spotted the line immediately wrapping halfway around the building. Black suits. Glittering dresses. Velvet ropes. Typical Vegas exclusivity theater.

Dean groaned. “Please tell me we’re not waiting in that.”

Alex grinned and held up his phone. “Already handled.”

Dean laughed. “I knew having a local boy with us would be good!”

Of course it was.

Ten minutes later we bypassed most of the line entirely while irritated strangers glared at us. The bouncer barely looked up from the black cash tray as we paid cover.

Then he started handing out black plastic domino masks.

“Mandatory tonight,” he said flatly, clearly bored from repeating it. “Mask stays on the entire time. You remove it, you’re out. No exceptions.”

Brad looked at his and snorted. “What is this, Eyes Wide Fuckboy?”

I huffed a quiet laugh and took mine.

Black plastic, smooth and cool against my hands, the edges sharp.

I stretched the elastic once before pulling it over my face. The mask settled across my cheekbones easily, shadowing the upper half of my face just enough to feel strange.

Detached.

Anonymous.

I looked at myself briefly in the mirrored wall beside the entrance and barely recognized the man staring back.

Just some tall guy with jet black hair, cobalt blue eyes, dimples if he smiled just right, and stubble he forgot to shave before he left his hotel room.

The second we stepped inside, the club detonated around us.

The bass hit first. Heavy enough to vibrate through bone and teeth and lungs. Lights strobed violently overhead in deep reds, violent purples, and electric blues, cutting the darkness into fractured flashes of bodies and movement. Heat rolled through the packed room alongside perfume, sweat, alcohol, and something darker underneath it all.

The place didn’t feel alive, it felt hungry.

Brad shouted something near my ear, already getting dragged toward the dance floor with half the group. Dean disappeared right after him.

I let them go without argument.

Dancing wasn’t my scene.

Never had been. I had a flash of a memory. Dancing like an idiot in the high school gym, of a blue dress and sparkling laughter, and couldn’t stop the way my lips quirked up at the edges. I hadn’t danced since that night, nor had I forgotten it.

I preferred quieter bars. Whiskey. Conversation. Less… whatever the hell this sensory overload was. Still, something about the anonymity of the mask made it easier to relax. Nobody here knew who I was. Nobody expected anything from me.

No call sign. No rank. No history.

Just another man in Vegas for one reckless night.

I angled toward the bar through the crowd, weaving automatically around stumbling dancers and overly enthusiastic tourists. The bartender moved fast behind the counter, hands blurring between bottles and glasses while people waved cash at him from every direction.

I leaned against the edge of the bar, waiting for an opening.

Instinct kicked in.

That quiet shift in awareness I’d learned to trust years ago. The subtle tightening in my spine that told me something in the room had changed before my brain caught up enough to explain why.

The bass hit hard enough to vibrate through my ribs, through the soles of my shoes, through the glasses sitting behind the bar. Vegas clubs all blurred together after a while. Expensive liquor. Designer perfume fighting cigarette smoke and sweat. People pretending they were freer here than anywhere else.

Usually, I could move through it untouched.

I scanned the room automatically, the same way I scanned every environment without thinking about it anymore. Habit drilled in by years in the Air Force. Entry points. Exits. Elevated positions. Threats. Drunk idiots. Overconfident businessmen. Packs of women shrieking over tequila shots. Guys circling them like sharks pretending not to.

The dance floor churned under pulsing blue and violet lights, bodies moving as one organism, rising and falling to the beat.

Then I saw her.

Oh.

Fuck me.

She stood near the center of the dance floor like fate had chosen her specifically to stand there. She wasn’t loud or flashy. She wasn’t climbing onto platforms or throwing herself around for attention like half the women here.

But every eye still drifted to her eventually.

Black dress, simple, but elegant. The kind of dress that looked effortless until you noticed every devastating detail. Thin straps over soft shoulders. Fabric clinging to the curve of her waist before loosening over her hips and thighs, flowing every time she moved. I

t didn’t hide her body. It worshipped it.

And Christ almighty… her body.

Soft where a woman should be soft. Thick thighs shifting beneath the slit in her dress. Full hips rolling to the music with confidence, curves hugged in all the right ways. Breasts pressing against the fabric every time she breathed.

Some men in this room, hell, probably most of them, would look at her and reduce her to ugly little words that said more about them than her.

Too big.

Too soft.

Too much.

Idiots.

I saw a woman built to ruin a man slowly. Warmth and temptation wrapped together. A body made for greedy hands and sleepless nights. The kind of softness a man could sink into and never want to leave.

If other men were too blind to see that?

Fine by me.

Less competition.

She turned slowly, completely unhurried, and that was when I saw the mask.

Black lace.

Delicate and intricate, curling around the edges like smoke. It covered just enough to make everything else sharper. Her mouth. Her cheekbones. The smooth line of her throat. All of it somehow more intimate because I couldn’t fully see her.

The mask should’ve hidden her, but it framed her.

The lights flashed across her face as she swayed, her eyes closed, lips parted slightly while the music rolled through her body. She wasn’t dancing for attention. Wasn’t checking to see who watched her.

She simply existed like she belonged there.

Like the room adjusted itself around her.

The bartender said something beside me.

I didn’t hear a fucking word.

My drink order died halfway out of my mouth, because something strange had started happening inside my chest.

Pressure.

Not emotion. Not nerves. Nothing soft or poetic. It felt physical, almost violent, like the atmosphere around me had shifted density without warning. Instinct grabbed the back of my neck and locked my attention forward.

I’d spent years mastering control.

I flew an F-22 Raptor at speeds most people couldn’t mentally process. Control wasn’t optional in my life. Control kept you alive when you were thirty thousand feet in the air moving almost three times the speed of sound with missiles under your wings.

I knew discipline.

I knew restraint.

I knew how to look at a beautiful woman without letting it become something dangerous. My body ignored every bit of that training the second she opened her eyes. Even before I saw them clearly, I knew what color they’d be.

Hazel green, with gold flecks around the center that would catch the light like sparks. I knew it with a certainty that made no rational sense whatsoever.

Not a guess. Not hope. I just knew it as a fact. The kind of instinct that usually warned me about incoming danger.

Only this didn’t feel like danger, which should have sent my alarm bells ringing.

Then her gaze collided with mine across the dance floor.

The impact hit like a missile strike directly to the sternum.

“Fuck.” Everything narrowed. The music dulled. The lights blurred. People moved between us, but none of them registered. Her eyes locked on mine beneath the lace mask, and she didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

A slow smile touched the corner of her mouth. Not flirtatious. Not practiced.

It was… curious. Like she felt it too.

The tension stretched tight between us, invisible and impossible to ignore.

I couldn’t tell how long I stood there, our eyes locked. Time stopped being relevant. I only knew that one second I stood at the bar, and the next my body was moving before my brain caught up.

I crossed the floor automatically, weaving through bodies, sidestepping dancers without breaking eye contact. The pull in my chest tightened with every step closer. Like something deep in my bones had already decided she belonged in my orbit.

She tipped her chin up slightly when I stepped in front of her.

Hazel green eyes, gold catching the club lights exactly the way I knew they would.

Something inside me settled hard and deep while simultaneously sparking completely out of control.

I didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

Words suddenly felt unnecessary.

The beat rolled through us, low and hypnotic, and instinct took over. She turned, giving me her back, as I moved with her automatically, falling into her rhythm like I’d known it my entire life. My hands slid to her waist carefully at first, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t, she moved closer.

Heat flooded my bloodstream the second her body aligned with mine.

Christ.

She fit me perfectly.

Her back pressed against my chest while her hips rolled against me, and every ounce of military discipline I possessed started dying a quick death. My hands spread wider against her waist, thumbs brushing soft skin where her dress shifted.

She smelled incredible beneath the alcohol haze of the club.

Vanilla and something floral. Hibiscus? Something warm enough to make me want to bury my face against her neck and stay there.

She turned in my arms then, smooth and fluid, and suddenly she was facing me. Her hands landed lightly on my shoulders before gripping the fabric of my dark gray shirt like she needed the anchor.

My pulse kicked harder.

The tension between us wound tighter with every beat until it almost hurt.

The song shifted slower, darker, bass heavier now. Her eyes lifted to mine again, bright behind the lace, and she smiled properly this time. It was small, almost shy, but real. That fucking smile nearly dropped me to my knees.

I should have stopped.

The thought barely existed before disappearing completely.

I leaned down slowly, my eyes flicking to hers, asking silent permission, and when her chin tilted up, I took it as permission and kissed her. The second our lips touched, every coherent thought in my head vanished.

Her lips were unbelievably soft. My hand slid along her hip, fingers spreading wide like I needed to memorize the shape of her. The other cupped her jaw, thumb dragging along warm skin before disappearing into her hair.

She sighed into my mouth.

She kissed me back like she’d been waiting for it too.

“Christ,” I muttered against her lips.

Her fingers slid up my chest, grasping at my neck as I deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against hers. Sweet. Hot. Addictive enough that I felt it low in my stomach instantly. She tasted like coffee, which surprised me. There was zero taste of alcohol on her. She made this tiny sound in the back of her throat, soft and needy, and my grip on her hips tightened hard enough to leave marks.

I couldn’t think anymore, I didn’t want to.

The entire world narrowed down to her mouth, her body against mine, the taste of her tongue, the way she melted closer every time I touched her. I knew we weren’t dancing anymore. My focus had stopped being about the beat, and had completely focused on the siren in front of me.

Someone slammed into my shoulder from the side.

We stumbled apart.

I caught her immediately before she lost balance, hands firm on her waist while adrenaline flashed hot through me. Her eyes darted around the room suddenly, alert now, scanning exits and faces.

Her gaze was bright and aware, and I sighed with relief. She wasn’t inebriated. While I had a whole list of things I wanted to do to her body already, I wasn’t someone who enjoyed a passed out or sloppy drunk fuck.

I wanted her fully aware of what I was doing to her. Fuck, of what she would likely do to me.

Her fingers grabbed my hand abruptly, and she nodded toward the darker hallway on the other side of the dance floor.

I went without hesitation.

She pulled me through the crowd quickly, weaving us away from the packed dance floor into a quieter corridor draped floor-to-ceiling in deep red velvet panels. The bass softened back here, reduced to a distant vibration through the walls.

Halfway down the hall, I snapped.

I tugged her to a stop and pushed her backward against the dark velvet curtain and kissed her again.

Harder this time, needier.

Her body pressed into mine instantly, hands sliding up my chest before locking behind my neck. I groaned against her mouth as she arched into me, all soft curves and heat.

This fucking mask kept getting in the way.

The edge pinched my cheek every time I tried to deepen the kiss, breaking the rhythm until frustration finally won out. I pulled back just enough to shove it up to my forehead.

Then I kissed her again immediately.

God, yes, so much better.

My entire body lit up like a god damned Christmas tree when she moaned into my mouth. I pressed closer deliberately, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to me. My cock strained painfully behind my jeans, and the second my hips rolled against hers, she responded with a breathy little sound that nearly ended me.

Fuck. She liked it.

Her thigh slid up mine, hooking my hip, holding me against her tightly, and my control frayed another dangerous inch. My hand dragged up her bare thigh beneath the slit of her dress, fingertips brushing hot skin while I pinned her tighter against the velvet wall.

I let my fingers explore as my lips and tongue ravaged hers. My hand slid farther up her dress and I involuntarily rolled my cock into her.

Bare ass cheeks. I slid my hand up, and found the thin lace of a thong and had a vivid image of pushing it aside, opening my jeans and fucking her right up against the wall, and to hell with anyone who watched.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathed against her neck before biting lightly beneath her ear.

Her fingers tangled in my hair hard enough to sting as her hips rolled against my cock again. God, it would be so easy to slip a finger or two inside her. Just make her come right there on my hand, in the middle of this club.

My cock twitched in excited agreement

I groaned. “I think,” I said roughly between kisses, “we need to get out of here before I completely lose my mind.”

That actually earned a soft laugh from her. Low and breathy, sultry in the sexiest way.

Beautiful.

She pulled my face back toward hers by the hair at the nape of my neck, and when our eyes met again, something shifted.

Her expression changed instantly, her eyes widening.

Her body stiffened beneath mine.

Not desire.

Not anticipation.

Alarm.

I frowned immediately, lifting my head. My mask slipped halfway back down over one eye, and I pushed it back into place automatically.

“What?” I asked quietly.

Her gaze searched my face for one strange second.

Then she smiled, but it was… almost sad.

She nodded back toward the dance floor.

I grinned, still half-drunk on kissing her. “Okay,” I said, voice wrecked beyond repair. “But, you’re giving me your number.”

She smiled and winked. I grinned like an absolute idiot. Cute little tease.

I kissed her one more time, slower now, tongue brushing her lower lip while I lowered her leg carefully back to the floor.

I took her hand again, intending to lead her back to the dance floor and realized for the first time in literal years, my heart was pounding.

It wasn’t from adrenaline or combat or sims.

It was her.

We stepped back onto the dance floor together, lights flashing across the crowd again. The bass crashed through the room hard enough to shake the floor.

The stupid mask the bouncer at the door had given me shifted sideways again.

“Hold on,” I muttered.

I let go of her hand while I adjusted the elastic properly behind my head. Last thing I needed was security stopping me over dress code bullshit after finally finding this woman.

I reached back for her immediately, but my hand closed around empty air.

I turned sharply.

She was gone.

Every muscle in my body locked. “No.” Panic hit fast and sharp, slicing clean through the haze in my brain. I scanned the crowd instantly.

Black dress, lace mask, hazel green and gold eyes.

Bodies surged around me under the strobing lights while I pushed through them harder now, searching every face. I checked the dance floor twice. The bar. The hallway. The exits.

She was just… gone.

She had dissolved into the chaos the second I stopped touching her.

My pulse slammed hard against my throat as I shoved through the crowd again, eyes scanning fast, methodical, instinct taking over where common sense failed. I checked every possible route automatically. Side exits. VIP sections. Hallways. Bathroom entrances.

Nothing.

A woman in a black dress brushed past me and for one stupid second my chest jumped.

Wrong hair.

Wrong body.

Wrong eyes.

I kept moving.

The music pounded loud enough to rattle the bones in my skull, lights cutting across faces too quickly to focus on. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck beneath the stupid mask, irritation clawing hotter with every passing second.

How the hell do you lose someone that fast?

One second she’d been there. Warm hand in mine. Soft lips swollen from kissing me.

And the next, just gone.

I shoved a hand through my hair and turned another slow circle through the crowd. My breathing had gone uneven without me realizing it. Adrenaline sat sharp under my skin, buzzing through my bloodstream with nowhere to go.

This was insane.

I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know where she was from. I didn’t know a single thing about her except the taste of her mouth and the exact shade of green in her eyes. And somehow losing her felt like getting hit center mass.

“Ty!”

I barely heard Brad the first time.

A second later his hand landed on my shoulder, dragging me halfway back into reality. “Jesus, man. You look like you’re hunting somebody.”

I didn’t bother to look at him when I answered. “I am.”

His eyebrows shot up behind his own half-assed masquerade mask. “The brunette?”

I snapped my attention toward him immediately. “You saw her?”

“Relax, psycho.” He laughed once, but it faded quickly when he got a good look at my face. “I saw you disappear down the hall with her like fifteen minutes ago. Thought you finally got laid without needing emotional suppression and military-grade commitment issues.”

“Did you see where she went?”

His mouth flattened. “No.”

Fuck.

I scrubbed both hands down my face hard enough to hurt. The plastic edge of my mask scratched across my cheek again, and this time I ripped the damn thing off completely.

Brad stared at me for another second. “You okay?”

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

That realization unsettled me more than losing her.

I’d deployed overseas without my heartbeat kicking this hard. I’d flown combat training exercises that required split-second precision at Mach speeds with steadier nerves than this.

Yet somehow one short make out session with a disappearing woman had my chest feeling carved hollow.

I looked back over the crowd again anyway.

Still searching, hoping I might catch a glance of her.

“She just vanished,” I muttered.

Brad snorted softly. “Welcome to Vegas.”

But it didn’t feel like that. It felt… intentional.

That was the part clawing at me now.

Because thinking back on it, she’d changed the second my mask slipped. I replayed the moment automatically, mentally freezing each detail the way I would reviewing flight footage.

Her expression, the way her eyes had widened with shock.

The tension in her shoulders.

The sudden alertness.

Recognition.