My Emergency Contact is a Wolf Shifter
Date: 2026-06-16T00:00:00+00:00
Description: Zoey Yates doesn’t ask for help. She fixes things, handles things, and keeps a carefully maintained emotional perimeter around everything that matters. She has a plan, a parrot with a helpdesk vocabulary, and absolutely zero feelings about the wolf shifter she listed as her emergency contact after knowing him for approximately six hours. Zero feelings. Completely fine. The hospital called him anyway. He drove forty minutes in thirty-two. Now he’s in her apartment, cooking eggs she didn’t ask for, and her parrot—who has never liked anyone—has accepted a head scratch. Liam sits across the room,
Publisher: Special Fiction Books

EBOOK My Emergency Contact is a Wolf Shifter

Roxie Ray

Copyright © 2026

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

Dear Reader,

Your mental health matters. This book contains content that may be triggering for some readers. If anything within affects your well-being, please take care of yourself and step away if needed — your peace always comes first.

My Emergency Contact is a funny, warm, and emotionally honest paranormal romcom about a deeply self-sufficient IT tech who accidentally lists her one-night stand as her emergency contact, and the wolf shifter who takes that job more seriously than she expected — whether she asked him to or not.

While light and comedic in tone, the story contains mature themes that some readers may find triggering or distressing.

A full content warning list is available at the back of the book

TRIGGER WARNINGS

For everyone who holds it together so well that no one thinks to ask if you're okay. For the ones who memorized the emergency exits, wrote the contingency plans, and became someone else's person before anyone offered to be yours.

You've been the emergency contact your whole life. You are allowed to put your own name on the form.

And if, in a moment of spectacularly poor judgment at a bed and breakfast, you accidentally put someone else's name there instead — maybe that wasn't poor judgment at all.

RESTART YOUR SHIT AND LET SOMEONE LOVE YOU.

— Markie

Contents

1. Zoey

2. Liam

3. Zoey

4. Liam

5. Zoey

6. Zoey

7. Liam

8. Zoey

9. Liam

10. Zoey

11. Liam

12. Liam

13. Zoey

14. Liam

15. Zoey

16. Zoey

17. Liam

18. Zoey

19. Liam

20. Zoey

21. Liam

22. Zoey

23. Liam

24. Zoey

25. Liam

26. Zoey

Epilogue

About the Author

Trigger Warnings

Chapter 1

Zoey

“Cheers!”

Five glasses slammed together with more enthusiasm than coordination. Liquid sloshed over the rims. Someone missed and hit knuckles. Jamie swore. Morgan laughed louder than necessary.

I smiled, which felt suspicious on principle. Smiling in a group was how cults started, and this place had enough charm to qualify as a gateway drug.

I kept my guard up.

The tavern was a surprise. When I’d heard the word rustic, I had pictured two stools, maybe a moose head, and beer that tasted faintly of punishment. Instead, it was a lovely, low-ceilinged room carved into the main floor of the equally charming bed-and-breakfast where we were staying, all dark wood and iron fixtures with a bar that, unlike most things in my life, looked permanent.

The lights were low but warm—warm enough to evoke feelings, which I had not consented to.

I had come here to drink and emotionally metabolize workplace trauma, not to experience ambiance.

A few locals sat at the bar, acting like they weren’t listening to us while absolutely listening to us. I respected their technique. There was a scarred dartboard against one wall, a chalkboard menu written by someone who hated lowercase letters, and a fireplace that looked like a liability.

The whole room felt solid and lived in, which should have been reassuring. Instead, it made me wonder if I could trust my surroundings.

Alex was midway through an impression of our former boss, and it was unsettling how accurate it was. Same cadence. Same pause before saying something stupid. Same way he used people’s names like weapons.

He always said your name right before ruining your afternoon. Sometimes your week.

“‌‌‘I just don’t think you’re being a team player, Alex,” Alex said, leaning back smugly. “And honestly, it’s fucking concerning.”

Jamie made a choking sound.

Morgan slammed her palm on the table. “Stop. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I think I’m getting fucking hives.”

Cris wiped her eyes. “You even did the head tilt!”

I took a sip of my drink and watched Alex continue the performance. We had survived two years of that man. And now, we had documented him into unemployment. That was a sentence I would like embroidered on a throw pillow.

So here we were, celebrating it in a tavern in the woods like emotionally repressed adults on a budget.

I hadn’t planned on enjoying this.

I resented that I was.

I sat there, amused and a little stunned, looking around the table at women I had technically known for years without ever really seeing them. We had never sat across from one another. We had never known who was tall or short, or what someone’s hands looked like wrapped around a glass, or that every single one of us had been making the same quiet calculation in the background of our work life. And we had never known we were all women, which, in retrospect, explained several things. The competence, for one. The exhaustion, for another.

That revelation had happened over dinner earlier that week, after the firing of our asshole boss became official. We had decided a celebratory dinner was a must. We’d spent the rest of the workday organizing and met up that same night for the first time.

I had sat there, blinking, realizing that every single one of us had used a gender-neutral name in our fully remote workplace. I went by Zee, which made me sound efficient and unthreatening in a help-desk queue. We knew each other by our Slack handles, our text-only avatars. No profile pictures. We had all protected ourselves in the same way without discussing it. No one had said it out loud, but we had all known.

The plan for a girls’ weekend had come together fast, fueled by margaritas and adrenaline and relief. A quiet bed-and-breakfast in the woods an hour north of Albany. There’d be no work tickets there, no escalations. It was the kind of plan people made when they’d survived something stupid and wanted to commemorate by being temporarily irresponsible.

I had found Pine Hollow months earlier while researching towns in the southern Adirondacks. I had lived in Albany most of my life, on the same streets, near the same grocery store, inside the same version of myself that showed up whenever my mother called and needed something handled. I told people I wanted a change, which was true in the same way “I need oxygen” was true. What I really wanted was space. Space from her. Space from the routines I had mistaken for identity. Space from a life that had calcified around me so gradually I hadn’t noticed until I started trying to breathe inside it.

So, I had started looking north.

The towns in the southern Adirondacks had that specific balance I craved. One main road with a hardware store and a coffee shop that closed early enough to tell me the people here had boundaries. A lake nearby, with mountains in the background. It felt structured but not suffocating. Quiet without being empty. The kind of place where you could be known slowly instead of immediately and anonymously categorized.

The apartment I found was twenty-five minutes from Pine Hollow, right in town. Walking distance to the grocery store. Close enough to the hospital to satisfy my practical brain, but far enough from my mother that dropping by unannounced would require planning and stamina.

And I was moving in this week. I could not be more excited.

When I saw the listing for the B&B during my research, I had bookmarked it without thinking because I’d liked the look of the place: the dock over the dark water, steam lifting off the spa in early morning photos. The place would provide stillness without promising miracles. It had appealed to me, like a sort of contained preview of the life I was considering. So, when the idea for a girls’ weekend came up, I knew exactly where we were going.

Alex raised her glass again. “To collective action.”

“To documentation,” Jamie added solemnly.

“To screenshots,” Morgan said.

“To that smug asshole never darkening our Slack again,” Cris said.

I lifted my glass last. “To no longer being the emergency contact, AKA the person everyone tags when he screws something up.”

We drank.

Someone hummed, softly at first, then louder.

Alex snapped her fingers and sang, bright and cheerful, “Per my last email—”

I groaned and laughed at the same time. Jamie jumped in immediately, no hesitation. Morgan slapped the table to keep time and missed it completely. Cris leaned close enough that our shoulders touched.

“Is this really happening?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said, helpless.

Alex belted the next line about “looping in leadership.” Jamie harmonized like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Morgan clapped offbeat, determined. At the bar, heads turned, but no one asked us to stop. One man nodded like he, too, had been personally victimized by Outlook.

By the time we hit the chorus, we were all fully committed. “Micromanaging” rhymed with nothing, but that didn’t stop us. “Hostile work environment” got dragged out for emphasis.

Someone at the bar lifted their glass in solidarity. “Here, here!”

I was laughing before I could think to stop. It rolled through me, making my face hurt.

When it ended, we bowed from our seats like idiots. It was alarming how much lighter I felt afterward. The knot that had taken residence deep in my chest was beginning to loosen.

The bartender was already pouring another round, no questions asked, which suggested he had correctly identified the tone of the evening. Jamie accepted her fresh drink like she had just been handed a microphone and announced, “Drinking game, bitches.”

“Oh no.”

“Worst Ticket, Take a Sip,” Jamie announced. “Rules are simple. Worst customer, worst ticket, worst interaction. We vote. Mildly awful is one sip. Unhinged is two. If HR would like a word, then you finish your drink.”

It was not so much a game as it was group therapy with a side of liver damage, but I had already agreed to be here and was, apparently, in a mood to keep making questionable choices.

“Escalation clause,” Alex added. “If someone tops the previous story, the previous teller drinks too.”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms.

Morgan went first. Her story involved a client who insisted the system was broken because it would not accept their password. The password was their first name, all lowercase.

One sip.

Alex followed with a story about a man who refused to believe Alex was not the intern. He asked to speak to “the real engineer.” Alex was the real engineer. We all stared into our glasses like they might contain answers or poison.

Alex took her two sips like a woman who had been waiting years for them.

Jamie told a story that involved a printer, a cat, and a fire alarm. We made her finish her drink.

Cris laughed so hard she had to put her head on the table.

I stayed quiet, taking small sips.

Alex pointed at me. “Zee, you’ve been smiling like a sniper. Your turn.”

Four faces turned my way.

I hated that I enjoyed the attention. “Fine.” I set my glass down like I was about to testify. “Client reports the system randomly deletes their work.”

Groans rippled around the table.

“I asked for logs.”

Jamie already had her face in her hands.

“They sent screenshots.”

Morgan winced. “Of course they did.”

“I recreate the issue on my end. Nothing happens. I ask them if anything changed.”

Alex laughed without humor. “Nothing ever changes.”

“They say nothing changed,” I agreed. “I dig away. I find six new plugins installed that morning.”

Jamie slapped the table. “Six?”

“Six,” I confirmed. “One of them was a crypto widget. They work in accounting.”

Cris choked on her drink.

“I point this out politely. I show them the timestamps. They deny installing anything.”

Denial is not just a river in Egypt. It is also a personality type.

“In writing?” Cris asked.

“In writing,” I said. “With their whole stupid chest.”

Morgan stared at me. “I would simply pass away.”

“I disable the plugins. The problem stops immediately. Surprise, surprise.” I picked up my glass again. “Client replies that they fixed it themselves and asks why I took so long if I was a professional.”

The table went dead silent for about three seconds.

Then chaos erupted.

“What do you mean they fixed it?” Jamie yelled.

“I don’t understand how you’re not in prison,” Morgan said.

Alex leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I would have committed a crime.”

I shrugged. Took a sip. “I dissociate professionally.”

“Finish your drink,” Alex said, wiping tears from her face.

I did. After that, the noise got louder, but somehow more contained. Someone slid a bowl of pretzels down the table, and it stayed there like shared property. It was a level of trust I didn’t personally endorse, but I respected it.

Cris had angled her chair toward mine at some point. She put her hand on my shoulder when she laughed, and by some miracle I didn’t wince. My nervous system made a note of it and filed it under Unclear but Not Bad.

Was I making a friend? I would deny this later if asked.

She leaned forward, eyes still on Alex and Morgan as they argued about whether printers were sentient because they were so spiteful.

I laughed, surprised by how easy it came. I hadn’t noticed how quiet I’d been for most of the night until I wasn’t. It felt good, which was deeply inconvenient.

I took another sip and let myself pretend this was normal for me. Let myself pretend I hadn’t spent years keeping people at a careful distance because closeness always came with expectations.

Pete slid another round toward us and raised his brows at the empty glasses. “You ladies celebrating or coping?” He said it like he already knew the answer and was simply being polite.

“Both,” I said.

He nodded in understanding. “Excellent. Hydration is available if anyone wants to pretend.”

“No one wants to pretend,” Morgan said.

Pete glanced at me. “You look like the responsible one.”

That was absolute slander. I snorted. “That’s a terrible first impression.”

He smiled. Not the greasy kind, but the genuine, bartender-who-has-seen-things kind.

I liked men like this. The older ones who were married to their jobs and completely uninterested in me. It was the safest kind of flirting because everyone went home alone and emotionally intact.

“You want water on the side?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “And another of whatever this is. For balance.”

“Smart,” he said. “I like you.”

I eyed him. “Careful. That’s how it starts.”

He laughed and set the glasses down without spilling a drop. This man was professional and respectable.

I approved.

As the night went on, glasses kept appearing, and somehow, they kept emptying. Jamie was laughing at something Morgan said three minutes ago like it had just occurred to her, which felt like a strong sign we were officially past the point of dignity.

This was how it always went. I watched for the moment everyone crossed the invisible line between fun and regret. Usually, I was the one standing there with a flashlight and a plan.

Cris eyed me with a conspiratorial grin on her face. “You’re smiling.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s a facial malfunction.” Which would, eventually, resolve itself.

It had been a long time since I had sat in a room full of people who didn’t need anything from me. No emergencies. No “just a quick question.” No one quietly waiting for me to fix what they broke, smooth the mood, keep the night moving, make sure everyone got home safely and nobody forgot anything important. I had spent most of my life being the responsible one, and not in the flattering, capable-adult way people like to compliment when they aren’t the ones carrying it.

I had to make sure the bills got paid on time. I had to remind my mother about appointments she had made herself. I had to sign permission slips and track deadlines and learn, early, that if I didn’t hold everything together, it simply would not hold.

The drag. That was the word that lived in the back of my head. The wet blanket. The fun killer. The person who showed up to remind everyone that actions had consequences.

My jaw tightened before I even realized it. My free hand curled against my leg, nails pressing into my palm hard enough to anchor me. I caught it a second later. Forced my fingers to uncurl.

So yes, I was drinking more than usual. On purpose.

I lifted my glass and took a long sip.

Cris lifted her glass and squinted at it. “I think this one is empty, which feels unfair.”

Alex squinted at hers. “Mine is full, which also feels unfair.”

Morgan raised both hands. “We have reached the point where fairness is theoretical.”

Last call happened at some point. We didn’t heed it.

Jamie stood too fast and swayed, then planted both hands on the table like someone about to propose either a crime or a bonding exercise. “I’m done with this game,” she announced. “I want to do something dangerous but socially acceptable.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Those two things do not generally overlap.”

“Skinny dipping,” she announced.

Cris gasped. “No.”

Jamie pointed at her. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Absolutely yes.”

I rubbed my forehead. “You are all drunk, and that is a lake out there. Lakes have rules. You can’t see them, but they’re there.”

I didn’t know what they were, but I trusted them to be punitive. This was upstate New York, not Cabo. The lakes here weren’t decorative. They were glacial and moody and owned by men named Gary whose belief in property lines were as intense as their belief in religion. Each body of water came with at least three warning signs, two passive-aggressive dock notes, and one retired contractor who would absolutely call the sheriff over a misplaced kayak. Adirondack hospitality was real, but so was Adirondack territorialism. You could borrow a snowblower. You could not skinny dip uninvited.

“Live a little, Zee,” Morgan said.

That phrase had never once been spoken by someone with a plan.

Cris looked at me with an earnestness that only appears after too much alcohol and too much collective relief. “I wouldn’t usually do this either.”

And that was the problem. I would never. Not sober. Not the careful version of me that made checklists and backup plans.

But I wasn’t sober, and I was suddenly violently tired of being careful.

“Fine,” I said. “If I drown, though, I’m haunting all of you.”

The trail down to the lake was more a suggestion than a path, which seemed appropriate for a bad decision made after midnight. We stumbled through it in a loose line, hands on each other’s shoulders, laughing too loudly for people who were trying not to be noticed.

Someone started singing our ridiculous boss song again, and by the time we hit the chorus, we were yelling it into the trees like women trying to exorcise an entire corporate structure by force. Somewhere overhead, a bird made a clear judgment call and relocated.

The lake spread out in front of us, dark and still. Jamie had already kicked off her shoes. Morgan was halfway through pulling her shirt over her head.

Surrounded by pine and rock that had been here longer than anyone arguing about it, the flat surface of the lake looked harmless. But Adirondack lakes were cold year-round. Snowmelt fed them well into summer. You stepped in thinking you were brave and came out reconsidering your life choices. Somewhere under that black water were ancient tree stumps, abandoned anchors, and probably a canoe from 1987 that someone had sworn they were coming back for.

“This is happening,” Cris said.

“I’m aware,” I said.

We shed our clothes and ran into the water. The cold stole my breath but woke every nerve ending in my body. I gasped and laughed as I went under with them, letting the water close over my head.

I came back up to Jamie screaming at the sky.

“Why is it this cold?” she yelled.

“Because it’s a lake in the Adirondacks,” Morgan said, completely calm, before diving under again like she was trying to escape the conversation entirely.

Cris splashed me hard enough to get water up my nose. “You needed to commit.”

“I did commit,” I said, wiping my face. “This was a mistake.”

Jamie lunged toward me, arms out, and before I could dodge, she dragged me under. The cold hit again, sharper this time, and when I came back up, I was laughing for real.

Then a flashlight shone across the water.

Ah. Actions meet consequences.

“Hey,” a man yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Jamie swore. Morgan vanished under the surface like she was being hunted. Cris’s hands went flying up to cover her tits.

My brain finally caught up. This was the part where I was supposed to do something smart. De-escalate. Get us out. Protect the idiots I had never agreed to be responsible for.

Instead, I was still standing there, half drunk and waist-deep in a lake, tits hanging free.

“We’re swimming,” I called back. “It’s a lake. That is the whole point, no?” I had not planned to die on this hill, but here we were.

“Get out of there,” he shouted. “This is private property.”

Of course it was. Everything was private property up here. Shoreline maps were studied with the intensity of battle plans. People built docks two inches over a line and fought about it for decades. If you were going to commit public indecency, this was not the region to do it in. These people measured their lawns, for God’s sake.

“Your property touches public water,” I shot back. “That sounds like a you problem, buddy.”

Apparently, the part of my brain that cared about self-preservation was as inebriated as the rest of me.

“Get your stupid naked asses out of the water and off my property right fucking now!” The beam of the flashlight jittered, catching bare skin and startled faces.

Before I could escalate further, a large form stepped out of the trees. Another man, tall and solid, moved into the light, putting himself between us and the yelling like it was no big deal.

“Evening,” the man said calmly. “They’re leaving. No need to keep this going.”

The neighbor snorted, but he backed away almost immediately, grumbling. “Unbelievable. No shame anymore. None. Just out here like animals.” He swept the flashlight toward the trees, still talking. “This is why I don’t talk to people. Bunch of damn exhibitionists.” He kept grumbling as he stomped down the trail. “Used to be a quiet place. Used to have standards.”

The light finally vanished, his commentary trailing off with it.

The second man stayed where he was, unruffled. He turned back toward us and stared resolutely at the stars, like this was the most disciplined thing he’d done all night.

The mountains rose dark behind him in a backdrop that made every small human drama feel embarrassing.

For a moment, the world went very still.

I was cold. I was wet. I was surrounded by naked coworkers.

This was not in the employee handbook.

Chapter 2

Liam

The first thing I did every morning was count.

The number of steps from the maintenance shed to the outdoor spa. The cedar-siding panels to my left. The tiles along the pool edge. The stacks of oak and pine by the lounge, split to size and lined up under the overhang, where they stayed dry even when the fog rolled in off the lake.

I did it without thinking. When the numbers lined up, my shoulders eased. When they didn’t, I fixed them. I never saw much point in interrogating the relief once it arrived. Useful was useful.

Today they lined up. That put me in a good mood. I didn’t announce it or anything, but I noticed.

The lake sat fifty yards beyond the tree line, quiet and black at this hour. Southern Adirondack mornings came in layers. First the mist, then light pushing through pine and birch, then the sound of loons somewhere out past the dock, offended at something no one else could see. Pine Hollow marketed itself as peaceful, which was accurate—most of the time. It was also watchful. The forest here paid attention.

Fog rolled in most mornings from the southern edge of the water and crept across the grounds. It swallowed the dock first, then the lawn chairs, then the lower cabins. Guests loved it. They called it atmospheric. They took photos and captioned them with words like magic. They didn’t think about how quickly visibility dropped out here once the sun set or how narrow the two-lane road became when deer decided to cross without warning. The mountains gave you beauty, but they also demanded awareness.

By the time the light moved through the trees and across the property, Pine Hollow felt awake.

The pool cover lay over the water, smooth and sealed. I ran my hand along the edge anyway, checking for gaps. None. The hot tub read at the right temperature. I nudged it down a degree because guests liked it a little too hot, and people made bad choices when they got too warm. The spa had seen more confessions than the front desk.

The firewood shed was next. It sat just off the path, tucked between the main lodge and the trees. I restacked half the pile so it was even.

The smell of freshly split wood stuck to my hands, but I relished the familiar scent. The owners called this much attention to detail overkill. I called it not having visitors tripping in the dark. I had a strong preference for bones staying inside bodies.

“Morning, Liam,” Nora said from the front desk when I carried the first armload inside. She owned the place with her wife and had the calm of someone who had survived a decade of guests who thought towels were optional. Survival changes a person.

The main lodge had been standing since the fifties. Cedar beams. Stone fireplace built from rocks that had been pulled out of the lakebed during construction. Every year, the freeze and thaw tested the foundation. Every spring, someone found a new crack in something that I helped repair.

Nora ran the desk like a ship’s bridge, handling everything before it became a problem. I admired that.

“Morning,” I said. “Anything heavy need lifting?”

She smiled. “You already know.”

I hauled two kegs down to the tavern for Pete, who ran the bar and pretended he hated being helped even when the alternative was obvious pain.

“You trying to make me feel useless again?” he asked when I set them down.

“I’m trying to stop you from hurting your back,” I said.

He grunted. “Same thing.”

As I got back to the front desk, the doors swung open, and Mr. Harlan came stomping in like he owned the place. His face held a permanent scowl.

“Noise last night,” he announced. “People laughing. After ten.”

Nora nodded serenely. “We’ll look into it.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “This used to be a quiet area.”

“We appreciate your feedback, Mr. Harlan,” she said.

He muttered something about standards and stomped back out.

I watched the door until it shut, then I got back to work.

The day passed in the ordinary way I liked best. No drama, nothing broken. Just a steady rhythm you could settle into without bracing for interruption. Guests checked in. I showed a couple to their room and carried their bags without being asked. Someone thanked me twice, which always made me feel good. I trimmed hedges, swept the porch, fixed a loose board on the dock, and watched the lake stretch out toward the tree line, glassy and still in the afternoon light.

I loved it here.

Hours later, the property settled for the night. Lights went dark one by one. The last door closed and stayed closed. Even the insects seemed to agree it was time to stop.

I’d done a sweep at midnight, and everything had been fine then. Still, I was awake. The quiet sat wrong around me.

I told myself I would walk the perimeter once more. There was no reason to lie in bed counting the minutes when I could be moving instead, and I didn’t mind the extra lap. The night was cool and clear, the kind of Adirondack night I didn’t mind settling in to.

Pool: Cover secure. I pressed it down anyway.

Spa: Temperature steady.

Firewood stacked, clean and dry. Doors locked. Windows latched.

Everything in its place.

I was about to head back to my room when the sound reached me. Laughter, loud and uncontained. It was carrying up from the lake like a cacophony of trouble.

I stopped walking and checked my watch. Two a.m.

The laughter came again, clearer this time. Too many people. Someone singing, badly and without fear of consequences. It sounded happy. It also sounded… drunk.

My jaw clenched.

I stood still and listened, telling myself it was probably fine. People came here to let loose. Still, my chest tightened. Water. Alcohol. Darkness. That was not a favorable equation.

I took the path down toward the lake, counting my steps without meaning to. Forty to the bend. Thirty to the clearing.

The voices got louder. Less cheerful.

I moved faster, reaching the lake while the shouting was still enthusiastic.

The neighbor, Mr. Harlan, was mid-lecture, flashlight wagging like punctuation. Exclamation points, mostly. He had settled into his favorite theme. People had no shame anymore. Standards were gone. This used to be a quiet place. Etcetera.

“Evening, Mr. Harlan,” I said. “They’re leaving. No need to keep this going.”

He spun on me, ready to escalate, then took me in. Height like mine does a lot of work before you had to say anything else. He muttered, backed up, and kept backing up.

He grumbled under his breath as he walked away, sweeping the beam toward the trees like he was documenting evidence. The light bobbed away with him, his commentary trailing off until the forest swallowed it.

I stayed put until he was gone, then I turned toward the group of women.

I didn’t look at them, instead fixing my attention to the sky. “You ladies aren’t in trouble or anything, but you probably should head back to your rooms. I’m not trying to ruin your evening, just offering my input as someone with a clear head. I can walk you back if you need.”

There was a beat of silence, then a chorus of agreement that sounded relieved and loud all at once. The mood loosened as they climbed out and wrapped themselves in towels and clothes retrieved from a heap. Morning would not be kind to them.

“Let me know when you’re decent,” I said, still studying the stars.

When they told me it was clear, I turned, keeping my eyes level with shoulders and trees and anything that was not their bodies. I held out a small stack of cards that I fished from my pocket.

“Liam,” I said. “I’m the resident grounds worker here at Pine Hollow Retreat. For transparency’s sake, I’m also a shifter. If there’s an emergency, use the number. I can get to you quickly.”

One of them smiled wide. “Does this count as you giving us your number?”

“For emergencies only,” I said, keeping my voice friendly and firm. “Broken bones. Lost people. Fires. Not karaoke requests.”

They laughed, and one of them snapped a sloppy salute. Another one attempted a curtsy and nearly took herself out doing it.

“Very professional,” one of them said.

“I felt respected,” another replied.

We turned back up the trail together, their voices tangling with each other. The tension bled off fast, replaced by the kind of fearless chatter that only showed up when people thought the danger had passed.

Someone tripped and laughed like it was on purpose.

“Do the deer here judge people?” a voice asked from behind me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Makes sense.”

Most of them kept talking. Two didn’t.

One was tall and striking, walking half a step behind the rest. Her blue hair was not subtle. The color caught every bit of light along the trail, making it impossible to miss and harder to ignore than it should have been. The other woman kept pace beside her, steady and watchful. The taller one kept glancing back, then forward again, like she was counting heads without meaning to. I could relate to that.

I could tell her foot was about to give out a split second before it did.

She let out a sharp, startled yelp, then pitched sideways.

I was there before the sound finished. The ground had given way under her foot, and I spotted the gopher hole. I had been trying to keep an eye out for them for exactly this reason, but I had missed one in the dark.

I took her by the elbow and helped her up.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately.

She was not fine. She tried to step, but she hadn’t regained her balance yet and pitched forward again.

Catching her, I picked her up without thinking. A streak of blue swung across my arm as her hair slipped forward. She was strong and solid but still felt small in my arms.

“I’ve got you,” I said. “We’re going to the nursing station.”

“I do not need to be carried,” she said.

“You do,” I said. “At least until you stop lying about being fine.”

She huffed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re slippery,” I said, adjusting my grip. I was, unhelpfully, a little too pleased that she was in my arms.

“Is that a comment on my weight,” she asked, “or your lack of experience with wet women?”

A laugh broke out behind us.

“Strictly a traction issue,” I said. “I’ll survive.”

She shifted, testing. “I’m heavy.”

“You are not heavy,” I said. “But please stop wiggling.”

“I do not wiggle.”

“You just did.”

She paused, let out a small huff, then settled.

Carrying her was different from everything else I’d handled tonight. The property, the guests, the routines... all of that usually settled the pull to watch and guard and stay alert. It gave that part of me somewhere to live.

This pulled it forward instead. Sharpened it in a way I wasn’t used to.

She shifted in my arms again, and my focus locked down hard, not on the path or the lights or the night, but on getting her somewhere solid and safe and still.

I adjusted my grip and kept moving, aware that something had just changed—and I didn’t dislike it.

When we reached the main building, most of the group peeled off toward the stairs with loud assurances that everything was fine. One woman hesitated.

One woman hesitated. “I’ll come with you.”

The woman in my arms shook her head. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

She said it confidently, like she expected the other woman to obey—which she did.

I steered us toward the golf cart. The night was quieter now, as if the property had finally exhaled.

I gently set her on the seat and handed her a towel. “Nursing station’s a short ride. We’ll take a look and decide next steps from there.”

She glanced at the card still tucked between her fingers, then lifted her gaze to mine, chin set despite the towel and the injury and the fact that I was literally loading her into a golf cart like an injured heiress in a very specific kind of period drama.

“For emergencies only,” she said.

I smiled. “You’re learning.”

I turned the key and eased the cart forward, the path lighting up ahead of us.

Chapter 3

Zoey

The nursing station at Pine Hollow was clean and sparsely furnished with a narrow bed bolted to the wall, cabinets labeled in tidy handwriting, and a rolling stool parked in the corner.

“This isn’t necessary,” I said, which was my default setting. I said it about most things that involved care or attention targeted at me.

Liam shut the door behind us. He turned, and for a second, I just… noticed.

He was big. Not gym-big, but structurally large. The kind of big that made doorways seem impossibly small. Standing that close to him did something irritating to my sense of scale. I wasn’t short—had never been. And yet my brain kept insisting I was suddenly taking up less space in comparison to him, but strangely, it made me feel safe instead of small.

It felt illegal.

“The nurse practitioner lives on the property,” he said. “Same as me. I’m going to see if she’s available.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I repeated, climbing onto the bed anyway. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m sure there’s an ice pack I could use for a few minutes and be right back to normal.”

I peeled off my shoe and set it on the floor. Swelling had arrived with confidence. It looked proud of itself, all red and puffy.

I stared at it. “Okay, that’s rude.”

He took his phone out, typed, paused, deleted something, typed again. His thumb hovered for a beat before he sent the message.

“She’s on her way,” he said.

I scowled. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You stepped in a hole on our property,” he said. “You’re dizzy. You can’t put weight on it.”

“I can put weight on it. The dizziness is from the booze.”

I tried to stand to prove my point. The room tilted immediately. My body made a brief, misguided suggestion toward movement, and my ankle rejected it.

He moved without touching me, close enough that I was again very aware of how much space he occupied and how easily he could steady me if he needed to.

I didn’t ask him to.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to my foot.

Nodding, I sat back down. I was not prepared for how careful he was.

He cradled my heel with both hands, steady and sure, like he had done this before. His thumbs pressed lightly around the swollen area. He watched my face, not my ankle.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a deeply unhelpful thought surfaced: At least I’d gotten a pedicure.

This was not the moment to be grateful for aesthetic foresight, and yet…

I swallowed and immediately hated myself for it.

“That hurt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded as if it was a data point. He adjusted his grip, slower this time, and my skin tingled beneath his warm, steady hands.

I told myself to look anywhere else. At the cabinets, or the labels, the ceiling, or the floor. Instead, I met his gaze.

Huge mistake.

I didn’t like the way my stomach flipped. I didn’t like the way my thoughts scattered. I especially didn’t like the part of me that wanted to stay right here and let him keep holding me like this.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

“I’m literally sitting,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Very impressive.”

A moment later, a knock sounded at the door, and Liam opened it. The nurse practitioner seemed cheerful and unbothered, and I quickly snapped back to reality.

Liam greeted her by name. She greeted him right back, easy and familiar. There was a rhythm there. Comfort. The kind you only get after a lot of late nights and mutually solved problems.

Liam stepped back; he checked the door again, the light, the cart by the wall.

I watched him do it and felt something settle in my chest. I really, really didn’t like that something.

“Evening,” the nurse practitioner said in a no-fuss tone, setting her bag down and washing her hands. “I’m Marlene.”

“Zoey,” I said. “Sorry about the hour.”

She waved it off. “I live close by.”

Marlene glanced at my ankle, then at the two of us, and smiled slowly. “So, this is the result of the lake incident.”

“Wow, word travels fast here,” I said. “I would like it noted that the lake started it.”

She laughed as she dried her hands. “You’re lucky it was Liam who found you.”

“The old crotchety neighbor actually got there first.”

Her brows shot up. “He did?”

“Yes,” I said. “Very loud. Very committed to the idea that shame is dead.”

Marlene winced. “Sounds like him.”

“He called us animals,” I added.

“That’s actually one of his nicer openers,” she said, then looked back at Liam. “If it had been anyone else other than Liam who came across you, this would have ended with the cops and a lecture about standards. Liam has a way with people. He has an energy about him that makes people feel comfortable.”

Liam cleared his throat and looked at the wall, but I didn’t miss the way his ears had gone pink.

Marlene’s smile sharpened as she watched him. “You know,” she said casually, “this one is very popular around here.”

I didn’t like how my stomach reacted to that.

“With every woman,” she continued, “and some of the men.”

“I’m standing right here,” Liam said.

She waved him off. “You are. And normally you nod politely and retreat. Tonight, you’re… participating. Which is why I’m committed to embarrassing you.”

“I am not participating,” he said. “I’m concerned about her ankle. And I’m only laughing at her jokes because she’s funny.”

“Oh,” Marlene said, pleased. “That explains it.”

“I’m not funny,” I said automatically.

Liam turned to me and really looked at me. “You are. And apparently also self-deprecating.”

It was said simply. No buildup. No joke attached.

I hated that my face heated. I hated that I didn’t immediately deflect like I should have.

Marlene slid a clipboard across the counter before I could recover. “Paperwork first,” she said. “I need this before I treat you.”

“That’s fair,” I said, grateful for the interruption.

I took the pen and focused. Name. Address. Insurance. I was sober enough for this. The cold water and pain had done their job. My head was clear. My body was loud.

Marlene moved around the room, lining up supplies and pulling on gloves. Liam watched her do it, then adjusted the trash bin an inch closer to the table.

“How did you end up working all the way out here?” I asked, mostly to keep my mind occupied.

Marlene smiled without looking up. “I work under Dr. Patel at the hospital downtown, but we set it up so I can run my own practice here.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“It is,” she said cheerfully. “I see my regular patients here during the week. Folks who don’t want to trek into town. And Pine Hollow keeps me on as an emergency station for allergic reactions, bad sunburns, and twisted ankles.”

“That last one feels targeted.”

She laughed. “You’d be surprised how often I see it.”

I looked back down at the papers. Emergency contact.

I paused.

My mother was on a long cruise somewhere in the Indian Ocean. We talked when the satellite cooperated, or when she needed something from me. Usually, the second. She was not the type of person who showed up when things went wrong. That had always been me.

Even when I was a kid.

And if she did get called for something medical, she would treat it like an engraved invitation to meddle. She’d unleash her opinions and interpret my boundaries as suggestions.

I was working on not doing that anymore. On not handing her the keys to my life every time something went sideways.

This was not the moment to relapse.

I could put one of the women upstairs. I liked them. That was the problem. Liking people came with expectations. Also, I didn’t have their actual phone numbers. Just years of Slack messages and mutual trauma.

I looked up. Liam was wiping the counter. He stopped when he noticed me watching.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said, which wasn’t true.

I wrote his name, then the number from the card he had handed me earlier.

Emergencies only.

Marlene took the clipboard and raised her brows. “Bold choice.”

“He’s an employee,” I said with a shrug. “Plus, I don’t have anyone else.”

Liam blinked, then nodded. “I’m on site,” he said. “I can help if needed.”

Marlene smiled like she’d just seen something click. “All right then.” She turned back to my ankle and got to work, all efficient and confident.

I told myself this meant nothing.

I told myself I would never need him.

Marlene pressed and prodded my ankle with the confidence of someone who had seen worse and might see worse again before breakfast.

“Tell me when it hurts,” she said.

“It hurts,” I said.

She adjusted her grip. “Helpful.”

She moved it side to side. Up. Down. A little rotation that made me clench my jaw and reconsider all my life choices.

“Okay,” she said after a minute. “Nothing feels unstable. No obvious fracture. Likely a minor strain or sprain.”

“Minor,” I repeated. “Love that word.”

“If the swelling gets worse after three days, you’ll need an X-ray,” she continued. “Until then, rest, elevation, ice. Be gentle.”

“I will absolutely do all of that,” I said, lying with absolute confidence.

She wrapped it neatly, firm but not cruel, and taped it like she meant it to stay that way. When she was done, she stepped back and nodded at her work.

“You can walk. Just don’t be heroic about it.”

“I have never been heroic in my life,” I said.

Liam crouched and picked up my shoe, careful to keep his hands to himself, like proximity was a privilege he didn’t abuse.

Marlene peeled off her gloves. “One more thing.”

I braced myself.

“A short soak in the outdoor heated spa should help loosen things up,” she said. “Just don’t fall in.”

“I would never,” I said.

She looked at me, then at my ankle, raising one eyebrow. “Have a good night,” she said, already moving toward the door.

When Liam and I stepped back outside, the quiet wrapped around us again. Pine Hollow had returned to its usual state. I hesitated, then cleared my throat. “So. Hypothetically.”

Liam turned to me.

“If someone had a freshly bandaged ankle,” I continued, “and a noted history of poor decisions around wet surfaces...”

He nodded once.

“And if that someone wanted to take medical advice very seriously…”

Another nod.

“It might be safer,” I said, carefully, “to not be alone near the spa. In case of slipping. Or… further heroics.”

He considered that, his gaze moving over the path ahead, the light, and the ground, as if my hypothetical required a full safety assessment.

“I can stay,” he said. “If you want.”

I pretended this was purely logistical. “That would be wise.”

We started walking, and I stuck to the convenient fiction that this was about safety, despite the fact that my pulse clearly had other opinions.

Chapter 4

Liam

The path to the spa curved up into the rock, stone worn smooth by time and heat and people who knew a good thing when they found it. Pine Hollow had built the tub straight into the mountain, so the natural stone rose around it. Steam rolled low and steady, catching the light from the lanterns bolted into the rock face. The water glowed from the moon, bright and inviting. Quiet. Private.

Zoey stopped short when she saw it.

The lantern light caught the blue in her hair when she turned her head. I hadn’t noticed how bright it was before.

“Oh,” she said on a reverent breath. “Okay, I get it. It really is beautiful here.”

I checked the railing—secure—then the steps—dry. When I offered my arm, she took it without comment, which I decided counted as trust. She moved carefully, keeping her weight off her ankle, her attention split between the ground and the view. Overhead, the sky glittered with a myriad of stars, as if it was showing off for her.

“This is obscene,” she said. “In the best way.”

I smiled.

She sat on the edge and lowered her toes into the water. Her shoulders sagged, like her body had been waiting for permission to let go of tension. A few strands of blue slipped forward over her shoulder when she leaned down.

“Should I put my foot in with the bandage on?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll rewrap it after. It won’t take long.”

She studied me for a second, nodded. “If you do it wrong, I’ll never let you forget it.”

“That seems excessive.”

“I’m very consistent,” she said.

I nodded. “Fair enough.”

I knelt beside her and unfastened the tape slowly, careful not to tug. The bandage came loose under my fingers, warm from her skin. I kept my focus on the task. Still, the pull was there just from the brief touches of skin against skin, sharp and unwelcome. I had not felt this in a long time.

She was a guest, and I worked here, which should have made the line between us clearer than it was.

“Do people usually behave themselves up here?” she asked.

“No,” I answered honestly. “They don’t even pretend to.”

She huffed a laugh. “Figures.”

Once the bandage was off, I stood and held out my hand. She braced herself on her good foot and rose, steady but cautious. Then she did something unexpected.

She gripped the hem of her shirt and lifted it with no visible rush and no sign she intended to spare me. I looked away immediately, counting lanterns and checking the waterline, trying my damnedest to remain professional.

By the time I looked back, she was standing in her bra and underwear, as calm as can be, as if this was a totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night and not a direct assault on my self-control. She held my gaze, daring me to look.

I did, and when I did, I was done for.

She was tall and lean with long, tan legs that seemed to go on for days. Her smooth, bare skin glistened in the moonlight, and my eyes tracked a path up to the dark fabric that sat low on her hips, concealing little.

My gaze dragged higher before I could stop it. Her breasts would be a perfect handful, perky and full. I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.

And then her hair. Tousled, it fell over her shoulder like she had forgotten it existed.

She didn’t move to cover herself. Didn’t do anything but stand there and give me the choice to look or not.

I had already made the mistake.

The heat came fast, sharp enough that my jaw locked and my hands flexed once at my sides before I forced them still, forced everything in me still.

She took a breath then and said, “Ready.”

After gathering my composure, I took her hand and helped her into the water. She hissed softly, then sighed as the heat enclosed her body.

“Oh god, I’m never leaving.” She looked up at me, her chin tilted. “Are you getting in?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Neither do I.”

I hesitated, running through all the reasons why I shouldn’t: Work. Boundaries. Common sense.

None of that seemed to matter at the moment. I took off my shirt and shorts and left my boxers on. The water welcomed me just as much as it had her.

We sat shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching, steam rising between us. She leaned back against the stone and tipped her head up toward the stars.

“You’re different from other people,” she murmured.

I waited.

“You listen,” she added. “In my experience, most people are just waiting for their turn to talk.”

Something warm and unfamiliar settled in my chest. I was used to being useful and efficient, used to keeping quiet when it counted. Listening had always been expected of me. No one had ever complimented me about it, though.

I held her gaze a second longer than I should have.

She shifted, and I felt her pull away just a little, walls sliding into place as the night sobered her. The mystery of her sharpened instead of softened.

Watching her, I told myself to remember this moment exactly as it was.

Because whatever this was, it was worth remembering.

The water pressed in close, heat settling into muscle and bone. Pine Hollow disappeared beyond the stone edge, the world reduced to steam and dark sky and the woman sitting beside me.

Zoey leaned back against the rock, looking completely relaxed. The earlier sharpness was still there but softened at the edges.

People usually noticed me quickly, or at least the size of me and how I filled a space before I ever said a word. They reacted first and listened later, if they bothered at all.

Zoey reacted differently. When she looked at me, I felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with my body. And I had literally known her for an hour.

I told myself it was way too early to trust that feeling.

“That thing you did earlier,” she said, eyes still on the stars. “With the neighbor.”

“I just stood there,” I said.

“Yeah, but it worked. Thank you.”

I smiled and didn’t bother stopping it this time.

The water rippled when she moved her leg and let out another blissful sigh. She caught me watching, and the looks she gave me said she knew exactly what I was doing.

“You’re thinking,” she said.

“I usually am.”

She snorted. The alcohol had burned off, and with it went some of the openness. I could see it happen in real time. Her shoulders drew in a fraction. The humor stayed, but the access didn’t.

It intrigued me. It worried me. It made me want to earn whatever she was pulling back.

She turned and studied my face. “You don’t flirt.”

“Not often, no.”

“Why?”

“People tend to expect something when you flirt.”

She nodded like that confirmed a theory she had been playing around with. Steam drifted between us while I kept my hands braced on the stone, even though every part of me wanted to close the distance and touch her. I didn’t. She must have noticed because she inched closer, her shoulder brushing mine in a way that felt both casual and entirely intentional. My pulse kicked hard, and it took everything in me to stay still.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For earlier. For not making it weird.”

“It wasn’t weird,” I said.

“It could have been.”

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “It could have.”

She leaned her head back again, gaze returning to the sky. The moment felt balanced on something thin.

I wanted her—I couldn’t deny it. That was the easy part.

What unsettled me was how much I wanted to understand her, and how much it felt like she was deciding whether to let me.

Bracing my arms on my knees, I counted the lanterns again. Four on the left curve of stone. Four on the right. The waterline stayed where it should. Steam curled low and steady, but I didn’t look at it. I looked at Zoey instead.

Her posture said relaxed. Her jaw said not at all. She kept her hands folded like she was guarding a secret.

Every few seconds, I had to stop myself from reaching for her. From brushing the damp hair off her shoulder. From pulling her in until that guarded line in her body eased. The most ridiculous impulse of all was to lower my head against her shoulder and stay there like I’d earned it. I had not. My body didn’t seem interested in that distinction.

“Why’d you put me down as your emergency contact?”

She snorted. “You were there. And upright.”

That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did. Being chosen for availability was still chosen. I wasn’t proud of how quickly my instincts ran with it.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was deciding whether I was about to be annoying. “Then what did you mean, exactly?”

“I meant, why wouldn’t someone like you have someone else to put there?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh. That.” She waved a hand. “Bold of you to assume I come with a roster.”

“A roster?”

“Yes. A bench. A depth chart. A laminated list of trusted adults.”

I smiled. “You’re telling me you don’t?”

“I’m telling you that if I were charming, my life would look very different. I would own candles. I would have plants that are still alive. I would have at least one ex who doesn’t describe me as ‘intimidating but hot.’”

“That sounds charming,” I said.

She scoffed. “It’s exhausting.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

Her shoulders drew in, just a little, but she didn’t move away.

“I’m not charming,” she said. “I’m efficient. I fix things. People keep me around until they don’t need me anymore.”

I shook my head. “Those aren’t opposites.”

“They are if you’re me,” she said dryly. “Trust me. I’ve tested the theory.”

She continued. “I have a mom with major boundary issues. It’s not healthy. I’m starting to establish some distance, but it’s a lot of work. And it doesn’t always pan out the way I intend.”

“I get that,” I said.

And I truly did.

I understood the effort, the constant correction. The awareness that if you let something slip, even a little, it could take more than you meant to give.

Suddenly, I could make sense of her. The sharp edges. The way she pushed first and softened later. The way she held control so tightly until she chose, very deliberately, to loosen it. It was management. A way of moving through the world without giving more than she could afford to lose.

“The only real friends I have right now are the women upstairs,” she went on. “This weekend is the first time we’re really spending any time together. In person, at least. We bonded remotely through mutual professional suffering.”

“That counts,” I said.

She shifted, water sloshing softly against the stone. Our legs brushed, sparks shooting over my skin at the small contact. I didn’t pull away.

“I don’t plan on coming back here any time soon,” she added. “So, you should be safe from having to be called.”

“I’m not worried about it,” I said.

She gave a measured look.

“I understand complicated families.” It was true, and for some reason, I needed her to know it.

Before I could think better of it, I reached out and brushed the hair out of her face. My fingers skimmed her temple as I tucked the strand behind her ear. She didn’t flinch. Our legs pressed together.

She swallowed, then her lips parted.

“You want to compare notes?” she asked.

“Only if you do.”

She nodded. “My father wasn’t in the picture. My mother is very much in it. Too much. I’m learning to manage.”

I nodded. “I learned to leave.”

She watched me, her gaze piercing. “That sounds like a story.”

“It is.” I rested my hands back on my knees and kept them there. “My pack is small. Hierarchical. My parents married for reasons that had nothing to do with liking each other. When I came of age, it turned out I was an alpha. That meant lessons, training, preparation. I had to be serious and in control. Which meant no swimming, no playing. No joy. No love.”

She huffed. “That sounds terrible.”

“It was,” I said. “So, I ran.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

She fell quiet, drawing one knee to her chest and hugging it.

“That sounds like some impressive boundary setting,” she said at last.

“I guess you could put it that way.”

We sat there, close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin as the water warmed her body. I forced my attention to her face and nowhere else.

The humor had fallen away, revealing something deeper. Her mouth softened first, then her posture changed, slowly and deliberately, like she had made a decision and was giving me time to catch up.

She leaned in close enough that every instinct I had started lining up and asking permission. Yet I stayed where I was. I didn’t move to meet her. I needed to know this was her choice, not momentum.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then flicked back to my eyes. A strand of blue brushed my jaw.

The space between us shrank, becoming charged until it felt like one wrong move would either snap it or ignite it. Her knee pressed more firmly into my thigh. She didn’t apologize or pretend it was an accident.

My heart beat faster. I locked my jaw and kept still.

Our mouths hovered so close that I could count the seconds it would take to close the distance. One. Two. I waited for her to stop. She didn’t.

I lifted a hand between us and said, “Hold on.” The words landed with more weight than I intended.

Her brows shot up, her eyes flashing with annoyance and curiosity.

I kept my palm between us, not touching her, but needing to pause the moment without breaking it. “I need to make sure that this is you. Not the alcohol or the circumstances. Just you.”

She searched my face, then her mouth curved into a lazy smile. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I think you do,” I said. “I need to be sure.”

She leaned in another inch. “Ask me something,” she whispered. “Test me.”

I smiled despite myself, tension pulling tight through my shoulders. “Are you serious?”

“Painfully,” she said. “Go on.”

I didn’t drop my hand or move closer.

“Tell me the number,” I said. No way she would have memorized my phone number, but if she had, that would be one way of guaranteeing her capacity for consent.

Her lips curled in pleasure. “From the card?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look away. She recited it cleanly. When she finished, she added, lightly, “And you used a font with open fours. Most people don’t. I approve.”

I gaped at her. “How did you do that?”

She shrugged, like it hadn’t been impressive enough to merit commentary. “Photographic memory. If I see something clearly, it sticks.” She let out a dry laugh. “When I’m drunk, everything looks blurred together. Right now, it doesn’t.”

Her focus stayed on me, present and unmistakable.

“You didn’t expect me to remember it.”

Something inside me loosened and tightened at the same time. I lowered my hand and closed the distance between us. Our mouths met in a slow, controlled movement, as if we were both still deciding. Her blue hair tickled my cheek. She sighed against me, sliding her hand into the space between my shoulder and neck like it belonged there.

I pulled back just enough to look at her, and she smiled at me, small and certain in a way that settled one thing inside me and ruined something else.

“Still worried?” she asked.

“No,” I said, feeling a little undone. I leaned in again, slower this time, giving her every chance to change her mind, but she didn’t. I kept the kiss light, a careful caress with just enough pause to feel her answer me. Her lips moved against mine, testing, learning the shape of me the same way I was learning her. When she tilted her head and deepened the contact, she did it with an unhurried certainty that nearly finished me.

Desire surged hard and fast, but I held myself steady. I refused to take more than she offered.

She made another quiet sound against my mouth, and my resolve slipped a fraction.

Her hand slid from my shoulder to the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw. The touch was confident, claiming without being possessive. I answered by angling closer, letting the kiss turn fuller, slower, wanting to memorize the moment instead of rushing past it.

Her lips were soft but firm, and she kissed me with purpose. This woman knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

I shifted closer until our legs pressed together fully, the water rolling around us. I put my hand on her waist, not pulling her in, but anchoring myself to her. She leaned into my touch, and time stretched, each second weighted, like we were daring each other to be the first one to lose control.

And I wanted her to break me.

She broke the kiss to look at me, lips parted, a dazedly satisfied look on her face. She didn’t give me time to think before her hand slid to my shoulder as she moved closer to me, the water rising and settling as she straddled me, knees braced on either side of my thighs. Her blue hair fell in a curtain around us.

I went very still.

Not because I didn’t want it—didn’t want her—but because I wanted it enough to be careful.

Her weight settled fully on me, the contact sending a jolt straight through my body. I locked my hands on the stone at my sides, fingers spread, knuckles tight. I didn’t count the lanterns.

She watched my face, assessing. A satisfied amusement flashed through her eyes. She enjoyed seeing the effort it took for me to stay right where I was.

“Still with me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She kissed me again, rolling her body against me. She was a fucking goddess.

I kept the kiss measured, even as everything in me pushed forward, wanted more, wanted permission I was not going to give myself yet.

Her hips shifted against me as she slid her hand up my neck, and my focus narrowed to the fact that she was sitting on me. It took a conscious effort to stay present instead of letting instinct take over.

I let one hand leave the stone and rest at her waist. I didn’t draw her closer, but I didn’t stop her either.

She smiled into the kiss, then murmured against my lips. “I like your restraint.”

Fuuuck.

She tilted her head, and I matched her, keeping the pressure steady. Her fingers curled into my shoulder, just enough to say she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

She drew away, pressing her forehead against mine, her gaze locked on my mouth.

“You’re thinking very hard,” she said.

“I always am.”

She grinned, and if I wasn’t sitting, it would have knocked my legs out from under me. It was fucking formidable. Then her lips were on mine again, rewarding me for staying exactly where I was.

I let myself have it.

“Take me back to your place,” she said.

I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”

That sexy smile spread on her lips again, like she’d expected a protest and found something better instead. As I stood, her legs locked around my waist, and I settled my hands under her ass.

Something in my mind had eased. The usual background tension didn’t disappear, but it had stopped pressing forward. I noticed the path, the steps, the door ahead of us, and then I stopped tracking them. My body knew what to do.

The usual list of checks stopped rearranging itself. I noticed the lanterns once more on the way out of the spa, then didn’t need to again.

“That was fast,” she said.

“You were clear. And I’m good at following directions.”

“Good,” she said. “I like that.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She laughed, full and surprised, and the sound hit me low in the belly. Her hands slid to the nape of my neck, then up into my hair. She weighed nothing, and it felt like this—here, in my arms, with her legs locked around me—was exactly where she belonged.

Her mouth brushed my collarbone first, testing, teasing. She pressed a kiss there, then another, lingering this time. Her lips moved up the side of my neck, unhurried.

I stopped walking.

Everything in me narrowed to that single point of contact and stayed there. The pressure in my briefs was becoming hard to ignore.

She leaned forward again and rested her forehead against mine for half a second, then pulled back like she’d caught herself enjoying something.

She didn’t go far. Her mouth found my throat instead. She kissed the spot just under my jaw, then pressed her mouth there again, teeth grazing, breath warm against my skin.

My hands tightened reflexively under her thighs.

I forced myself to move again. I needed more. Almost there.

I opened the door to my place, then kicked it shut behind us. It was the same as every night. Lights off, shoes where they belonged, counter clear. I noticed it all, then noticed how little it mattered.

She glanced around and hummed. “This seems very you.”

I didn’t ask what that meant and carried her down the hall. When the bed came into view, I realized I didn’t really want to put her down. I liked her where she was.

I didn’t make it that far.

When she shifted in my arms, my control slipped. I stopped short and turned, pressing her back against the wall with more force than I’d intended. Not careless. Just honest. Her gasp cut off as my mouth found hers, all restraint having vanished.

Her hands slid into my hair, tugging lightly. She kissed me back without hesitation, fierce and demanding, her body pressing forward like she’d been waiting for this exact second. I pinned her with my weight, one hand braced beside her head, the other tight at her waist, keeping her right where she was.

I pulled back, gasping for breath, and she chased my mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned.

That did it.

I crossed the room in two steps, the urgency back and louder now. As I lowered her to the bed, I kept my hands on her, unwilling to let go. She twined her arms around my neck and pulled me down with her.

She looked up at me, eyes dark, lips already swollen.

I hovered there for half a second, everything in me wound tight.

“Still with me?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

I braced my hands on either side of her, the space between us tightening quickly. Waiting stopped feeling like an option.

Our breathing picked up, mingling together. I trailed my hands up her sides and under her bra, filling my palms with her. I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. My fingers moved with purpose, learning and claiming as she kissed me harder.

She made a sharp, needy sound against my mouth when I pressed closer, and it unraveled what remained of my restraint. I pulled her bra free as I trailed my lips down her throat, her collarbone, her chest, until finally, I took her nipple into my mouth. Her hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place.

I pressed closer, all my focus locked on her, on the way she moved against me. God, I wanted more, and I was running out of patience with myself for holding back.

Her moans became louder as I sucked harder on her nipple, feeling it harden against my tongue. With one hand still exploring her curves, the other slid down to cup her ass, pulling her closer still.

I pulled away from her nipple with a satisfied smile before kissing my way down her stomach, stopping just short of her panties. I glanced up at her for confirmation.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

I didn’t.

I slowly peeled her panties off, revealing smooth skin underneath, which was petal-soft against my lips. I kissed my way to her wetness, tasting her, and fuck me if she wasn’t the best thing I had ever tasted. I let out a low growl and pressed my tongue into her, then delicately flicked it against her clit as her hips ground into my face.

I paid attention to her responses, adjusting to every shift of her body. She told me what she needed without words, and I was a good listener after all.

Zoey pulled my hair, pressing me deeper where she wanted me. I could have lived a lifetime between her thighs. With my fingers, I teased her entrance, rubbing circles over her sensitive skin.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” she whispered.

I smiled against her. “Whatever you want, Zoey,” I said as I slid two fingers inside her.

“Yes, Liam, yes… just like that. So good.”

I kept the rhythm exactly where it was and felt her start to lose herself, moaning louder each time I touched that sensitive spot within her.

With every moan that escaped her lips, every movement she made against my hand, my cock grew harder and harder, straining against my briefs. Fuck, she was breathtaking.

My name fell from her lips like a prayer, and it was all I could do to stay steady, stay focused on her reactions. I let the world narrow down to her and nothing else.

When she came, screaming my name, shuddering underneath me, I couldn’t help but kiss my way up her body, reveling in the taste of her pleasure, her sweat. Our lips met in a heated kiss as our tongues dueled. The taste of her on my tongue was fucking intoxicating.

She clung to me like ivy to a brick wall, her fingers digging into my skin, leaving traces of love bites. “Fuck,” she murmured against my mouth before pulling away slightly. “More. I need more.”

She pushed my boxers down and looked at me with open approval.

“Fuck me,” she said.

I thrust into her in one quick motion, eliciting a loud moan from both of us.

“Fuck, Zoey, you feel too good,” I groaned against her ear.

My hips met hers, our rhythm quickening as her nails dug into my back. I held onto her, supporting her as we rocked together. It felt so right. Her walls gripping me tightly; every thrust causing me to lose my mind a little more.

My hands found their way back to her breasts, massaging and tweaking the nipples gently. With each thrust, we got louder, our breathing ragged. She wrapped her legs around me, her back bowing off the bed. It felt like heaven being one with this woman…so perfect in every way possible.

“I’m close,” she murmured.

“So am I,” I said. “Stay with me.”

She did.

I thrust harder and deeper into her, loving the way she milked my cock. “Come for me, Zoey,” I growled against her lips as we crashed together in a heated kiss, our tongues dancing as we both found our peaks.

She came, screaming out my name as waves of pleasure washed over us both. I held onto her tightly, kissing every inch of her neck as I exploded inside her.

“Fuck, Zoey,” I moaned against her skin, unable to find words for how good it felt.

We collapsed together, our chests heaving with exertion as we came down from our high.

It was perfect. She was perfect.

We stayed tangled together, her blue hair spread over my chest, neither of us rushing to move.

The thought crept in quietly, without panic or resistance.

I didn’t want this moment to end.

Chapter 5

Zoey

I lay in Liam’s arms, fully spent, and deeply annoyed.

Not about the arms. Those were fine. No, I was annoyed about the realization that slammed into me. I’d just had the best sex of my life—by a wide margin.

I shifted, intending to put space between us, and instead ended up closer. His arm tightened at my back immediately. I looked down at my naked body tucked into him, looking so relaxed and cooperative, and felt personally betrayed.

Fucking traitor.

As I slid my hand over his warm, excessively muscled chest, my brain attempted one last objection, then fully disengaged from the conversation.

He was hot.

Also—and this part felt objectively worse—he was calm. Not sleepy calm. Settled calm. The kind that made tension feel unnecessary in hindsight. Like his body was actively working to regulate my nervous system.

He brushed his thumb along my shoulder, and my muscles loosened without consulting me.

I didn’t appreciate how easily my body cooperated with him.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

I ran through the usual list. Water. Food. An exit plan. A personality reset. None of it applied.

“No,” I said. “I need you to not move.”

There was a pause, then he adjusted his arm, anchoring me where I was. He let himself somehow relax even more into the mattress. The sound he made was low and satisfied. Content.

It was the worst possible outcome, and to my extreme irritation, I felt satisfied and content too.

I tucked my head under his chin and pressed a kiss to his chest. My body settled immediately. My shoulders dropped. My spine relaxed. Every muscle that usually stayed half braced went quiet without asking permission.

He tipped his head down and kissed my hair, then my forehead.

My nervous system responded by fully clocking out.

Exhaling slowly, I sank closer, my leg sliding over his without thought, my hand flattening against his chest like it belonged there. I would have crawled into his skin if it were physically possible.

Jesus Christ.

Easy whore.

The insult lacked conviction. My body didn’t care. It stayed warm and pliant and deeply pleased with its choices.

“This is dangerous,” I muttered.

He sounded amused. “You’re safe with me.”

I didn’t argue. We stayed there, pressed together, his warm, steady hand on my back. Mine stayed on his chest.

I told myself I would regret this in the morning, but I closed my eyes anyway.

If this was a mistake, it was a very comfortable one.

I woke up already alert, my heart thudding like it had missed a memo. There was no slow drift into consciousness, no pleasant fog, just a hard, immediate sense that something was off. Then I remembered exactly where I was. Dark room. Liam’s arm heavy across my back. My body still warm and loose and deeply uninterested in panicking.

Traitorous.

I shifted carefully, testing. My ankle answered with a sharp reminder that it had not signed up for any of this. I bit my lip.

Okay. Fine. Crisis acknowledged.

I could not spend the night with this man. At least not the whole night.

I turned just enough to wake him. “Hey.”

He came awake fast, already focused. He looked at me, then at the clock, then back at me. He didn’t speak right away. That alone was irritating.

“I need to go back to my suite,” I said. “Can you walk with me?”

He nodded and pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced at my ankle. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” I said. “Mostly.”

He pulled on jeans, then got a shirt out of a drawer and pulled it over his head.

I sat up, regretting it immediately. The room tilted. My ankle sent another complaint, and I swore under my breath.

“Still want to walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said again.

He didn’t argue.

When I stood, my ankle buckled, and I grabbed the bed to steady myself. “Okay. So. It’s worse.”

He moved in without touching me, but he was so close, he might as well have been touching me. “We’ll go slow.”

“I hate that phrase,” I said.

He snorted. “I believe you.”

I froze. I looked down, around the room, back at him.

“My clothes,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“They’re by the hot tub,” I said. “I forgot them.”

“We’ll get them on the way.”

He tossed me a plain gray T-shirt. It was soft from too many washes, the collar a little stretched out. It smelled clean and familiar in a way I didn’t expect.

We stepped out into the hall, the quiet closing in around us. With the low lights and the hush in the air, the place felt asleep.

“So. Great ambiance. Very mysterious,” I said, trying to force some levity.

He glanced at me. “You’re limping.”

“I’m thriving,” I said.

I made it three more steps.

“Lean on me,” he said.

“No.”

“Zoey.”

I sighed and acquiesced. He adjusted immediately, moving his arm so my weight rested more comfortably. He slowed his pace without announcing it.

We walked in silence after that. Twice, I opened my mouth to say something. Twice, I closed it again. Nothing I had queued up felt right.

The hot tub area was dark and empty. Steam still clung to the water. Our clothes sat in a damp pile where we’d left them.

“Hold on,” I said.

He turned away without me asking him to.

I dressed quickly, wincing when I pulled my shorts over my ankle. I kept his shirt on and carried mine. Liam didn’t look at me until I said I was ready.

“Okay,” he said. “Almost there.”

We resumed our slow march. The path lights clicked on ahead of us, one by one. He watched the ground more than the buildings. I watched him watching the ground.

“Thank you,” I said, too abruptly.

“For what?”

“Everything,” I said. “The not-letting-me-die. The walking.”

“You’re welcome.”

That was all he said. No further commentary, no quips, or flourishes.

My suite came into view, and I felt a strange tug of relief mixed with disappointment I refused to examine.

I dug the room key out of my pocket and unlocked the door.

I turned to him before I could think better of it.

“Thank you,” I said again. “For a really good night.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I am. Well, mostly.”

We stood there for a beat. Too long. Too quiet.

“Goodnight, Zoey,” he said.

“Goodnight, Liam.”

He turned and walked away. I watched him go. Broad shoulders. Steady stride. Not once did he look back.

I stepped inside, then closed the door and leaned against it, ankle throbbing, pulse still off rhythm.

I would never see him again.

A shame.

I smiled anyway.

I had my hand on the door when my phone buzzed. I didn’t look at it before answering. Only one person would call me this late.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said. “Can you check the weather for me?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wood. Solid. Real. I held there.

“What weather?” I asked.

“At the port,” she said. “The one we’re supposed to dock at in the morning. Or is it evening there by you? I can’t remember.”

“You’re seven hours ahead,” I said. “It’s still the middle of the night for me.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right. Sorry, honey. Are you busy? You sounded far away.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m on a weekend getaway with friends.”

“Oh!” she said. “That’s wonderful. I love that for you.”

“I know you do.”

“You work so hard,” she continued. “You deserve something nice. I’m really proud of you, you know that.”

That landed. I stood there and let it.

“Thanks,” I said. “Where are you exactly?”

She brightened. “On the ship. I had dinner with the Thompsons. Or maybe the Johnsons. Very nice people. The soup was excellent. Anyway, the captain said there might be some bad weather, and I thought I should check.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the port?”

She told me. I unlocked my phone and pulled up the forecast. It called for wind, a little rain, some swells. Nothing dramatic.

I took a screenshot and sent it to her.

“There,” I said. “You’re fine.”

“Oh good. I knew you’d be able to pull it up quickly. I’m sorry I woke you,” she added. “I forget you’re not just… there.”

“I’m there,” I said. “Just not on call.”

She laughed, light and unbothered. “Right. Well. Have fun with your friends. Be safe. Use protection.”

I stared at the wall. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you.” I hung up and let my arm drop.

The hallway was quiet again.

I stood there for a second longer than necessary.

Well. That was a nice whiplash back to reality.

Chapter 6

Zoey

Moving day should have been stressful with all the cardboard, tape, and hired strangers touching my things, but it wasn’t. I felt strangely… fine.

I absolutely did not think about Liam.

Because when I did, something in my chest dipped in an irritating direction. Just a brief, dull note of something that felt too uncomfortable to name.

So, I didn’t do that.

The movers had finished earlier than promised, which I distrusted on principle. I stood alone in the new place, surrounded by stacks of boxes labeled in thick black marker. KITCHEN. BOOKS. CLOSET. MISC. A threat.

The apartment was amazing. One open main room with the living area at the center, the kitchen off to one side, and a sliding glass door at the back that looked out over the small balcony. Off the living room, through a wide, open threshold that had probably once been intended as a dining nook or tiny library, sat the space I had immediately assigned to Markie.

His enclosure was set up by the window there, giving him a clear view into the living room and, seemingly, a strong sense that monitoring my life was part of his job description. A short hallway led to the bedroom and bathroom. Boxes were everywhere, but the bones of the place were good. And it was mine.

Before I opened a single box, I did a quick pass through the apartment. I always did it in a new place, checking locks, windows, exit routes, the smoke detectors. Hurrying downstairs and outside, I slipped the spare key into its emergency hiding spot outside by the drainage spout, tucked under the loose stone I had already decided looked the most trustworthy. It wasn’t glamorous, but neither was being locked out in leggings with melting ice cream.

Once I had done everything necessary to convince my nervous system we were not about to die or be inconvenienced in a preventable way, I returned to the boxes.

I tugged one box toward the sliding door and frowned. OUTDOOR. That was not supposed to be inside. That box held dirt-adjacent objects. Having it in the house violated several personal rules.

Squatting, I dragged it across the floor, the cardboard rasping in protest.

“Hi!”

I screamed.

Not a dignified scream. Not a cool scream. A sharp, full-body noise that left my mouth before my pride could intervene.

I spun and nearly took out a lamp.

A small girl stood behind me. Helmet strapped under her chin. Backpack on her chest. Big grin. Unbothered by the near-death experience.

“Sorry,” she said. “I forget adults don’t expect visitors.”

“You cannot just appear in someone else’s home,” I said. “That’s illegal.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll work on that.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Bobbi.”

I looked at the hand. Then at her. Then at the window behind her.

Markie, my pet parrot, screeched behind me.

I yelped and nearly dropped the box.

“Oh!” Bobbi squealed. “Bird.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “He is not a bird. He’s a heart attack waiting to happen.”

The cage by the window rattled. Markie flared his wings and screamed again, feathers lifted, focus locked on the stranger in my living room.

Bobbi turned slowly. “That is a very large parrot.”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s Markie.”

He chose that moment to escalate, letting out a long scream.

Bobbi’s face lit up. “He’s incredible.”

“He hates you,” I said.

Markie snapped his beak hard.

“That’s a warning,” I added. “You’re standing too close to his house.”

Bobbi leaned forward anyway, careful but curious. “What kind is he?”

“African Grey,” I said. “He’s emotionally aggressive.”

Markie rattled the bars and yelled, “FUCK OFF!”

Bobbi frowned. “That is inappropriate.”

Markie paused. Then tried again. “OFF!”

“Progress,” Bobbi said.

I closed my eyes. “I love him, but I regret everything.”

Markie switched registers. “HOW MAY I HELP YOU TODAY?”

Bobbi smiled. “Customer service.”

“He does that when he’s mad,” I said.

Markie clicked. “RESTART YOUR SHIT!”

Bobbi absorbed this. “That one is also inappropriate.”

Markie clicked again, sharper.

“What does that click mean?” Bobbi asked.

“It means he’s deciding whether you’re a threat,” I said. “He’s thorough.”

Markie screamed directly at her.

Bobbi nodded once. “Fair.”

I dragged the box toward the balcony door. “I’m moving this outside before he escalates. Too much clutter.”

Bobbi followed, keeping a respectful distance from the cage. “Moving day is loud.”

“He hates strangers,” I said.

“I think he hates change,” she said. “New person. New boxes. New smells. His system says something is wrong.”

I cocked an eyebrow at that.

“He watches you,” she added. “Every time you move, he moves. Every time you stop, he gets louder.”

“He needs a job,” I said. “Or a hobby.”

“It’s a job to him,” she said. “Parrots bond hard. If their person is off, they get loud about it.”

I looked at the cage.

Markie stared back, unblinking. Judging me.

I exhaled. “How do you know that?”

Bobbi shrugged. “I read a lot. Also, I notice patterns.”

“In birds?”

“And people,” she said. “He watches you more than the boxes.”

Markie clicked once, sharp.

Bobbi nodded. “See.”

I didn’t enjoy having a child and a parrot analyze me in my own living room.

“He’s not pretending everything is fine,” Bobbi added. “He doesn’t know how.”

That landed where I didn’t want it to.

I lifted the box again. “Great. My bird is my emotional support animal and my supervisor.”

From the cage, Markie screamed, “PLEASE HOLD, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Bobbi nodded toward him. “See. He agrees.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I said as I went outside.

When I came back inside, Markie had settled, his feathers down and in place.

Bobbi stood still. Then raised two fingers in a small salute.

Markie clicked once.

Bobbi froze. “Oh my god.”

“That’s approval,” I said. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Bobbi grinned. Then she said, “You sound tired.”

“I took a trip with friends, and now I’m moving. Of course I’m tired.”

“Was it fun?”

I paused and thought it over. “Yes. It was.”

Markie fluffed his wings once and turned his back on both of us. It was either closure or annoyance. With him, it was hard to tell.

Bobbi leaned against the counter. “I like him.”

“He tolerates you,” I said. “Which is very rare for him.”

From the cage, Markie said, “ASS.”

Bobbi nodded. “Affectionate.”

I reached for another box and didn’t look at her.

“You just… appear places?” I asked. “No one tracking your movements. No curfew. No adult mildly concerned about your existence?”

Bobbi shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Okay, then. Moving day continued while the parrot supervised. The girl stayed.

I stood there longer than necessary and pretended I was evaluating the box labels.

I still didn’t think about Liam.

Bobbi talked while I untaped a box. She filled the room without effort, spouting off facts about parrots, observations about how tape dispensers were poorly designed, questions about whether my bookshelf was organized by genre or color or spite.

Markie screamed every time she paused.

“PLEASE HOLD,” he yelled.

Bobbi corrected him. “That phrase is for waiting, not yelling.”

“FUCKING WAIT,” Markie replied.

She considered this. “Rude, but closer to what it should be.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

Footsteps suddenly rushed down the walkway. “Bobbi!”

A woman appeared at the door, hair half loose, bag slipping off one shoulder, chest rising and falling too quickly. She took in the scene in one sweep. Boxes. Bird. Me. Bobbi.

Her shoulders dropped an inch when she spotted her daughter.

“There you are,” she said to Bobbi, then she turned to me. “I’m so sorry.”

Bobbi winced. “I told you I was fine.”

“I know,” her mom said. “You were not.”

She turned to me, already apologizing. “She elopes. We’re working on it. I turned my back for one second.”

She held out her hand for me to shake, “Mei Xu.”

“It’s fine,” I said, taking her hand. “I’m Zoey.”

Mei’s face said it was not fine. She had a careful smile and tired lines around her eyes. She looked like a woman who lived on alert and slept with one ear cocked and one eye open.

“She should have asked before exploring,” she said. “She’s also not supposed to bother people.”

Bobbi opened her mouth.

“She’s welcome anytime,” I said. “Truly.”

They both froze. For a second I did too, surprised at my comfortability with an open invitation.

But Bobbi wasn’t asking for anything I couldn’t choose to give. A kid wanting something from me was different from another adult wanting something from me. I was sure there was a shitload to unpack there about my own childhood trauma.

“She didn’t bother me,” I added. “She startled me. But other than that, no bothering.”

Mei let out a short laugh that sounded like relief. “Thank you. I promise we’ll be better.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Just knock next time.”

Bobbi nodded. “I can do that.”

From the cage, Markie gave another click.

“That’s him agreeing,” I said.

Bobbi saluted him. Mei mouthed her thanks again. They headed down the path together, Bobbi talking, Mei listening with rapt attention.

I closed the door and rested my forehead against it for one second.

Well. That was weird.

Shrugging it off, I went back to unpacking.

Moving had not been about space. It had been about exit velocity. This place gave me distance from my mother, who loved me deeply and wildly and without brakes.

She also took rent money from me with tears in her throat and panic in her tone, then booked an extravagant cruise by splitting the payment across enough credit cards to qualify as performance art.

I had found out by accident. An open confirmation email. A printed itinerary. Something stupid and glossy and impossible to mistake. I’d found it all days after I’d rearranged my own budget to keep her housed.

Even now I could still remember the feeling of looking at it and understanding, all at once, that I had not been helping stabilize a crisis. I had been financing the illusion that there would always be someone there to absorb the consequences for her.

That was the part that broke something. Not just the money, but the assumption that I would panic responsibly while she escaped beautifully.

She had cried when I confronted her. Said I was making her feel disgusting. Said I never wanted her to have one nice thing. Said it was always just us, like that explained why I was supposed to keep handing over pieces of my life every time hers caught fire.

That was when I understood distance was not dramatic. It was necessary.

I set a box on the counter and opened it. Books. Too many. A personal failing that I liked to pretend was a virtue.

I reached for the stepladder.

My ankle twinged.

I ignored it and climbed anyway. One rung. Two. Three.

I lifted the stack and stretched.

My ankle twisted.

The ladder tipped.

The room tilted.

Then everything went dark.

Chapter 7

Liam

My phone rang while I was restacking the last of the firewood.

I recognized the number. City area code. Hospital. The kind of call that never comes with good news.

“Liam Beltane,” I said.

There was a pause. Papers shifting. The clacking of a keyboard.

“This is St. Mary’s Medical Center,” the woman said. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Zoey Yates? It was recently entered into our system by the nurse practitioner Marlene Smith, who has rights here and at her Pine Hollow practice.”

My eyes widened in shock. I knew she’d put me down on the form, but that was supposed to be temporary. On-site. Just in case.

I had not expected it to follow her into the city. Into her real life.

“What happened?” I asked. My voice came out a bit shaky, which I didn’t expect or appreciate.

“She took a fall and briefly lost consciousness,” the nurse said. “She’s awake and stable, but we’re admitting her overnight for observation and imaging.”

My grip tightened on the phone.

“I’m on my way,” I said.

It was a forty-minute drive. I made it in thirty-two.

I parked crookedly, tried to correct it, and failed. So I left my car like that.

The lobby lights inside the emergency department were too bright. The chairs were out of alignment. I noticed all of it, but none of it mattered.

Security checked me in and gave me a wristband, then led me down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee.

And there she was. The blue hair made it impossible to miss her.

The call had been too much information and not enough detail. Hospital. Loss of consciousness. Head injury. My mind had filled in the blanks efficiently and without mercy. I had prepared myself for blood. For fear. For the look people get when they’re hurt badly enough that they stop arguing.

Instead, she was awake.

Pale, yes. Annoyed. She was propped up on pillows and clearly displeased with the situation. Functional irritation. That mattered more than anything else. It meant she wasn’t grievously injured.

The relief hit me so hard, I had to lock my knees to keep from sagging.

I let it settle all the way through me. The tension I’d been carrying since the phone rang loosened in layers. Not gone. Never gone. But quieter. Quiet enough that I could stand there without bracing for the next worst thing.

Seeing her again did something else I hadn’t prepared for. It revealed that the space she’d left in my chest when she walked out of Pine Hollow had not been filled in. It had just been waiting.

She stared at me for a second too long.

“Liam?” she said.

“Yeah.”

Her brow creased in confusion. “Why are you here?”

“I’m your emergency contact.”

Her expression shifted again. Slower this time. “I thought that was just for the B&B.”

“So did I.”

She looked down at the blanket, then back up at me. “I didn’t mean for that to… carry over to the real world.”

“It’s okay.”

The truth of that surprised me.

The idea that she’d needed someone and the system had landed on me tightened something low in my chest.

I realized then that part of me had been carrying the disappointment of not asking for her number, of letting that night stay contained and unfinished. I had accepted it because acceptance was almost always easier than wanting.

Standing here now, watching her process the fact that I existed in this space, I knew I wouldn’t have turned this down even if I’d been given the choice.

Whatever this was, I was in it. I wanted to see it through as far as she would let me, to see what this turned into.

I could see the relief washing over her. It started in her shoulders dropping a fraction, then the rest of her body relaxed. Embarrassment and disbelief flashed over her face briefly.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You don’t need to be,” I said. “I’m glad they called.”

She didn’t answer that beyond nodding once. I recognized the nod. It was the kind that meant she had filed something away for later and didn’t intend to unpack it right now.

I stayed where I was, close enough so she’d know I wasn’t leaving, far enough that she didn’t feel crowded.

A doctor stepped in without ceremony. He was middle-aged and had a calm demeanor. He gave me a perfunctory glance before taking in her posture and looking at the monitor beside her bed.

“She had a brief loss of consciousness,” he said. “Likely related to pain and dehydration. We did a CT scan to rule out anything serious but don’t have results yet. We’ll keep her overnight for observation.”

Zoey pushed herself up on one elbow. “I’m actually fine going back to my place.”

The doctor shook his head. “Not without supervision. Someone needs to be with you.” The doctor turned toward me. “Will you be staying with her?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s not really my—”

“She doesn’t have anyone else,” I said.

The words were out before I reconsidered them. Zoey turned her head and looked at me, and there was a warning there that I recognized immediately. There was something else underneath it, too. Surprise, maybe. Wariness. I held her gaze and didn’t move, didn’t explain, didn’t soften it. I wasn’t backing away from what I’d just said.

The doctor nodded, already moving on. “We don’t discharge patients who’ve lost consciousness to ride-share services. You’ll be staying the night unless you have a trusted adult to monitor you.”

Zoey closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the pillow with a groan that sounded more offended than exhausted. She dragged in a slow breath and let it out through her nose, resignation settling in. Policy always won these fights.

“Congratulations, Liam,” she said without opening her eyes. “You’re my trusted adult.”

I smiled despite myself. “I can handle that.”

She cracked one eye open and still managed to give me a sharp, assessing look. The doctor turned his attention fully to me, giving me detailed instructions on what to look out for, how often to check on her while she rested, what warranted calling a nurse, and what absolutely didn’t warrant panic. I listened carefully. Mitigating risk was familiar ground for me.

When he finished, the doctor nodded once and stepped toward the door. “We’ll get the scans read shortly. Expect a call with results later tonight. I’ll have the nurses get you on the schedule with your primary for a follow-up this week. Keep that ankle elevated.”

As he left, the quiet returned.

Zoey opened her eyes and studied me again, as though measuring what I had just volunteered for and whether she intended to accept it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“I know,” I answered.

She shifted slightly, then let herself sink back. “So, you’re coming with me?”

“Yes.”

She watched me another second, then looked away, letting out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”

I pulled the chair closer and adjusted it so it wouldn’t squeak when I sat. She noticed. Of course she did. Her shoulders eased a fraction, the tension dropping away.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” she said after a moment.

“The seriousness is warranted.”

She huffed quietly. “Right.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “I passed out in my kitchen. I’m embarrassed.”

“I’m sure you are,” I said.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

I took in the rest of her without comment. The IV. The faint bruise near her temple. Her propped-up foot. I shifted the chair an inch closer without thinking. Her gaze followed the movement immediately.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said again, softer this time.

“I know.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very good in a crisis?”

I simply smiled. “Try to rest, Zoey.”

She nodded. Her hand moved toward mine, then stopped halfway, restraint snapping into place. I didn’t reach for her, but I wanted to. I wanted to climb into the narrow hospital bed beside her and pull her in close until some of the tension left her body. I wanted to let her sleep against me while I listened for anything that sounded wrong. The urge arrived whole and immediate, so domestic it almost unsettled me. I stayed where I was.

And for the first time since the call came in, my mind quieted enough to let me sit still without scanning for what came next.

Chapter 8

Zoey

The siren started the moment Liam crossed the threshold of my new apartment with me in his arms. I should have anticipated it.

The sound was high, sharp, and continuous.

Liam flinched so hard, I felt it reverberating through his arms. His grip tightened without squeezing. He froze, body locked in place, every muscle on alert, posture shifting from careful to prepared.

“That’s Markie,” I said.

He looked past me, scanning the house. “What’s a Markie?”

“My parrot.”

The siren continued uninterrupted, volume unwavering.

Liam blinked once. “Your parrot sounds… unhappy.”

“That’s his baseline,” I said. “It gets worse if he thinks I’ve been replaced.”

Liam nodded, slowly absorbing my words.

I was grateful I had handled Markie’s food and water before touching a single box. That small mercy kept his screeching at angry levels instead of apocalyptic.

“Put me down,” I said. “He doesn’t like new people. Or noise. Or change. Or you being taller than the furniture.”

“I can be shorter,” Liam said, bending his knees.

The noise amplified.

“He does not believe you.”

Liam lowered me carefully, waiting until I had my balance before stepping back. I limped toward the noise, already bracing myself for the performance.

Markie’s large enclosure gave him a clear view of the entry, the living room, and anyone foolish enough to think they could sneak in unnoticed. The perches rotated to prevent boredom; his toys were arranged just the way he liked them, as were his food bowls. It was the only room that looked even remotely finished.

Markie stood rigidly on his perch, feathers tight, body angled forward. His attention was locked on Liam, and he was radiating hostility.

“I’m here,” I told Markie. “You’re fine.”

The sound cut off mid-scream, then he clicked once as he stared at me.

I reached the cage and adjusted the latch he liked to pretend offended him. He leaned toward me and settled back a fraction.

Behind me, Liam was still frozen in place.

Markie turned his head slowly. “HOW MAY I FUCKING HELP YOU, SHITBIRD?”

Liam let out a startled laugh. He clamped his mouth shut a second too late, like he’d just realized this was not a comedy club and he was, in fact, being screamed at by an animal with opinions.

His hand landed lightly against the middle of my back before I even registered he’d moved. Just one quick, warm contact. The laugh must have knocked his guard down and his body had gone looking for somewhere to put the extra energy.

I went still for half a second.

Ordinarily that would have annoyed me, or at least made me aware of him in a way that put my shoulders up around my ears. Instead, I liked it. The touch was brief, thoughtless, almost boyish. Or puppyish. What made it worse was that it felt natural.

I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry about Markie.”

“That was excellent,” Liam said, still smiling despite himself. “Direct. Efficient to scare off intruders.”

Markie answered immediately. “FUCK OFF.” Then: “PLEASE HOLD, MOTHERFUCKER.” He rattled the bars hard, wings flaring, eyes locked on Liam. “RESTART YOUR SHIT.”

Another rattle. Another pause.

“HAVE YOU TRIED TURNING YOUR ASS OFF?”

Liam’s mouth twitched as he took a step toward the cage.

Markie exploded. “NO NO NO. FUCK YOU, SHITBIRD.”

Wings hit metal. His beak cracked against the bars. The sound filled the room.

I didn’t raise my voice. “Don’t.”

Liam stopped mid-step.

Markie screamed once more anyway, then slammed his beak against the metal again. Suddenly, he went completely still and tilted his head.

Liam stepped back.

Markie clicked, then started grooming himself.

I turned and looked at Liam.

He wasn’t annoyed. He was watching Markie with focused interest, like he was committing the bird’s rules to memory.

“Most people try to push past that,” I said.

“He told me no,” Liam said. “I respect that. Even if he had a roundabout way of saying it.”

Oh boy. Liam cared about bird-consent. I was totally and completely fucked.

Markie fluffed himself and turned away, no longer hostile but still quiet. As I looked from my parrot to Liam, the tightness in my chest loosened.

“Well,” I said. “Congratulations. You survived first contact.”

Liam nodded once. Serious. “I’ll try not to screw up the sequel.”

“He didn’t have a great first ten years,” I said. “He spent his life in a small cage. He got no enrichment from his too many owners. He learned that being loud got results.”

Markie peered at us over his shoulder, clearly satisfied with the accuracy.

Liam’s attention stayed on him, not the cage. “Does he ever come out?”

“Yes,” I said.

He glanced at me then, one eyebrow raised in question.

“He doesn’t fly well,” I continued. “He never learned how. They clipped him early. By the time I got him, his balance was off and his confidence was worse.”

Markie shifted his weight and clicked as if he was offended.

“So he just hangs out?”

“Pretty much. He supervises. He sits on my shoulder and judges my life choices.” I paused. “He also falls asleep pressed against my neck and screams if I move.”

“That sounds… terrifying,” Liam said.

“He acts more like a cat,” I said. “If cats were furious and swore a lot.”

Liam nodded. “You take him out every day?”

“Yes,” I said. “On his terms.”

Another click from Markie.

“He remembers,” Liam said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “He remembers everything.”

I adjusted Markie’s water bowl a fraction, needing to keep my hands busy. I didn’t want to explain what it meant to care for something that learned survival the hard way.

Markie leaned into the side of the enclosure and settled, one foot tucked up, content enough for now.

The living room was full of boxes. The couch existed in theory, beneath a pile of who knows what. Liam guided me there, his hand hovering near my elbow, never touching. I hated how accurate his read on my balance was. He carefully removed my things from the couch and placed them in a neat pile.

“Sit,” he said.

“I don’t need—”

“Sit.”

I sat.

He disappeared into the kitchen without waiting for permission. I crossed my arms, irritation lining up neatly with old instincts. Being taken care of always came with a cost. There was always the expectation of future compliance or obligation.

He moved through the kitchen without hesitation, clearing a space on the counter with a sweep of his hand. Took a glass from the cabinet, paused, then chose a different one. He filled the glass and set it on the counter, then he picked it up again and brought it over, placing it on the coffee table within easy reach. He folded a kitchen towel, then set it next to the glass and propped my foot on it.

I stayed like that, mostly out of spite, because I suspected he thought I’d be a shitty patient and didn’t want to prove him right.

The couch was still half wrapped in plastic, the cushions stiff. I took a careful sip of the water he’d brought me and watched him move back into the kitchen.

He didn’t ask what I wanted to eat. That should have annoyed me more than it did.

He opened a cabinet, closed it, opened another, paused, considered. Then he adjusted something on the counter that had not been crooked. He moved with a confidence that suggested he was used to kitchens that were not his and still took responsibility for the outcome. My gaze roved over his body. He was large. His shoulders filled the narrow space. He had to angle himself to reach the upper corner cabinet so as not to bump into things. The house seemed to accommodate him reluctantly.

He pulled out a pan, then swapped it for a bigger one. He turned on the burner and waited until it responded before continuing.

I shifted on the couch.

This was bad. This was worse than bad. This was someone feeding me, and I was letting him.

I told myself I could stop it at any point. I didn’t.

I couldn’t believe I was being taken care of by a practical stranger I had met at a B&B. Why had I put him down as my emergency contact?

Oh, right, he happened to be upright and competent during a moment of poor judgment.

I was only now processing the humiliation of it all: the doctor asking who was staying with me; Liam answering before I could rearrange the truth into something less pathetic. She doesn’t have anyone else. A clean sentence. A useful sentence. A sentence I still wanted to fight on principle.

I was old enough to know a person should have a list of people who cared about them. Someone local. Someone whose number didn’t come from a temporary card handed over after an incident at a lake. Instead, when something went wrong badly enough to require fluorescent lighting and medical supervision, all I had was Liam. Not my mother. Not a friend.

It was strange for me to be the one in an emergency. Usually, I was one who handled them. I was the one who stayed clear-headed. I was the one who absorbed impact and chaos and figured out the next steps. Emergencies were mine to manage, not mine to have.

So, it was a deeply unpleasant experience for me to be in this position, sitting on my couch with my foot elevated, looking—and feeling—concussed and helpless, while a man I barely knew prepared a meal for me. Apparently, the universe had decided I was finally going to experience the deeply cursed vulnerability of being the problem instead of solving it.

He cracked eggs carefully, then stirred them. He rummaged through a box I’d cut open but hadn’t unpacked yet. He took out a jar, read the label, then shrugged and used it anyway. He moved like someone who followed instructions even when he didn’t agree with them.

The savory scent hit me next, and I was annoyed that it comforted me.

Liam plated the eggs with more care than necessary, then carried the plate over to me. He handed it to me, then took one full step back, hands loose at his sides.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

He frowned. “You haven’t even tried it yet.”

“I’m not talking about the food,” I said. “I mean the whole situation. Being taken care of. Sitting here while you cook in my kitchen.”

“You need food,” he said.

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It does tonight.”

I stared at the plate of eggs and toast. It looked wrong. The eggs were aggressively seasoned, like the man had read exactly one article about the importance of salt and taken it as gospel. The toast was burnt on one side and pale on the other.

I looked up at him.

He was watching me patiently, looking like he would accept whatever verdict I handed down without argument.

I hated that more than I hated the food.

I took a bite.

Instant regret.

“Oh no,” I said, gagging.

He straightened a little. “Bad?”

“Worse,” I said. “This tastes like you believed in yourself too much.”

He winced. “I don’t really cook much.”

“That is evident,” I said.

He leaned in, sniffed the plate once, then pulled back. “I can fix it.”

“Do not,” I said quickly. “You’ll only make it worse.”

He paused, tilted his head as if he was considering that, then nodded. “I can order something.”

“I was planning to do that.” I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through to reclaim some control.

“What are you ordering?” he asked.

“Something that can be delivered,” I said. “Ideally made by someone who has cooked before.”

He nodded again, and I saw no wounded pride on his face, just acceptance.

That did something inconvenient to me. I felt it settle low in my chest, warm and unwelcome. He had tried but failed. And he hadn’t defended himself or pretended the failure didn’t exist. He accepted it and was working with me to make it better.

That alarmed me, so I took another bite.

He noticed immediately. “You don’t have to eat it.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m punishing myself.”

Sighing, he took the plate from me.

“Also, you’re hot enough that this can be forgiven,” I said, because I was feeling risky.

He blinked slowly. “Good to know,” he said, steady as ever.

“Do you want anything specific from The Saucy Panda or should I surprise you?”

He looked mildly concerned. “Surprise me.”

I finished the order and set my phone down. He stayed where he was, in my half-unpacked living room, waiting for food to arrive, letting me hate being taken care of without taking it personally.

I gestured impatiently toward the couch, mostly because he was still standing there with that infuriating combination of patience and readiness, as if he were waiting for further instructions. He looked capable of standing there all night, which made me want to push him just to see what would happen.

“Sit,” I said.

He sat, but not beside me. He took the chair across the room instead, angled slightly toward me without crowding my space. Close enough for me to feel his presence, not so close to insinuate a right to proximity.

Markie muttered something obscene, but his tone suggested commentary rather than escalation.

Liam tilted his head. “What did he say?”

“Nothing supportive,” I said. “Mostly anatomical.”

“Okay then,” he said.

My body settled against my will, shoulders loosening, weight sinking into the couch, muscles unclenching one by one. Traitorous body. I hadn’t authorized that response and resented it immediately.

“You’re very calm for someone who just got aggressively cursed out by a bird and then had your cooking insulted.”

“He set a boundary,” Liam said. “I respected it. And like I said, I don’t really cook. No offense taken.”

I laughed. It slipped out, short and surprised, bypassing my defenses entirely. Annoyed with myself, I quickly pressed my lips together.

He smiled in response, the look in his eyes acknowledging that something had passed between us.

“It’s rare for someone to respect boundaries—even a bird’s.” I said it lightly, but I didn’t look away.

“It shouldn’t be,” he said, then frowned. His attention shifted inward in a way that felt intentional, as if he were checking himself before stepping into something heavier. “I have a genetic predisposition toward action and fixing what’s in front of me,” he said.

I frowned. “Genetic predisposition? As in what? You were born with a clipboard and a checklist?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. “I’m an alpha wolf.” He put no weight on the word, just relayed information. “My instincts push me toward protecting, solving, intervening. If there’s a problem, my body wants to move before my brain catches up.”

I waited. He didn’t rush to fill the space.

“My father is an alpha,” he continued. “Very effective. Very certain. He believes control means protection. If he’s responsible for you, your life and your choices become his problem to solve whether you want him to or not. You have no choice but to comply.”

My chest tightened before I could stop it. “I take it that didn’t end well.”

“No,” he agreed. “It ended with a lot of people feeling smaller inside his circle than they ever felt outside it.”

He looked at me then. Not asking for reassurance. Just presence.

“I don’t want that,” he said. “I don’t want anyone near me to feel managed. Or overruled. Protection and caring shouldn’t equal a loss of autonomy.”

Something in my ribs shifted uncomfortably and all too familiarly.

“So you practice. On birds?”

“And people,” he said.

My pulse ticked up.

“I still feel the pull,” he added. “The urge to step in and take over. Ignoring it would be dishonest. So, I try to slow down instead and listen for the no.”

“And if you hear one?”

“I stop,” he said. “Even if every instinct says keep going. I still overstep sometimes. I just don’t pretend it’s righteous or a God-given right.”

“That sounds exhausting,” I said.

“It can be,” he said. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

I studied him, saw the restraint threaded through every movement. The restraint threaded through every movement. He had carried me without assuming ownership over me, fed me without demanding compliance, sat across from me instead of beside me, because I had invited anything different. All of that, despite the fact that we’d slept together and he’d been called as my emergency contact after one night together.

“And if someone doesn’t say no?” I asked quietly.

His gaze held steady. “Then I make sure they know they have the option.”

That did it. Heat pooled low, unwelcome, sharp with awareness. Trust mixed with attraction in a way I didn’t like.

“Boy, you’re dangerous,” I said.

He nodded once. “That’s why I pay attention.”

Silence settled again, heavier and charged.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said.

His brows drew together slightly in curiosity. He held my gaze, steady and unflinching, and I felt the weight of it settle low and slow.

“Tell me what you did mean, then,” he said.

I didn’t. Not right away. Because what I had meant was less about birds or boundaries or fathers, and more about the fact that he had stopped when he was told to stop. That he had listened without sulking. That he didn’t make his feelings my responsibility. That he had stayed.

All of that made the ever-present tightness inside me loosen without permission.

I swallowed and broke the stare first, heat curling under my ribs like it had nowhere else to go.

“I’m not used to people respecting my boundaries,” I said.

His brows drew together. “I hate that.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

Markie muttered something profane and approving.

I leaned back against the couch, my heart doing something inconvenient and loud. This was still a bad idea, but I didn’t want him to leave.

The knock came sooner than expected. Three sharp taps. Liam stood immediately. He glanced at the door, then at me, checking without asking.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

I gave him a tired smile. “I know.”

He moved toward the door with his usual careful awareness, checking the lock before opening it, then opening the door just enough to see who was there.

Bags changed hands quickly. One. Two. Three. Four. Liam stepped back inside, arms full, then went back for more.

Liam stepped inside and set them down on the coffee table. Then went back out for more.

When he returned again, his arms were full enough that he had to shoulder the door shut.

He stood there for a second, looking at the coffee table.

“Are you expecting someone else?” he asked.

“No.”

He looked at the bags again. “Did you click the wrong thing?”

“I clicked very intentionally.”

His mouth flattened into a thin line, then he nodded once and accepted it. He unpacked the bags without saying a word, stacking the containers, ignoring the plastic forks as he set the chopsticks in a neat row. Steam rose when he cracked the first lid, and the smell filled the room.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “This is more food than two people need.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” I said.

He smiled, small and restrained, and opened the rest of the containers. Lo mein. Fried rice. Dumplings. Chicken swimming in sauce, aggressively crispy shrimp.

“Ten,” he said, counting under his breath. “You ordered ten dishes.”

“I need variety,” I said. “Also, I panicked.”

“That explains a lot,” he said as he headed to the kitchen to get plates.

“No plates.”

He froze as he took some out of a box. “No?”

“We are not pretending this is a dinner party,” I said. “We are eating out of the containers.”

He looked at the stack of plates in his hands, then at the containers. Then at me. “That’s… efficient.”

“It’s the best way to eat Chinese food,” I said. “And it respects my limited tolerance for cleanup.”

Shrugging, he handed me a pair of chopsticks. I accepted them and shifted on the couch, making room without inviting him closer. He sat, not quite beside me but near enough that I was acutely aware of the space between us.

We ate in silence for a few seconds.

“This is all really good,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “This is not my first time ordering from them.”

“You’ve only lived here for a few days…”

“Correct.”

He tried the dumplings next. Then the rice. He nodded again, approval stacking.

“You were strategic in your ordering,” he said.

“I was emotional in my ordering,” I said.

He glanced at me, amused. “You planned for leftovers.”

“Leftovers are survival,” I said. “Future Zoey will be grateful.”

He took another bite and leaned back slightly, careful not to crowd me. His knee angled toward mine. Didn’t touch, which I noticed—I hated that I noticed.

Markie chose that moment to contribute from the other room. “PLEASE HOLD, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Liam burst out laughing before he could stop himself. Just as fast as it came out of him, it was gone.

I pointed my chopsticks at Markie’s enclosure. “That’s his way of saying he approves of the menu.”

“High praise,” Liam said.

The food disappeared faster than it should have. He paced himself as we ate. I did not. At some point, he pushed one container closer to me without saying a word. It was the same container I kept circling back to.

His fingers brushed mine for a second. Barely there. Thoughtless. He didn’t seem to notice. I did. Which was irritating, because the contact was so casual it slipped past all the parts of me that usually tensed first, and I was able to enjoy it despite myself.

When I finally leaned back, so full I was faintly offended by it, Liam’s eyes met mine.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Food coma.”

He smiled again. I rested the chopsticks on the lid and closed my eyes for a beat. The room felt occupied in a way that didn’t press on me.

This was a terrible precedent.

Liam stacked the containers, then put them into the fridge without rearranging everything else. He paused once, analyzing the mess that was my fridge, then continued. It was efficient and domestic, and it absolutely should not have elicited feelings inside me, but it absolutely did.

His shirt pulled tight across his shoulders as he moved. The fabric rode up at his back when he bent. The fridge light shone on his arms, and if the corded muscles were anything to go by, he could lift the appliance with one arm. He wiped the counter with a paper towel, folded it once, wiped again, then tossed it in the trash can.

I was having inappropriate thoughts about leftovers.

My phone started ringing.

I flinched so hard I nearly dropped it. The screen lit up with the worst possible words.

WORK.

“Shit,” I said out loud.

Liam glanced over, reading my face. He didn’t interrupt.

I answered on the second ring. Too fast. Guilty fast.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I had a medical thing today, and I didn’t clock in or message and that’s on me. I should have—”

My new boss cut me off. What a way to make a first impression.

“You didn’t log in,” he said. “We’re already short. You know that.”

“I do,” I said. “I do know that. I had a head injury and lost consciousness, and I’m fine now but I wasn’t earlier, and—”

“This is a bad week for that,” he said. “We lost the manager. Everyone needs to step up.”

I stared at the wall across from me. That manager’s job had been held together by duct tape and unpaid emotional labor—mostly mine. We hadn’t lost a manager. We had finally removed one. There was a difference, even if the fallout looked the same from the outside.

Of course they needed more now. They always did after people stopped quietly absorbing things. When the damage surfaced, it suddenly became an emergency.

“I can log on now, if you really need me to, I guess,” I said. “I can do some light tickets and manage the inbox—”

My mouth kept offering concessions before my brain signed off on them. I couldn’t lose this job.

I realized, distantly, that Liam had crossed the room. He stood in front of me now, blocking my view of the wall. He held out his hand, his demeanor calm.

I looked at it, then at his eyes.

He didn’t rush me.

I swallowed and handed him the phone.

“Hello,” Liam said. His tone had changed from the one he’d been using with me. Not loud, not aggressive, but clear and assertive. “This is Liam Beltane. I’m with Zoey. She suffered a head injury today and lost consciousness because of it. She’s currently under observation.”

He fell quiet and listened to my boss.

“She won’t be logging on tonight,” he said. “Or tomorrow. Concussion protocol requires limited screen exposure until symptoms resolve.”

Another pause.

“Yes,” he said. “I understand staffing is strained. That doesn’t change medical risk. She can provide a doctor’s note once the risk has passed.”

He glanced at me once, checking in with me.

I nodded.

“If her condition worsens due to being pushed back to work too early,” he went on, “that becomes a liability issue for the company.”

I stopped breathing. Not because he was wrong, but because he was being this firm for me.

“I’m not threatening you,” he added. “I’m informing.”

Silence stretched. I could picture my boss recalibrating—he wouldn’t want the extra paperwork if something did go wrong.

“Thank you,” Liam said. “We’ll check in once she’s cleared.”

He handed the phone back to me and went to the sink, where he rinsed his hands, then dried them.

When my boss spoke again, his tone had changed. “Rest up. Keep us posted.”

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”

I hung up and stared at my phone for a second, then set it face down on the cushion. Liam turned back to me. The sternness in his face was gone and had been replaced by something warm and unguarded.

I looked at him for a second longer than I meant to, then quickly looked down at my hands. They were still tense. Fingers curled slightly, like they were waiting for something else to do. Something else to fix.

There was nothing.

The problem had already been handled.

Cleanly. Completely.

My jaw tightened before I caught it. I forced it to release, flexing my fingers once against my palm.

That… didn’t happen to me. Not like that. Not without follow-up. Not without someone circling back, asking for more, reminding me what I owed them.

There was always a cost.

I glanced up at Liam again.

He had already moved on. There was no expectation radiating from him, no look that said I now owed him something.

My chest loosened slightly before I could stop it.

Relief.

My gaze dropped back to my hands.

This was how it started. Small things. Someone stepping in. Someone making things easier. And then suddenly they were inside everything. Every decision. Every problem. Every part of your life that used to belong to you.

I knew that pattern.

I had built my entire adult life around not repeating it.

But this didn’t feel the same.

There was no pressure attached to it. No expectation sitting underneath the gesture, waiting to be collected later.

Just… space.

I exhaled slowly.

The relief didn’t go away.

It just sat there.

And, against my better judgment, I welcomed it.

Liam looked at me. “Do you want dessert?”

I blinked rapidly. “Yes.”

Chapter 9

Liam

I was two steps away from the kitchen when Markie started screaming again.

“PLEASE HOLD,” the bird yelled. “MAMA. HAVE YOU TRIED TURNING IT OFF AND ON AGAIN? MAMA.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“SYSTEM ERROR,” Markie continued. “MAMA. PLEASE HOLD. MAMA.”

I turned slowly and looked at Zoey.

She stared back at me, obviously tired. Neither of us said anything for a second.

“He wants you,” I said.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “He always wants me.”

“MAMA! HELP.”

I glanced toward the bird room, then back at her. “Can I try to get him?”

Her mouth twitched. “That depends. How attached are you to your fingers?”

“They’ve had a good run,” I said.

She snorted despite herself. “That’s a death wish. Go for it.”

I slowly moved toward the enclosure, making sure my steps were even. Markie was perched near one of the enrichment trays, body angled forward, feathers tucked tight, eyes sharp. He watched me enter without blinking.

“HELP,” he said again.

“I hear you.” I kept my hands visible. “If you’ll let me, I’ll take you to your mama.”

“FUCK OFF,” Markie replied immediately.

“If that’s what you want,” I said, turning away.

“HELP,” Markie said.

I stopped. “You want your mama. I can take you to her. Or I can leave.”

“FUCK OFF,” he said again. Less certain.

I nodded. “Okay.”

I took another step away.

“HELP,” Markie snapped. Then, quieter. “HELP.”

I turned back slowly, crouching so I wasn’t looming. My knees complained, but I ignored them.

“I can help if you want,” I said. “Your choice.”

He leaned forward. Hesitated. Clicked once.

I opened the door to his cage and held out my hand.

Markie was heavier than I expected, his small form solid and warm. He shifted his weight carefully, claws finding purchase in my skin. Trust given with visible reluctance.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got you.”

I moved slowly so as not to startle him, keeping my other hand close to him without touching. I counted my steps without meaning to. Doorframe. Hall. Living room.

Zoey saw us and froze.

Her arms came up without hesitation.

Markie launched himself with a short, clumsy glide and landed against her chest, feathers puffing as he settled. He burrowed into her lap and tucked his head under her chin, muttering something that sounded suspiciously satisfied.

“MAMA,” he said softly.

Zoey laughed and cupped her hand around him, her whole body softening. “There you are,” she murmured.

Markie clicked once and went still.

I stayed where I was, my heart flipping wildly, which it had not asked permission to do.

“That was impressive,” Zoey said, looking up at me. “He only lets me carry him.”

I shrugged.

She studied me longer than necessary. Warmth moved through my chest, then settled there.

Markie shifted and settled harder into her, one foot tucked, eyes half closed. His feathers had smoothed down to show his contentment. Zoey’s hand moved in slow, absent passes along his back. She looked steadier with him there. Less braced. I registered it and filed it away.

I also had the immediate, deeply unhelpful urge to go cuddle beside them. To curl up onto the couch and let Zoey lean against me while the bird curled up with us, like that was a normal thing to want.

I remembered the ice cream when the freezer hummed loudly.

I took two steps toward it, but then the front door opened.

I was at Zoey’s side before I had time to think about how fast I moved, positioning myself so whoever it was would have to deal with me first.

It was a child.

A small girl stood in the doorway, with a backpack slipping off one shoulder and light-up sneakers that blinked when she stopped moving. She took in the room in a single sweep. The boxes stacked along the wall. The bird enclosure by the window. Zoey on the couch with her ankle elevated. Me standing close to her.

“Bobbi,” Zoey said.

The girl, Bobbi apparently, bounced in as if she belonged here. Her backpack hung open, one strap twisted. Her sneakers lit up with each step, red, then blue, then red again. She clocked me first. Then the ice cream on the counter. Then Markie settled on Zoey’s lap.

“You’re back!”

Markie lifted his head and produced a low sound that carried judgment.

“Hi, Markie,” Bobbi said. “I like your room better now.”

“ASS,” Markie replied conversationally.

Zoey didn’t react. She didn’t even twitch. “I’d call that progress.”

I let out a slow breath. It wasn’t one of relief exactly, more like orientation. This child was a known entity, not an immediate threat. I adjusted my stance, just enough to keep Zoey within reach without crowding her.

Bobbi looked up at me with open curiosity, assessing. “You’re new.”

“Yes.”

She nodded once. “You’re big.”

“Also yes.”

“That’s fine,” she decided, and then she turned back to Zoey without another thought. “My mom is on her way. She was worried I would bug you.”

“That feels accurate,” Zoey said.

Bobbi grinned. Her attention slid back to the counter where the ice cream sat softening. “Is that ice cream?”

“We were about to have dessert,” Zoey said.

“Chocolate,” Bobbi said immediately.

“With sprinkles,” Zoey added, glancing at me.

“But not too many,” Bobbi said. “Too many is wrong.”

“Correct,” Zoey said.

I moved to the kitchen automatically, started scooping the ice cream, then paused and remembered the bowls.

Zoey made a sound that stopped me mid-motion and shot me a look that carried warning and amusement in equal measure.

“No dishes.”

Bobbi nodded solemnly. “Future us will be mad.”

I put the bowls back where they belonged and carried the ice cream and toppings to the coffee table.

We sat on the floor because the couch wasn’t big enough for the three of us. Bobbi folded herself cross-legged with precision. Markie transferred himself to her knee without ceremony.

She froze completely.

“He’s heavy,” she said.

“He likes his treats. He’s getting comfortable,” Zoey said.

“PLEASE HOLD,” Markie muttered.

Bobbi smiled, careful not to move. “He sounds tired.”

“He works in tech support,” Zoey said. “We’re all tired.”

“That makes sense,” Bobbi said. “He has the right energy for it.”

I handed out spoons. I made sure Bobbi got the sprinkles first. She counted them carefully as she poured. Six. No more. No less.

“My therapist says moderation is key,” she said.

Zoey paused halfway through a bite. “You have a therapist?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said. “She helps me when my brain gets loud.”

Markie clicked once in approval.

“My therapist also helped me yesterday,” Bobbi continued, still casual, still exact. “When I found you on the ground.”

The room shifted. Zoey stilled beside me. I felt it without looking.

“She did?” Zoey asked gently.

Bobbi nodded. “I was scared. I didn’t know if you were sleeping or hurt. My body wanted to run. That happens when things are wrong. But my therapist says when my nervous system is loud, I have to slow it down before I decide anything.”

Zoey set her spoon down.

“So I sat on my hands,” Bobbi said. “I counted. I put my feet flat on the floor. I named five things I could see. Then I called for help.”

She looked up at Zoey then, her expression serious. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Zoey reached out without hesitation and rested her hand on Bobbi’s knee. “Thank you. I’m really proud of you. You knew what to do and you did it. That’s a really big deal.”

Bobbi absorbed that, her mouth twisting from side to side. “Yes,” she said finally. “It is.” With that, she scooped ice cream into her mouth. “My therapist says when I want to leave places without telling anyone, my body is asking for movement,” she added. “So now I say it out loud. It helps most of the time.”

“That’s actually very useful,” Zoey said.

“Yes,” Bobbi agreed. “It’s a skill.” She looked at me again. “Does your therapist say that?”

“I don’t have one,” I said.

She turned to Zoey. “You?”

“Nope.”

Bobbi frowned. “Then who helps you when your brain needs a hand?”

The quiet that followed felt strained.

Markie clicked once.

I had answers. None of them were quite acceptable.

“I usually handle it,” I said.

“By yourself?” Bobbi clarified.

“Yes.”

She considered that carefully. “That sounds exhausting.”

Zoey made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

“My therapist says brains are team sports,” Bobbi added. “You don’t win by playing alone.”

I thought that over. “That’s good advice.”

“Yes,” she said. “You should get one.”

“SYSTEM ERROR,” Markie contributed.

“Exactly,” Bobbi said.

We ate quietly after that. Markie preened. Zoey leaned back against the couch cushions and closed her eyes for a moment.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Zoey shifted her weight as if to push herself up, but I gave her a look that said I’ve got it. When I opened the door, a woman stood there with her keys still in her hand, jacket half shrugged off.

“Hi,” she said, speaking past me to Zoey. “I hope this is okay. Bobbi said you were home and asked if she could come by. Is she welcome right now?”

“Yes,” Zoey said. “She’s fine.”

The woman, who I now assumed was Bobbi’s mom, let out a long breath and stepped inside. Her gaze moved through the room without comment. The boxes stacked along the wall. The floor seating. The open ice cream carton on the coffee table. Bobbi cross-legged on the rug with a parrot balanced on her knee.

“You were eating ice cream,” she said.

“Yes,” Zoey said. “It seemed appropriate.”

Bobbi looked up. “Chocolate.”

Her mom pressed a hand briefly to her chest and nodded. “Okay.”

“I did what I was supposed to,” Bobbi said. “I stayed calm. I asked before I came. Zoey says she’s proud of me.”

Zoey nodded. “Very.”

Bobbi’s mom smiled and crouched, pulling Bobbi into a quick hug. The girl endured it and shifted just enough to keep Markie steady.

“That was good judgment,” her mom said.

“Yes,” Bobbi agreed.

Bobbi pointed at me. “This is Liam.”

Her mom looked up, took me in, and offered a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“And look at this,” Bobbi added, gesturing to her knee, “Markie likes me!”

“RESTART YOUR SHIT,” Markie said.

Her mom blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Zoey said. “He’s opinionated and very vocal.”

“That’s okay,” her mom said, clearly deciding not to engage with it. She straightened and glanced at Bobbi. “Ready to go?”

Bobbi stood and adjusted her backpack. “I’ll see you later,” she told Zoey. Then she paused. “Please don’t fall again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Zoey said.

Bobbi nodded and headed out, her sneakers lighting up with each step.

Her mom lingered by the door, keys back in her hand. “I can bring some meals? Nothing fancy. Just something for a few dinners while you’re recovering.”

Zoey opened her mouth immediately. I knew that look. Reflexive refusal. Polite, fast, absolute.

“That’s not necessary,” Zoey started.

“Thank you,” I said at the same time.

Both of them looked at me.

Bobbi’s mom smiled with clear relief. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll text first.”

“That would be great,” I said.

Zoey turned her head slowly toward me, outrage flashing in her eyes. I met her gaze and gave her a small wink. Her mouth pressed into a line, then she pouted despite her best efforts.

Bobbi’s mom waved, satisfied, and ushered Bobbi out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

The house felt larger immediately.

Zoey stayed where she was. Still pouting and pretending she wasn’t.

I stayed where I was.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

She could take care of herself. She was more than capable. The problem was that she didn’t let anyone stand beside her while she did it.

I had seen the reflex. The immediate refusal. The instinct to shut it down before it could become something more complicated.

Support didn’t have to come with a cost. It could just… be there.

She deserved to experience that—even if she didn’t trust it yet.

My jaw tightened slightly as I considered the last few minutes. I had stepped in. Answered for her. Made a decision she had been about to refuse. I exhaled slowly, keeping my posture loose even as the thought settled in.

I would not do that again without asking, but I also wouldn’t apologize for doing it. Not when it meant she would eat. Not when it meant she would rest. Not when it was something that made her life easier, even if she didn’t like how it happened.

My gaze returned to her.

She was still watching me, still deciding how to handle me.

I could give her space to be angry if she needed that. But I wasn’t going anywhere unless she explicitly told me to leave.

Chapter 10

Zoey

My new apartment had settled into its night shape, with the lights dimmed and sounds reduced to small clicks and the hum of the plumbing. Even Markie had gone quiet, which never meant asleep so much as saving his energy for later judgment.

Liam stood near the couch with his hands folded loosely in front of him, posture easy, attention sharp. He had that look again. The one that said he had already decided something and was now just waiting for the polite window to explain it.

“The doctor protocol says I need to wake you every few hours,” he said. “Just to check in.”

I blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

“I know.”

“You do not need to babysit me.”

“I’m not.”

I stared at him. He stared back. He did that thing he was always doing where he didn’t rush the silence, like it didn’t make him itchy or make his skin crawl.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he added. “I won’t be in the way.”

There it was. The offer that wasn’t an offer. The solution was too reasonable to argue with without sounding ungrateful or unhinged or both. I had secretly thought he was placating the doctor and would leave me to myself tonight.

The vulnerability I had allowed myself during the day was one thing. But nighttime brought on a different level of vulnerability that I was simply not ready for.

My chest tightened.

It wasn’t even Liam himself that was doing anything wrong. That was the worst part. It was just the shape of it. The way care slid so easily into occupation. The way help, once accepted, tended to grow roots and expectations and invisible ledgers I never agreed to keep.

If I let him stay tonight, what did that buy him tomorrow?

Nothing, the rational part of my brain said. Liam hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t hinted. He hadn’t even stepped closer.

But another part of me, older and sharper, kept track of patterns instead of promises, and it whispered incessantly to me.

People who took care of you always wanted something later. Time. Gratitude. Emotional access. Compliance. Even the good ones eventually reached for their return on investment.

I hated that part of my brain.

“You really don’t have to,” I said, my voice softer now.

Liam nodded. Not offended. Not wounded. “I want to,” he said. “But I can leave if you say so.”

That landed harder than it should have, because I could tell he meant it. And because he wasn’t already reaching for the door or the couch or me. Because he had put the choice down between us and stepped back from it.

I swallowed.

“Thank you,” I said. And this time I meant it. Thank you for caring. Thank you for not making it loud. Thank you for not making it transactional.

He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then inclined his head, like he’d accepted a responsibility and didn’t expect a reward.

Markie picked that moment to clear his throat. “GOODNIGHT ASSHOLES.”

“Sweet dreams, Markie,” I said.

“DIE SLOW,” the bird replied warmly.

I pushed myself up carefully and grabbed my crutches. Liam moved without thinking, then stopped himself and let me do it. He was ready to help me, but he wouldn’t intervene until I asked.

I hated that my chest did that thing again.

In my room, I slowly changed into my pajamas, then brushed my teeth. Every small routine felt louder than usual, like my body was checking to see if I was really safe enough to relax.

I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my waist. The mattress dipped in all the familiar ways. My new room already smelled like me, which helped me settle.

Down the hall, the couch creaked once, then everything fell silent again.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

Gratitude pressed in on me, heavy and warm and terrifying. Was this what it felt like to be cared for without the expectation of reciprocity? And why was the thought of it disappearing even scarier? No, no, nope. I had to detach.

I didn’t know what Liam would expect of me when I was better.

I didn’t know what I would expect of myself.

All I knew was that, for tonight, someone was keeping watch without demanding proof that I deserved it. I would let him, for now. From a safe distance.

My eyes finally closed, and despite myself, I slept.

By noon the next day I had been relocated three times.

Not against my will, though. Every transfer had involved consent, negotiation, and me pretending I was above all of it.

The first time, I insisted I could make it from the couch to the kitchen on my own.

“I’ve had sprains before,” I told him, already bracing on the armrest.

“You also have a head injury now,” Liam said.

“I’m aware of my skull.”

He watched me stand. Watched me wobble. Watched me refuse to acknowledge either of those things.

I made it two steps before the room tilted, reminding me that gravity was not a suggestion. My concussion was apparently not playing.

Liam didn’t say I told you so. He didn’t even look smug. He just stepped forward and put one hand lightly at my waist.

“May I?” he asked.

I glared at him. “Yes.”

He picked me up like I weighed nothing. One arm under my knees, one behind my back. My body reacted before my pride did. I went soft and relaxed, and my hand fisted in the front of his shirt to steady myself.

His chest was solid under my palm. I could see the faint scar near his collarbone that I hadn’t noticed the night we met.

“This is unnecessary,” I informed him.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

That was not the reaction I had expected.

He carried me to the kitchen and set me down on a chair with the kind of care that suggested he was handling something fragile and valuable.

I hated that my throat tightened.

I also hated that I wanted to stay right there in his arms for one more second.

By early afternoon I was steadier on my crutches, and he had decided the bathroom needed to be cleaned “for infection control,” which felt suspiciously like an excuse to reorganize something.

“It’s fine,” I said from the hallway, leaning on my crutches. “It’s a bathroom. It’s seen worse.”

“It’s dusty,” he replied.

“It’s lived-in.”

“It’s dusty.”

He rolled up his sleeves and reached for the cleaning supplies, then he took off his shirt.

I gaped at him. “Is that medically required?”

He folded the shirt neatly and set it on the counter. “It seemed practical. Don’t want to get my shirt dirty.”

Practical.

“I—”

The man was built like a mythical force that had decided to settle down and pay taxes. Broad shoulders. Defined back.

I leaned harder on my crutches and told my face to behave.

“Try not to objectify me,” he said mildly, not turning around.

“I’m not—”

“You just stopped talking mid-sentence.”

“I was considering your dusting technique.”

He glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “Mm.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I thought you were a wolf,” I said. “Not a domestic cleaning service.”

He wiped down the sink with calm precision. “Wolves maintain their territory.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a justification.”

“It is.”

I watched the muscles in his back move as he reached higher along the mirror. It was deeply unfair that someone so competent could look so hot while holding a bottle of disinfectant.

“Are you done supervising?” he asked.

“I’m conducting quality control.”

He turned then, meeting my gaze fully. “Your quality control seems very attentive.”

I refused to look away first. I also refused to acknowledge the way my stomach flipped. “I appreciate thoroughness.”

I shifted my weight, trying to look casual and not like a woman actively watching a shirtless man clean her bathroom. One of my crutches caught the edge of the doorframe, and I swore under my breath.

“Careful,” he said, glancing over.

“I’m fine.”

“You say that a lot.”

“It’s part of my brand.”

He moved toward the cabinet, and I realized too late that I was standing directly in front of it.

“I need something behind you,” he said.

“I can move.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stepped closer—not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel him there. The air between us shifted and narrowed. My grip tightened on the crutches before I could stop myself.

“You’re crowding me,” I said quietly.

“I’m reaching,” he said, just as quietly.

His arm rose beside my shoulder. His chest brushed the side of my crutch instead of me.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and knowing that, my pulse kicked hard.

He leaned in slightly, enough that his shoulder blocked the light for a second, and his scent hit me.

God, he smelled so good.

I stayed perfectly still.

“So,” I said, voice thinner than I wanted, “this is part of the dusting protocol?”

“Very advanced technique,” he murmured.

He’d found what he needed behind me, but he didn’t move away, and in that instant, I noticed everything about him.

The line of his throat. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The way he waited instead of pressing forward.

He pulled back slowly and straightened. “There,” he said. “Got it.”

I exhaled, which felt like a mistake. “Did you just flirt with me while holding cleaning supplies?”

He gave me a sly smile. “I might have.”

“That feels manipulative.”

“You were staring.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I was observing.”

He nodded seriously.

I rolled my eyes, but the heat stayed put, low and persistent.

He stepped back toward the sink, giving me room again like nothing had happened, which somehow made it worse.

I watched him work for another second before realizing I was smiling. I stopped immediately, but not before he saw my reflection in the mirror. He returned my smile, then went back to work.

By mid-afternoon, boredom set in.

Being injured was deeply unglamorous. There was only so much staring you could do at your home before you began to resent the architecture.

I pushed myself up carefully and started toward the bookshelf.

“Zoey,” Liam said from across the room.

I kept going.

“Zoey.”

“I’m getting a book.”

“Don’t lie.”

I made it three steps before he was in front of me, one hand hovering near my elbow without touching.

“Sit,” he said.

“I’m not a labrador.”

“You’re concussed.”

I sighed dramatically and let him guide me back to the couch.

“Which book?” he asked.

“I thought you were a wolf,” I said. “Not a dog.”

He considered that. “I’m very good at fetch.”

That caught me off guard.

“Oh,” I said. “So, you’re leaning into it.”

“I’m the best at fetch.” He radiated confidence.

“Prove it.”

He folded his arms. “Name it.”

I scanned the room. “Third shelf. Blue spine. Slightly pretentious title.”

He turned and pulled it down after barely glancing at the shelf.

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. That was lucky. Now get me the thin one with the torn dust jacket from the box labeled ‘office but make it sad.’”

He found that, too. Even I hadn’t known where that box was.

“Impressive,” I admitted.

He handed it to me, then waited.

I squinted at a stack of unopened boxes. “There’s a mug in there with a chipped handle and a swear word on it. I want that, please.”

He crouched, opened the correct box, and held it up without comment.

I leaned back against the cushions. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

I laughed despite myself.

Later, when I insisted on helping, he compromised by lifting each item out of a box and holding it up for my approval.

“Desk lamp,” he said.

“Office.”

“Framed photo.”

“Office.”

“Stack of unopened mail.”

“Burn it.”

He gave me a look.

“Kidding,” I said. “Office.”

He moved through the room steadily, rearranging furniture to clear a path wide enough for my crutches, plugging in my monitor, setting my keyboard exactly where my hands would land naturally.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” I said quietly as he adjusted my chair height.

“I know.” He stepped back and surveyed the space.

My office. Functional, ready. Mine.

He had done it without asking for credit. Without turning it into proof of anything.

Gratitude rose inside me again. Heavy. Complicated.

“What are you going to expect from me when I’m better?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He looked at me in surprise. “Nothing.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is for me.”

The steadiness in his tone made my chest ache. He crossed the room and crouched in front of me so he could look into my eyes.

“I’m not keeping score,” he said. “I’m here because I want to be.”

The urge to believe him was almost painful. I swallowed and nodded once.

“Okay,” I said.

He stood and offered his hands. “Bathroom?”

I hesitated before putting my hands in his and letting him pick me up again.

I fit there, in his arms, too easily.

And for the rest of the day, I let him fetch and carry, hover and adjust.

I told myself it was temporary, that I didn’t owe him anything, that we were just two people who’d connected, and it didn’t have to be anything more than that right now.

And somewhere between the dusting and the desk lamp and the chipped mug, my heart stopped bracing so hard.

The light began to change, telling me night was approaching. It was a subtle shift, where the gold of the sun thinned and the shadows in the room softened. Evening was slipping in whether I liked it or not.

I noticed it because I was watching the way it caught in Liam’s hair as he stood by the bookshelf, and I immediately resented that fact.

The doctor’s protocol technically ended tonight.

Last night, Liam had woken me every two hours. Asked me orientation questions with a straight face. Watched for symptoms. Hovered without smothering. Carried me when I let him. Backed off when I didn’t. And he’d basically cleaned and organized my whole apartment.

At some point, distantly, it occurred to me that I had not actually asked how he was able to do any of that.

He had a job. Responsibilities. A place he was supposed to be that was not here. And yet he had been here, and he hadn’t made it feel like a sacrifice I needed to account for.

My stomach tightened slightly. I knew what it looked like when someone kept showing up like that and no one stopped them. I knew how easy it was to let it happen. To accept the help. To focus on what you needed in the moment and not what it cost the other person to give it.

I had spent most of my life on the other side of that equation. Was I acting like my mom?

The idea that I might be stepping into that now, even a little, made my chest pull tight.

Never.

I repositioned myself on the couch, pressing my fingernails into my hand to ground the thought before it could spiral any further.

That wasn’t what this was.

He had chosen to be here. He had made that clear in every possible way.

I hadn’t asked for any of it. Much less expected it.

Still, the awareness lingered.

But he would be leaving this evening. That thought didn’t bring full relief like it should have. There was some relief, but it was mixed in with a host of other emotions, like some sort of fucked-up emotion soup. Emotions like sadness and grief.

I shut it down immediately.

He should leave. He had a life. A job. A whole supernatural ecosystem I barely understood. This was temporary.

Life had to go on.

We still had a few hours.

I glared at the situation unfolding at the bookshelf. This I could handle. Fuck all that emotional nonsense.

“You’re doing that wrong,” I told him.

“I am not,” Liam replied calmly.

He was on his knees beside the lowest shelf, stacking my books into tidy piles. He had removed everything and was now reorganizing it with the seriousness of someone handling classified material.

“You’re ignoring the obvious system,” I said.

“Color is not a system.”

“It’s a perfectly valid system.”

“It is aesthetic chaos.”

“It is curated.”

Bobbi sat cross-legged beside him, chin in her hands, pure delight on her face as she observed us.

“He’s using the Dewey Decimal System,” she informed me. “That’s what libraries use.”

“This is not a library,” I said. “This is my house.”

“It’s a very efficient system,” Liam said, sliding a book into place with precision.

“It looks like a spreadsheet.”

“That’s the point.”

Markie shifted on his perch and watched the proceedings with narrow-eyed suspicion.

Bobbi leaned closer to Liam. “How do you know the numbers without looking them up?”

“I remember them,” he said.

She gasped. “Why?”

He paused. “It’s useful.”

“That is fascinating,” she said with complete sincerity.

I watched the two of them, the massive shifter and the eleven-year-old interrogator, bent over my bookshelf with identical intensity, and my heart made a slow, complicated turn.

The sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched longer.

I told myself again that this was ending tonight. That I was okay with that; that it was good, even.

Bobbi broke the silence. “Zoey says you’re a shifter.”

Liam went still for half a second before he answered. “Yes.”

She scooted closer. “What kind?”

“Wolf.”

Her eyes widened in open awe. “That is significantly cooler than being human.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Humans have advantages.”

“Such as?”

“You have opposable thumbs all the time.”

She considered that seriously. “That’s true.”

I tried very hard to look bored.

“My brothers and I play shifters sometimes,” Bobbi added. “My older brother and my younger brother are always bears because they think that means they get to tackle people. I’m a cat.”

Liam’s mouth twitched. “Why a cat?”

Bobbi looked faintly offended by the question. “Because cats are elegant. And they don’t have to listen.”

She had a point there.

“Can you shift right now?” Bobbi asked.

“Bobbi,” I said.

“What?” she said. “I’m curious.”

Liam looked at me, the question hanging in the air between us. I should have said no. My nervous system was already walking a tightrope.

But I wanted to see.

God, I really wanted to see.

“It’s your house,” he said softly.

Bobbi clasped her hands together. “Please.”

I exhaled slowly. “If you break anything, I’m billing you.”

Liam stood.

There was no drama to it. No glow. No cinematic swirl. Just a change in posture, in focus. His body moved with controlled precision. Bones adjusted beneath skin. It should have looked wrong, but it was beautiful. His height folded into a new form. Broad shoulders restructured into something equally powerful but lower to the ground.

And then he was a wolf.

A massive, sleek wolf with thick fur that caught the last light and held it. The eyes were sharp, intelligent, and unmistakably Liam.

To say he was beautiful was inadequate and deeply unfair. He was magnificent.

Bobbi didn’t scream. She leaned forward and whispered, “Oh.”

Markie fluffed his feathers.

Liam lowered his head slightly, watching us both.

I forgot to breathe for a second—not from fear, but from the sheer physical reality of him. I could see the strength in the line of his back, the quiet alertness in the way he held himself. This creature, this ancient mass of instinct wrapped in muscle and fur, had been making me tea this morning.

Bobbi crawled a little closer. “Can I touch you?”

Liam looked at me again.

“Gentle,” I said.

Bobbi extended her hand and carefully ran it along his side. “Oh, you’re very soft.”

His tail wagged, and I couldn’t help but grin.

Then, before I could prepare for it, he crossed the small bit of space between us and pressed against my leg, his fur warm along my shin and thing.

I stilled.

He rubbed against me, his shoulder bumping my hip slightly, then he turned his head and pressed his face into my hand.

“Oh my god,” Bobbi whispered.

I looked down at Liam. This should have been ridiculous. It was ridiculous. A giant wolf shifter was rubbing against me like an affectionate, overgrown pet.

He nudged my palm again, and I let my hand slide over the side of his neck. He shamelessly leaned into my touch. When I scratched lightly behind one ear, his whole body loosened, like I had found the right button, and he was not remotely embarrassed about it.

I should have hated how much I liked that.

Something in me melted with horrifying speed.

“There it is,” Bobbi said softly. “He wants pets.”

“I can see that,” I muttered.

Liam answered by pressing his nose briefly against my stomach, then angling his head back into my hand with deliberate insistence. Apparently, the wolf version of him had given up on restraint entirely and decided this was happening.

A soft sigh, which I was completely embarrassed by, fell from my lips.

His tail wagged again.

Ugh.

Still, I kept stroking him, moving my hand down the strong line of his back and up to his neck again, to the spot he seemed to like best. He stayed pressed to my side, huge and solid and weirdly pleased with himself.

Markie leaned forward on his perch. “DOG!”

Liam’s head snapped toward the cage.

Bobbi’s eyes widened. I stared at my bird.

In an instant, Liam shifted back, his bones reassembling into the tall, solid man I had been trying not to fall for all day.

“I’m not a dog,” he said evenly.

Bobbi blinked. “You’re a wolf.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a kind of dog.”

“It is not.”

Markie tilted his head, unbothered. “DOG.”

Huffing, Liam crossed his arms over his chest, which didn’t help me to take him seriously. “I outrank dogs.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Markie clicked. “STAY.”

Liam clenched his jaw. The silence that followed stretched thin and ceremonial, as though some ancient ruling had just been handed down by a very small, feathered monarch.

Bobbi leaned forward, eyes bright. “You have to. He said it.”

“I absolutely do not,” Liam said.

Markie didn’t blink, but he did lean forward slightly and said, very clearly, “STAY BITCH.”

Bobbi gasped in utter delight.

My brain short-circuited, and I struggled really hard not to giggle.

Liam’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”

“STAY,” Markie repeated, louder. “DOG.”

Liam lasted three seconds.

I counted.

One. Two. Three.

Then he went completely still, obeying the bird’s command.

Bobbi clapped her hands. “That’s good.”

I pressed my lips together so hard they hurt. “You just obeyed my parrot.”

“I’m in his territory,” Liam muttered without moving a single muscle. “There are politics.”

“Politics,” I echoed, stifling a grin.

Markie puffed up, feathers slightly flared. “GOOD DOG,” he announced. “SYSTEM STABLE.”

Bobbi covered her mouth, vibrating with joy. “He promoted you again.”

Liam closed his eyes briefly, as though reconsidering every decision that had led him to this living room.

“I am deeply offended,” he said.

“Are you though?” I asked.

His gaze slid to mine, but he failed to keep up the pretense of having any dignity left. “Yes.”

“You did what he said.”

“That was strategic. I’m playing the long game with Markie.”

Markie leaned forward again. “HEEL.”

Liam froze.

Bobbi whispered, “Oh my god.”

Markie cocked his head. “RESTART YOUR SHIT.”

I lost it. A laugh burst out of me, loud and uncontrolled.

Bobbi nodded solemnly at Liam. “You have been categorized.”

Liam exhaled through his nose. “I dislike this hierarchy.”

Markie settled back on his perch, entirely pleased with himself. “DOG.”

Liam crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

I laughed again, feeling weirdly content. The sun was setting, and my shifter caretaker had just been categorized as a dog by my foul-mouthed bird. Liam was still here, and he would be for a few more hours.

Some of that contentment faded, because deep down, if I was brave enough to admit it to myself, I wasn’t ready for him to leave.

Chapter 11

Liam

By the time night settled in, the house had gone quiet. Bobbi’s mom had come to get her a while ago, and I’d spent the time since making sure all the possible loose ends I could tie up were tied.

I checked the lock on the back door again because I needed to. Deadbolt seated. Handle solid. Window latched. My brain eased half a step.

Zoey watched me from the couch with that expression she used when she was deciding whether to argue or let me have the win.

“You already checked that,” she said.

“Yes, I know.”

She let that sit for a second, then she pushed herself up carefully, stubborn even with the crutches. “I’m officially past the danger window, right?”

“According to the doctor.”

“So, I’m allowed to sleep. By myself, even.”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her gaze. “And you’re not going to wake me every two hours and ask me what year it is?”

“No.”

She nodded, looking relieved.

I moved through the room, gathering what she would need for the night. Water on the nightstand. Medication lined up in order. Phone charging within reach. I kept my hands busy because stopping meant thinking too much.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I know.” That answer always irritated her, but it was true. There was just something about Zoey that made me want to protect, to care.

I helped her stand. She leaned into me for balance before she remembered she didn’t want to. Her hand pressed against my chest for one second longer than necessary. I didn’t move. Didn’t make it something bigger.

By the time she settled on her bed, her shoulders had finally dropped.

Then she looked up sharply.

“Wait,” she said. “Do you expect to spend the night again?”

I laughed in surprise. “No.”

Her posture changed. Something unclenched. Something else tightened. I caught both happening.

“I’m heading home,” I said. “I’ll come back in the morning to check on you.”

She frowned. “Oh.” The word sounded flat, too flat. Her mouth pressed thin and she looked down at her hands. “That didn’t come out right.”

I put my hands in my pockets.

“I just meant…” she continued, propping her crutch against the bedframe, buying herself time. “You’ve been here for over twenty-four hours. You don’t have to keep… hovering.”

Hovering?

“I don’t expect you to,” she added quickly. “Come back. I mean. I’m not assuming anything.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

She glanced up at me, searching for offense. She didn’t find any because I wasn’t offended.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated,” she said. The edge was still there, but it had softened. “You aren’t a subscription service.”

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. “Noted.”

She huffed, and I could tell she was irritated at herself now. “That sounded rude, too.”

“It didn’t.”

“It did.”

I stepped a little closer, so she had to look at me instead of away. “Zoey, you don’t need to manage your tone with me.”

She stilled.

“That’s just you,” I added. “You say the sharp thing first. Then you decide if it needs sanding.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m not trying to push you out. I just… don’t know what the rules are.”

There it was. That’s what has been worrying her so much.

I held her gaze. “There aren’t any. There don’t have to be. Not unless you want them.”

She exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

“I’ll head home now,” I repeated, “and I’ll come back in the morning.”

She crossed her arms, chin lifted defiantly.

I didn’t move closer, but I didn’t look away either.

The silence stretched, and in it, something changed between us.

She sighed. “Don’t come before eight.”

I nodded. “I’ll bring something to make for breakfast. Something hearty. Your body is healing.”

The look she gave me could have set the house on fire.

I adjusted. “Fine. I’ll bring breakfast somebody else already made.”

“That’s still unnecessary.”

She said it with that careful irritation she used when she was trying to regain control of a conversation. I knew the pattern by now. Gratitude made her uncomfortable. Being cared for made her defensive. The closer something got to meaning something, the sharper she became.

I stepped closer, and Zoey went quiet.

The room felt smaller suddenly. The lamp beside her bed threw a warm pool of light over her shoulders and caught in the loose strands of her hair. The blue looked darker in the lamplight, almost midnight instead of electric. She looked tired, softer around the edges than she usually let herself be, but her chin stayed lifted anyway. Stubborn even when she was exhausted—especially then.

Her mouth parted slightly.

I lifted my hand toward her shoulder and stopped just short of touching her, giving her room to refuse. I felt the pull of her before I felt my own restraint. I could still feel her against me, still feel the way she had leaned into my hands once without thinking.

She didn’t move away.

She watched me, wary and curious at the same time, and something deep in my chest tightened.

“You’re stubborn,” I said quietly.

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re just figuring that out?”

“I’ve been trying to respect it.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth, then disappeared just as quickly.

She raised her hand, fingers brushing lightly, uncertainly, over the front of my shirt, then resting there as though she was testing whether I was real. The contact sent a clean line of heat through me. I stayed still.

Her thumb moved once against the fabric.

“You’re very…” she started, then stopped.

“Very what?”

“Present,” she said finally, sounding annoyed.

I took a step closer. Her gaze locked on my mouth, then flicked back to my eyes. The room was so still that I could hear the soft rustle of sheets when she inched closer.

I watched her for a second. She sat on the edge of the bed with her shoulders slightly forward, one hand still resting against my chest. She looked smaller from this angle; not fragile, just contained. The lamp beside her threw soft light across her face, catching the tension in her mouth and the stubborn line of her jaw.

Slowly, I crouched, sitting back on my heels in front of her. Surprise flickered through her eyes before she schooled it away.

Again, her focus dropped briefly to my mouth. The mattress creaked softly when she moved, a subtle adjustment that brought her closer without committing to the movement.

I could feel the warmth coming off her now, steady and grounding, and it took effort not to close the distance too fast.

She kept her hand on my chest.

I didn’t touch her yet.

“You don’t have to look so serious,” she murmured.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

I moved closer, slow enough that she had time to change her mind. Her knees brushed my sides, and she slid her free hand behind my neck. At the contact, I felt a sharp pull low in my stomach.

She made the decision for both of us then, tilting forward just slightly until our heads rested together, temple against temple. I could feel her breath on my skin, feel how carefully she was holding herself. The faint scent of her shampoo drifted up when her hair brushed my jaw.

The closeness felt volatile. I needed to cherish it while I had it. Her fingers tightened at the back of my neck, and I settled my hand lightly at her waist, giving her plenty of room to pull away if she wanted to.

“You’re stubborn,” I said again.

She huffed a faint laugh. “So are you.”

I smiled against her skin.

Her shoulders relaxed by degrees, and the tension between us shifted from sharp to heavy, wanting. I turned my head just enough that our mouths were close without touching.

“Zoey,” I murmured.

She didn’t answer with words. Her hand slid from my neck to my jaw, warm and sure, and she kissed me first.

The kiss started carefully, testing, her lips soft but hesitant, then deepened when I kissed her back. I kept my movement restrained, letting her set the pace, letting her decide how far we went. Her hand curled against my face, and the small sound she made when I kissed her again went straight through me.

I wanted to pull her closer. God, I wanted a lot of things, but I didn’t rush.

The room narrowed until it felt like only her warmth and the space I was trying so hard not to take up existed.

Then, from the other room, Markie shouted, “PLEASE HOLD, MOTHERFUCKER.”

Zoey and I froze.

The silence that followed felt almost respectful, as though we were both waiting to see if the universe was finished humiliating us.

It wasn’t.

“SYSTEM ERROR. FUCK YOU,” Markie added helpfully.

Zoey closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I’m going to set him on fire.”

I was still close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin, my lips still tingling from the kiss.

“I think he’s stressed,” I said.

Her eyes snapped open, clearly annoyed.

From the other room, Markie shouted, “TURN YOUR ASS OFF AND ON AGAIN.”

Zoey stared at the doorway in complete disbelief. “He has the worst timing.”

“He’s still adapting,” I said.

She turned back to me, her face flushed, but she was very obviously trying not to laugh. “You’re taking his side.”

“I’m trying to remain objective.”

“You’re hot and kneeling next to my bed. There is no objectivity here.”

That made me smile.

Markie muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “DUMBASS,” followed by a click that carried deep judgment.

I stood and stepped back slowly, giving Zoey space again. The tension quickly reassembled.

She rubbed a hand over her face. “My life refuses to allow romance.”

“I noticed.”

She glanced at me through her fingers. “You’re very calm about this.”

“I’ve been yelled at by worse.”

From the hallway, Markie yelled, “PLEASE WAIT.”

Zoey groaned. “He’s never this active at night.”

“I think he knew something was happening.”

“That implies he understands emotional timing.”

“He absolutely understands emotional timing.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

Despite myself, I grinned. Zoey narrowed her gaze, as though my amusement was personally offensive.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

“I’m enjoying you.”

Her mouth parted slightly, the irritation in her eyes softening.

Markie shouted, “NO THANK YOU.”

Zoey threw her head back. “I’m going to rehome him.”

I snorted. “You won’t.”

“No,” she admitted. “I won’t.”

The quiet returned, thinner now but still charged. She looked up at me, cheeks flushed, hair slightly disheveled. Her stubborn streak showed in her eyes, and I imagined she was fighting the same feeling I was.

I wanted to close the distance again.

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’ll see you at eight,” I said.

She stared at me for a second longer, then sighed. “See you at eight.”

In the other room, Markie clicked in approval. Neither of us acknowledged it. I flashed Zoey a smile, then left.

When I stepped outside, the Adirondack night wrapped around me. I could smell pine and cold water, the distant wood smoke from someone’s stove a few streets over.

I stayed on the front step longer than I needed to, keys in my hand.

This part of town sat just off the main road that led to the lake, then out toward Pine Hollow. The old mill houses had been converted into apartments with narrow porches and gravel driveways tucked between buildings. Beyond the last row of roofs, the mountains rose against the sky.

With my enhanced hearing, I picked up on all the sounds of the night. Pipes. A footstep above. A truck rumbling toward Route 9N. Somewhere farther off, a dog barked once and then stopped.

Upstairs, Zoey was alone.

She had passed the concussion window. Her phone was charging on her nightstand, and she had water on hand. Doors locked. Windows secured.

I had checked them all more than once.

I walked down the steps. The sidewalk held the day’s leftover warmth, but the temperature had already started to drop. Even in summer, the Adirondacks reminded you that the mountains ran the schedule.

I should have kept going.

Instead, I turned slowly and scanned the street again. Porch lights glowed soft yellow. Pickup trucks parked nose-to-nose. A canoe strapped to the roof of a car that probably hadn’t moved since the previous weekend. No movement where there shouldn’t be any.

It was a safe neighborhood. Tourists didn’t come this far into town. Locals locked their doors and minded their business.

That knowledge did nothing to quiet the tension simmering under my skin.

Something in me had been activated, and I hadn’t felt so focused and directed in years. It had started the night at the B&B. I had tried to tell myself it was just attraction and that it would settle when she left Pine Hollow.

It hadn’t settled. It had sharpened.

I moved down the sidewalk and checked the side alley. Gate latched. Dumpster lids closed. Shadows undisturbed. I tested the gate anyway. The metal gave slightly under pressure, then held.

My body had already made a decision before my thoughts caught up.

The routine of the last few days had rooted itself in me quickly. Wake Zoey. Check her pupils. Ask her orientation questions. Make food. Carry her when she let me. Step back when she needed it.

I’d liked the responsibility and the closeness. I’d even liked the way she fought it.

I liked Markie, and even Bobbi’s relentless questions—she accepted my answers without suspicion.

Being here had made me feel like I belonged.

Shaking that off, I stepped off the curb and shifted.

The change was smooth, familiar, my body settling into its other form with precision.

As my paws hit the ground, every scent intensified. Pine sap. Damp earth. A faint trace of lake water drifting in from the east. The metallic tang of a nearby snowplow parked early in preparation for a forecast that would probably miss us anyway.

I ran the perimeter of her building once, then again. Past the narrow strip of grass. Along the back fence. Between the maples that lined the property and dropped leaves thick enough to muffle sound. A deer had crossed through here earlier. Fresh tracks. No threat.

This was unnecessary. There were no rival packs circling this block. No territory disputes. No boundary threats.

Still, I ran to make sure all was well.

When I was younger, the pack and my parents had drilled this into me. Alpha blood meant responsibility. Responsibility meant enforcement.

My father believed enforcement was love.

He believed pain built strength. He believed correction created loyalty. When I failed to meet his expectations, he corrected me.

Publicly.

My mother stood by and told me later that he pushed me because I had potential, and he was preparing me for leadership.

They believed they were protecting me.

They were wrong.

I slowed near the back entrance of Zoey’s building, ears pricked for any sounds that didn’t belong.

One night, a younger wolf had misjudged a boundary. Minor damage. No injury. My father ordered me to discipline him.

I refused, told him it didn’t warrant punishment.

So, I received it instead. I still carried the scars along my ribs, across my back, and one on my collarbone.

I left soon after that. Left the land. Left the title they expected me to inherit. Left the version of leadership that required fear.

I didn’t want the instincts that came with it. I wanted a carefree, untethered life, to be a lone wolf with only myself to be responsible for.

But now those instincts were back.

For her.

I slowed at the front entrance again. The porch light cast a steady glow across the concrete. A mosquito buzzed near the bulb, then drifted off toward the trees. She was inside. Hopefully resting. Likely annoyed that I’d infiltrated so much of her home.

She had told me I was unnecessary, but had still agreed to let me come by in the morning.

I knew I should go home, but instead, I turned and ran around the block one more time.

Chapter 12

Liam

I pulled into a parking spot across from Zoey’s building at 7:52.

I sat there until 7:58, then I picked up the coffee carrier and checked the lids again. Tight. No leaks. Regular coffee for me and a double shot latte with maple oat milk and cinnamon dusted across the foam for Zoey. The barista had tried to make a leaf. I had watched to make sure it survived the lid, just in case she wanted to look. I adjusted the bag on the passenger seat so the containers stayed level. Egg and cheese on a hard roll. Bacon on the side. Greek yogurt with Adirondack maple granola. A container of berries that had cost more than it should have because they were labeled local—I trusted that label more than I trusted most people.

I told myself this was reasonable. She needed calories. Head injuries required fuel to heal.

The fact that I had driven the twenty-five minutes from Pine Hollow into town with a tight feeling in my chest, desperate to see her, had nothing to do with it.

I got out of the truck and locked it. Checked the handle once, then again. The street was already awake. A woman walked a golden retriever. A man loaded lumber into the back of a pickup. Normal Adirondack town morning.

I was more eager than I should have been.

What was I going to do when this ended?

The doctor would clear her. She would drive again. She wouldn’t need me anymore; she hardly did now. She would say thank you with that careful tone that meant goodbye.

I climbed the stairs before I could dwell on that longer.

Before I knocked, I heard Markie through the door. “DOG.” A pause. “HEEL.”

Something scraped. A thud.

“WEIRDO.”

I stood there, coffee in hand, and felt something warm settle in my chest at the sound of it.

Dog.

Yesterday, I had argued that point, but today it felt like a term of endearment.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I knocked on the door.

There was a beat of silence, then footsteps that sounded steadier than they had the day before.

The door opened.

Zoey was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, hair still slightly unruly, ankle wrapped but bearing weight. She looked more stable. More herself. Her gaze went immediately to the coffee.

“You brought offerings,” she said.

“I sure did.”

She stepped aside and let me in.

The apartment seemed smaller in daylight. She’d opened the windows, and a strip of sunlight cut across the floorboards. Markie perched near the doorway of his enclosure, feathers slightly fluffed.

“DOG,” he said again, softer this time.

“Morning,” I told him.

“HEEL.”

“I’m not heeling,” I muttered.

Zoey smirked, looking me up and down. “You absolutely are.”

Shaking my head, I set the food on the table and started laying it out in a neat line. Containers spaced evenly. Utensils aligned. Napkins stacked just so.

She leaned against the counter and watched, her crutches against the wall.

“What’s in the cup?” she asked.

“Maple latte.”

She went still for half a second. “You got me maple.”

“You live in the Adirondacks now.”

“That’s manipulative.”

I shrugged. “It’s a regional favorite.”

She took the cup from me and paused before drinking, holding it close to her face as the steam curled up between us. The scent of maple and espresso drifted across the table. Her shoulders eased, but I knew she would deny it if I pointed it out. She took a careful sip, and for a split second she let herself enjoy it. Her lashes lowered. Her mouth softened. Then she caught herself and straightened. I resisted the urge to pull her in and kiss her forehead.

“That’s very good,” she said, clearly annoyed that it was.

“I know,” I replied.

She glared at me and sat down, already unwrapping the breakfast sandwich with the efficiency of someone who didn’t believe in dainty bites. The paper crackled under her hands. She took a large bite and chewed with full commitment, no self-consciousness, no attempt to impress.

I sat across from her and found myself tracking every small movement. The way she leaned forward over the table. The way she balanced her injured ankle under the chair without thinking. The faint smear of maple foam left on her upper lip before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

She caught me watching.

“Are you going to eat?” she asked, lifting one brow. “Or just watch me eat?”

“I’m eating,” I said automatically.

“You’re not.”

I looked down and realized my container was still sealed, my hands resting uselessly on either side of it.

Markie leaned forward from his perch, feathers rippling. “WEIRDO,” he announced with satisfaction.

Zoey nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Markie.”

I opened my sandwich and took a bite, forcing myself to focus on something other than the woman across from me. The roll was still warm, the egg firm, and the bacon crisp.

I barely tasted any of it.

It was getting harder to pretend this was only attraction. Attraction was easy to classify. It was physical, immediate, and temporary—if handled correctly. Somewhere between the hospital and her couch, this had moved past that.

I wanted her near me. That was the simplest version. Near enough that I could keep track of her. Near enough to touch. A hand at her back. Her knee against mine. The weight of her leaning into me.

I didn’t entirely understand why it felt so important. I only knew that every time she let me close, some deep part of me settled. And every time she pulled back, I felt the absence immediately.

She spent so much effort on sharpness. Dry remarks. Controlled distance. That cool, dismissive tone she used when she wanted to keep people from getting too comfortable.

I understood what it was for. It didn’t fool me.

She looked at me like she expected me to become a drain on her at any second, but under it was something softer that she seemed unwilling to admit. A tenderness she protected like it had already cost her too much. I saw it in the way she thanked people when she forgot to brace first. In the way she looked at Bobbi. In the way she kept acting like care was suspicious even while leaning toward it.

Something about that got past my reason, past my caution. It moved through my body with quiet, unnerving certainty, until wanting her near me felt less like preference and more like fact. I wanted to protect her from the things that had made her think the sharpness was necessary. I wanted to protect her from anything else that might get close enough to harden the quiet softness I knew was still there.

Zoey’s ankle flexed slightly under the table. She shifted her weight without thinking and didn’t wince.

“You’re moving better today,” I said.

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “Mostly.”

“You still don’t have clearance to drive.”

She gave me a look.

“I’m driving you to your follow-up appointment.”

“I can take an Uber.”

“No.”

“Liam.”

“Zoey.”

She stared at me across the table.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

“I’m ensuring continuity of care.”

Markie tilted his head. “DOG. DRIVE.”

Zoey dropped her head back and laughed once. “Even the bird thinks you’re insufferable.”

“I prefer the term thorough.”

She finished the last bite of her sandwich and wiped her hands on a napkin with unnecessary force. She held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed when I didn’t waver.

“Fine,” she said. “You can drive me.”

I nodded. She stood carefully, wobbling a lot less than she had. She moved toward the bedroom without the crutches.

“I’ll get ready.”

Markie hopped once along his perch. “DOG.”

I looked at the hallway where she had disappeared.

I was in deeper than I should have been.

And for some reason I was not backing up.

She insisted on going in alone.

“I’m a fully grown adult,” she said when I pulled up to the curb outside the clinic. “You do not need to escort me inside.”

“I wasn’t planning to escort you.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was evaluating variables.”

She gave me a look that suggested how little she thought of my variables, then opened the door herself. Her ankle held steady when she stepped down. She didn’t wobble. She didn’t grab the door of my truck for balance.

Progress.

“I’ll be right here,” I said.

“I know where you’ll be,” she replied.

She shut the door before I could answer. I watched her walk through the sliding doors and disappear into fluorescent lighting. As soon as she did, I got into motion.

The radio volume sat at thirteen; I turned it to twelve.

The left vent angled slightly upward, the right angled straight. I adjusted both so they matched. The temperature read seventy-two. I lowered it to seventy and waited for the display to stabilize before letting go.

Zoey had moved the seat back farther than necessary, so I slid it forward one notch. The cup holder insert was crooked. I fixed it. The rearview mirror was tilted a fraction too high. I corrected that too.

When the numbers lined up, when the symmetry returned, my shoulders eased.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen.

Nora.

I answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Nora, what’s up?” I said.

“I know you’re technically off,” she began, which meant she was about to ask for something that wasn’t small.

“What happened?”

“Pete tried to install the new filtration system under the main bar by himself.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “And?”

“He threw his back out. Again. He’s currently on the floor behind the taps insisting he’s fine and asking for ice.”

“Is the system installed?”

“It is partially installed,” Nora said carefully. “The intake line is disconnected. The pressure regulator is not calibrated. We can’t run water through the bar at all.”

I looked toward the clinic doors.

“No sinks. No tap water. No ice machine. No draft lines,” she continued. “Lunch service starts in three hours. We have a bridal party arriving at three.”

The scene played out in my head immediately. Guests crowded in the main lodge bar, expecting craft cocktails and local beer on tap. Pete flat on the floor behind the polished wood. The staff trying to explain why the faucet wasn’t working.

“How long has it been down?”

“Forty minutes.”

“And Pete?”

“Embarrassed. In pain. Defensive.”

Of course he was.

“I’ll be there soon,” I said.

“You’re on vacation.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s not your responsibility to solve this.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I can stall for a bit,” she added. “But not long.”

“I know.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Liam.”

She ended the call before I could say anything else. I put my phone in my pocket and stared at the clinic entrance. Pete shouldn’t have tried to lift that unit alone. He knew that. He had done it anyway.

I stared at the steering wheel for a second, already running through the system layout in my head. Intake line first. Pressure regulator reset. Check for cross-threading. Make sure Pete didn’t over-tighten the coupler again.

The bar couldn’t operate without water. No water meant no sanitation. No sanitation meant no service. No service meant refunds, complaints, and bad reviews.

The thought of the system sitting half-installed under the bar made the muscles in my jaw jump.

The clinic doors opened.

Zoey stepped out, looking pleased with herself. I bet if I pointed it out, she wouldn’t even deny it. She moved steadily. Confidently.

I got out and opened her door before she could protest.

“Well,” she said once I was back behind the wheel. “I’m officially released. Cleared to return to society.”

“That’s great.”

“You look like something caught fire.”

“Not exactly.” I started the engine. “Nora, the manager of Pine Hollow, called. Pete—the bartender at the lodge—attempted to install the new filtration system under the main bar without assistance.”

Zoey stared at me. “Why?”

“He believed he could.”

“And?”

“He threw his back out and is now lying on the floor behind the bar, which has no water because he disconnected the system.”

She blinked once. “Well, fuck.”

“No sinks. No taps. No ice.”

She winced. “That sounds like a catastrophe.”

“Correct.”

“When do you have to be there?”

“Soon.” I met her gaze. “I can drop you at your apartment.”

She hesitated, then rolled her shoulders back. “What the hell. I’m still off work today, and I’ve been cooped up in my house for days. I want to see this chaos. Take me with you.”

Chapter 13

Zoey

I was cleared.

Officially. Medically. Someone with framed degrees and impossible-to-read handwriting had signed off on it.

It made me feel giddy and reckless.

“I’m a free woman,” I announced again, just to make sure the universe heard it.

“You’ve mentioned that,” Liam said.

“I will continue to mention it. This is a time of celebration.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the rearview mirror slightly.

The mountains rose ahead of us, pine trees layered against pine trees, the road narrowing as we left town behind. I leaned back in the seat and let myself imagine tonight. Sweatpants. Trash television. A tub of ice cream large enough to qualify as a personal failure.

No supervision.

I reached forward and nudged the thermostat up to seventy-three.

Liam’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, though I noticed they tightened a bit.

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

I had started to notice how he tracked and adjusted things. Kept everything aligned just so. It didn’t feel controlling, just… contained. Like if he didn’t hold it there, something would slip.

It didn’t bother me, but I had a brief, unwelcome thought about what it must feel like to live with that all the time.

I waited a beat, then raised the thermostat to seventy-five.

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he didn’t look at me or fix it.

I angled my vent toward my face and pushed his slightly up, then put down my visor and slid open the vanity mirror. I left it like that.

He adjusted his posture but kept driving.

I turned the radio up, loud enough to be obnoxious.

He held out for three full seconds before he turned it down two clicks. “I’m driving.”

“I’m celebrating.”

“You’re destabilizing the cab.”

I scoffed. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“The temperature is now inefficient.”

“It’s five degrees.”

“It’s uneven. It’s wrong.”

I looked at him. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

I set it to seventy-one, which made him inhale sharply.

“That’s worse,” he said.

“Explain.”

“It’s asymmetrical.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s an odd number.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the entire problem?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said finally.

“I’m exploring.”

“You’re provoking.”

There was no irritation in his voice, and he still hadn’t corrected anything. That caught my attention. He was letting the truck sit in quiet chaos because I was the one who caused it. That sent warmth flooding through me before I could stop it.

I studied the set of his shoulders and his hands, still steady on the wheel even as everything around him sat just slightly wrong.

He could fix it in a second, but he didn’t.

Because of me.

“You know,” I said. “You’re allowed to fix things. To be an advocate for what you need.”

I flipped the mirror closed and shut the visor.

“It doesn’t make you controlling,” I added, aligning the vents again. “It just means you don’t like sitting in chaos. That’s not a crime.”

I nudged the thermostat onto an even number, then settled back and watched him out of the corner of my eye. His reaction was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, and his grip on the wheel loosened. His posture became more natural.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the truck changed, becoming quieter.

His energy was at ease.

The road curved north, the forest becoming denser along the shoulder. Through a break in the trees, the lake appeared, placid under the morning sun. Pine Hollow came into view gradually—first the dock, then the roofline of the lodge, then the full sweep of cedar siding and stone.

I had seen it before, but arriving with him made a bigger impact.

The sunlight made the water sparkle, and in the distance, wispy plumes of mist rose up from the mountains. It gave the lodge a warm, inviting atmosphere.

I had thought it was appealing when I first researched the area. Now it felt different.

Real.

Liam pulled into the gravel lot and parked the truck. His focus moved immediately to the main building, already assessing whatever crisis awaited inside.

“You ready?” he asked.

I looked at the lodge, at the bar windows catching the light, at the dock, at the trees that ringed the property.

I had wanted space.

I had found it.

And for reasons I didn’t want to unpack yet, I was glad I was here with him.

“I’m ready,” I said.

The main lodge felt larger than it looked once you stepped inside. Cedar beams overhead. Stone fireplace anchoring the center. The bar stretched along the far wall, polished wood reflecting the morning light that streamed through the tall windows facing the lake. It smelled faintly of coffee, pine cleaner, and the ghost of last night’s whiskey.

Nora spotted us, and relief lit up her face. “Thank God,” she said, already moving toward Liam. “It’s a disaster.”

Behind the desk, Pete sat in one of the tall stools, twisted slightly to protect his back. He looked deeply offended by gravity.

“I told her I’d be fine in a few minutes,” Pete grumbled. “Just needed a second.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Nora replied.

“I’m still in my prime. I’ll be just fine.”

Liam stepped behind the bar and took in the situation. I peered over the bar top to see the chaos. Tools spread out. Paneling removed. A partially installed filtration unit sitting beneath the counter, lines disconnected, fittings exposed. The ice bin lid open. Towels already on the floor.

“You should have waited,” Liam said calmly.

Pete waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“You needed leverage,” Liam said.

Pete muttered something about youth being wasted on the young.

Then Pete and Nora noticed me for the first time.

Nora’s lips curved into a sly smile, and Pete’s expression shifted from pain to mischief.

“Well,” Nora said, dragging the word out. “Look who decided to supervise.”

“I’m not supervising,” I replied smoothly. “I’m observing.”

Pete laughed and winced immediately. “You brought Checklist.”

I leaned an elbow on the bar. “I find messing with Liam is becoming my new favorite hobby. And explain. Checklist?”

He grinned. “You ordered drinks alphabetically and kept a running total in your head.”

“That is called competence.”

“You corrected another woman’s tip math while you were taking a shot.”

“She was wrong.”

“You asked where the fire exits were.”

“I like knowing my options.”

Liam went very still. Pete leaned back, looking delighted. “Checklist. Welcome back.”

I folded my arms. “You are perilously close to losing potential future tips.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

From behind the bar, Liam muttered, “You clocked her.”

I slowly turned toward him. He didn’t look up.

Traitor.

“I’m going to make myself useful,” Liam said.

“By all means,” I replied. “Please proceed.”

Nora squeezed my arm as she passed. “If water starts flying, duck.”

“I was hoping for a spectacle,” I said.

Liam shot me a warning look that I ignored entirely as I took a seat behind the bar.

He moved with quiet efficiency, clearing the counter space and lining up the tools he’d need in order of use. He reached behind him, grabbed a glass from the rack, and filled it with ice from the service bin that still functioned. He opened a Diet Coke, poured it cleanly into the glass, then slid it across the counter toward me.

I stared at the glass. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You’re thirsty,” he replied.

Frowning, I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass. Liam crouched and slid beneath the bar, broad shoulders disappearing behind the paneling. From where I sat, I had an uninterrupted view. His hands moved with precise control, checking each connection, tightening one fitting, loosening another.

Liam reached up to adjust the water line, forearms flexing. The fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back as he shifted position and braced one knee against the cabinet frame, giving himself leverage. There was nothing showy about it. No wasted movement. Just focused strength applied exactly where it was needed.

I took a sip of my soda and told myself to behave.

He leaned back out from under the bar briefly to adjust a gauge, jaw set, concentration absolute. His hands were large enough to make the tools look smaller than they were. Without looking up, he wiped some grease onto a rag.

Nora leaned over the counter toward me. I hadn’t even noticed her walk up. “He’s been like this since he arrived here.”

“Like what?” I asked, not taking my gaze off him.

“You know, all focused,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

Liam slowly turned the main valve, his eyes on the gauge. For a moment, everything held steady.

Then a sharp metallic pop sounded from beneath the counter.

Water exploded outward in a violent arc, hitting him square in the chest.

Pete barked out a laugh, then immediately clutched his back.

I choked on my soda.

Liam, however, didn’t even flinch. He reached up instantly and twisted the valve shut, cutting the flow. Water dripped from his hair, down his face, soaking through his shirt. The floor beneath him glistened.

Silence.

Nora quickly handed him a towel, and Liam peeled off his shirt without ceremony.

I forgot how to swallow.

The man should come with a posted advisory.

Caution. Structural integrity compromised.

In my recovery haze, I had apparently edited some of his beauty. My brain must have downgraded the memory for self-preservation. That was the only explanation. No one should look like that in normal lighting while performing routine maintenance.

If I was scrolling past a photo of him online, I would assume it was digitally enhanced. I would tell myself no human being was built with that level of competence and bone structure at the same time. I would block the account and move on with my life.

But no, Liam was real and unreasonably attractive while calibrating plumbing.

This was unfair to women everywhere.

His torso was broad and solid, muscles defined but not excessively so. Faint scars lined his ribs and shoulders.

Water tracked down his skin and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

Pete let out a low whistle. “Still in my prime,” he muttered, groaning as he struggled out of his chair and walked away like he couldn’t stand it anymore.

I set my soda down very carefully as Liam wrung his shirt out, then tossed it onto the counter. He bent back under the bar, bare back exposed, muscles rippling with each movement.

This was not fair.

I leaned forward slightly on the stool, resting my chin in my hand, fully committed to my role as spectator and enjoying the view.

Liam tightened the last connection and turned the valve again, slower this time. The pipes groaned, then settled. The faucet sputtered briefly before running clean and steady. He emerged from beneath the counter, damp and composed, and wiped his face with the towel again.

“You’re welcome,” he said to no one in particular.

I raised my glass in salute. “Five stars. Would watch again.”

He finally looked at me then, a sly smirk on his lips.

I stopped joking and took another sip. For hydration purposes only, of course.

He checked the water again, and when it kept running clean from the tap, he exhaled.

That was when I noticed the three women at the table by the window. They each had a glass of red wine and a paperback with a shirtless man on the cover doing something anatomically optimistic.

All three of them were looking directly at Liam. They weren’t even pretending not to stare. One of them murmured something to the others.

The one in the middle stood and approached the bar as the other two watched with open interest.

She stopped in front of Liam and looked him over slowly.

“Well,” she said.

The word contained history.

Liam straightened instinctively. “Yes, ma’am.”

“If this is part of the hospitality package,” she said, gesturing at his body, “I need an upgrade.”

Pete made a noise behind reception that sounded like a suppressed emergency.

From the table, one of the others added, “We literally just finished chapter twenty-three. This is not our fault.”

“That’s not the best defense,” the third said.

“It absolutely is,” she replied.

I didn’t move.

“I handle maintenance and property oversight,” Liam said evenly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“He fixes plumbing,” I said flatly, which obviously didn’t remotely describe his job here or help the situation, but my brain had melted.

The woman didn’t even glance at me.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said, eyes traveling down his torso again. “Everything looks very… well-maintained.”

Pete made another noise, and this time it sounded like he’d swallowed a kazoo.

Liam stood very still.

The woman leaned forward, her tone lowering just enough to suggest she had no intention of being subtle.

“My shower pressure’s been inconsistent,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to get my… pipes evaluated.”

I choked on nothing.

From the table, one of the others squealed, “Margaret!”

“What?” she said without looking back.

“That’s enough!”

The third woman nudged the other one. “Shh. It’s barely started.”

“Ma’am,” Liam began carefully.

She lifted a manicured finger. “Do not ma’am me. I didn’t survive three marriages to be called ma’am on vacation.”

Pete bent over the reception desk, shoulders shaking, back miraculously healed.

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Margaret,” the first woman called again, sharper this time.

Margaret paused. Considered. Then straightened. “We’ll behave,” she said.

“You will not,” one of them replied immediately.

“True,” she agreed. She glanced at me, taking me in properly for the first time. “You’re with him.” It wasn’t a question.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Mm,” she said, satisfied. “You two are adorable.”

My entire nervous system short-circuited. “There is nothing adorable happening.”

“Oh,” she said wistfully, hand pressed lightly to her chest. “To be young and violently attracted to someone again.”

I felt heat climb straight up my spine.

Liam didn’t move.

The woman sighed dramatically. “Enjoy your metabolism and your poor impulse control, children.”

Then she returned to her table full of giggling women clutching their smut.

I stared straight ahead. “I hate this place.”

Liam was still looking at me.

When we pulled up to my building, the adrenaline from Pine Hollow had not worn off. It had relocated, sitting low in my stomach, warm and damn inconvenient.

I reached for the car door handle, then stopped.

I checked my bag. “Oh no.”

Liam came around the front of the truck. “What?”

“I didn’t drive.”

He waited.

“I didn’t think about the fact that I would need my key to get back in.”

“You left without it?”

I rolled my eyes. “I left under medical supervision.”

“That does not negate doors and locks.”

I stared at the building. “I have contingency plans.”

“I assumed you did. Where’s the spare?” he asked.

“Bush. Downspout. Loose stone. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“You are absolutely judging me internally.”

“I’m cataloging the safety risks.”

“That’s worse.”

I walked around the side of the building and crouched carefully, not putting too much weight on my ankle, and retrieved the hide-a-key with more dignity than the situation deserved.

He stayed near the sidewalk, scanning the area. I’d noticed that little habit of his as well.

I stood and held up the key triumphantly. “I’m an adult.”

“You are,” he said.

On the inside I wasn’t quite as composed.

It wasn’t just that I forgot the key. That wasn’t the part that bothered me. The part that bothered me was that I had not once run through my usual exit checklist before leaving this morning. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Backup plan. Secondary backup plan. I had not mentally mapped contingencies. I had not rehearsed my return.

Because he was driving.

Because he was there.

Somewhere between the hospital and apartment setup and the bar fiasco, my brain had quietly stepped off duty.

And I had let it.

I didn’t like that.

I didn’t like that my nervous system softened around him, or that the constant low-grade vigilance I carried like a second spine eased when he was within reach. I definitely didn’t like that I stopped scanning for problems because he was already doing it.

I had spent most of my life being the responsible one. The emergency contact. The person with the contingency plan. The person who kept track of where the keys were.

And now I had to use my spare key because I had unconsciously assumed he would handle whatever came next.

That was not cute. It was dangerous.

Connection is not a safety plan, I reminded myself. People left. People disappointed you. Worst of all, people expected things in return.

I straightened, annoyed at myself. I do not outsource competence. Even if he makes it very easy to.

Markie screamed the moment the door opened. “DOG. HEEL.”

Liam paused mid-step.

I closed my eyes briefly. “You are not helping, Markie.”

Markie clambered down his enclosure ladder and puffed his feathers. “SYSTEM ERROR.”

“We just got home,” I told him.

“UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.”

Liam stepped inside slowly, scanning the room. His gaze went from the windows to the corners to the kitchen, then lingered on the hallway for longer than was necessary.

He only relaxed when the door shut behind us.

That heat simmering low in my belly surged.

Why was he still here? He was free to leave. He had escorted me to the doctor. He had repaired a bar. He had survived a seventy-five-year-old woman with a romance novel. Delivered me back home. He was relieved of his duties.

Connection is not safe, my brain reminded me.

My body had other ideas.

My fingers twitched at my sides, like they were considering reaching for him and hadn’t decided against it yet. I held his gaze as he stepped closer, his warmth radiating off him.

I had planned out my night in my head while he’d calibrated plumbing, and it involved nothing but sweatpants, trash television, and ice cream eaten straight from the container. No responsibility. No one asking anything of me.

It was the perfect night alone.

I didn’t want to be alone.

The realization irritated me immediately.

I put my bag on the table and turned toward him before I could overthink.

“I’m celebrating,” I announced. “I will be engaging in extremely low-quality television and high-quality junk food.”

“That sounds consistent with your values.”

“It is,” I said, and because my mouth was committed to chaos today, I added, “You could join.”

There was a beat of stillness, and I started to think I’d miscalculated. Perhaps he was eager to leave me to my own devices and be done with our weird little connection.

“If you want.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened. “I’m not literate in trash television.”

“Don’t worry, I’m an excellent teacher.”

“I’ll ask questions,” he warned.

“I encourage curiosity.”

“I may analyze strategy.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What strategy?”

“The decision-making patterns,” he said. “Alliances. Incentives. Why they continue to trust people who have already betrayed them.”

I stared at him. “It’s reality television, not a war simulation. They’re not optimizing outcomes. They’re making terrible choices for emotional reasons.”

He frowned. “That seems unproductive.”

“It’s the entire point.” I paused. “This is a safe space for poor decisions.”

His mouth curved slightly. “I’d like to stay.”

Markie climbed onto the bars of his enclosure and stared at Liam. “DOG.”

“Yes,” Liam replied calmly.

I looked between them. “This is deeply humiliating for me.”

Markie clicked his satisfaction, then settled onto his perch as if the hierarchy had been properly established.

“Well, then… show me what qualifies as high-quality junk food,” Liam said.

I moved toward the kitchen, aware of him following me, aware that the apartment felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it also felt safer.

Connection is not safe, you dumb bitch. Abort mission.

Ignoring my brain’s commentary, I took the ice cream out of the freezer.

“Take a seat,” I told him, pointing toward the couch.

He did, and that surging heat in my belly grew. God, this was a terrible idea.

Still, I handed him a spoon.

“Lesson one,” I said. “We judge everyone immediately.”

He gave me an amused look. “I can do that.”

I sat beside him, close enough that our knees brushed. Neither of us moved away.

“GOOD DOG,” Markie muttered.

I didn’t correct him.

Chapter 14

Liam

“This is mint-chocolate chip,” Zoey said. “If you are anti mint-chocolate chip, you’ll have to leave.”

“I never said I was anti mint-chocolate chip,” I replied.

The show opened with dramatic music and three women arguing about whether someone had stolen someone else’s fiancé. There were subtitles, slow zooms, and a recap of an argument that that had apparently occurred twelve minutes earlier. I barely paid attention to any of it because Zoey’s knee was resting against mine.

“Previously on emotionally unregulated adults,” she muttered, her blue hair cascading like a waterfall around her face.

I took a measured bite of ice cream and watched the screen. “Why are they meeting in a restaurant?”

“Because producers encourage public humiliation.”

“That seems cruel.”

“That’s the point of reality television.”

One of the men on screen began shouting. Zoey inhaled sharply and sat up straighter. “Oh, this is where he lies.”

“He hasn’t lied yet.”

She sent me a wry smile. “He is about to.”

The man spoke, and she was right. He lied.

I looked at her. “You knew.”

“I always know. It’s a talent of mine.” Zoey licked more ice cream off her spoon, and I tracked the movement of her tongue. “Here it comes.”

I blinked and turned my attention back to the screen. “What?”

“The revisionist history.”

The man began rewriting the timeline in real time.

I looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You predicted that.”

“I always do.” She pointed her spoon at the television, dangerously close to slinging melted mint across the couch. “Observe the deflection.”

“I’m observing.”

“He’s not answering the question. He’s reframing it so she feels unreasonable for asking.”

“It’s a strategic move,” I said.

“That’s cowardly.”

She leaned forward further, intent, the line of her neck exposed again, her focus absolute.

I studied the screen, then her. “How do you know what’s coming?”

She gave me a sideways look. “Pattern recognition.”

“From experience?”

“From existing in the world.”

She was animated and completely invested in the drama unraveling on the screen. Her hair had slipped over one shoulder at some point, and she didn’t fix it. Her fingers curled loosely around the spoon as she gestured, punctuating her argument about narrative manipulation and fragile masculinity, but I barely heard a word. I was too fascinated by her.

Her knuckles brushed my thigh absentmindedly. She didn’t even notice it, but I did.

“This is not about the fiancée,” she continued, leaning closer to the screen. “This is about power.”

“Everything is about power,” I said.

She stilled for a fraction of a second, then narrowed her eyes at me. “That was an ominous thing to say.”

“Maybe I’m jaded.”

Her mouth twitched at that, and I could see she was cataloging that and filing it away somewhere.

On screen, a drink went flying across the table in a dramatic arc.

Zoey gasped, delighted.

“That is assault,” I said.

“Assault makes for quality television.”

From the back of the couch, Markie yelled, “PROSTITUTION WHORE.”

Zoey didn’t even look away from the screen. She reclaimed the ice cream tub from between us and dug her spoon in with unnecessary force. I watched her wrist flex as she scooped, the motion controlled, the tendons in her hand shifting beneath her skin.

She held the spoon out toward me without looking away from the screen.

“Try this section. Heavy on the chocolate.”

I leaned forward, telling myself I didn’t need to be hyperaware of our proximity. I didn’t need to register the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine or the faint scent of mint and sugar and her shampoo.

My thumb brushed her knuckle as I took the spoon from her.

Her breathing changed slightly. The average human wouldn’t have picked up on it, but my shifter senses did.

Neither of us commented on it.

The host on screen demanded accountability. The man grew louder.

“Why is he still talking?” I asked.

Zoey snorted. “Because no one has told him to stop.”

“I would have.”

She turned her head slowly toward me, questioning. “Would you?”

“Yes.”

“You’d be very calm about it.”

“Yes.”

“And terrifying.”

I shrugged. “Possibly.”

She smiled then, and it was the most open smile she’d directed at me yet. It landed somewhere low and immediate inside me.

Dragging her thumb along the rim of the tub, she caught a streak of melted ice cream. Absently, she brought her thumb to her mouth and licked it clean.

I swallowed hard. She caught me looking.

“What?”

“You missed a spot,” I said evenly.

Her gaze sharpened instantly. “I did?”

“Yes.”

She held my gaze and dragged her thumb slowly along the corner of her mouth, deliberate now.

I kept my posture relaxed. It required effort I didn’t let onto.

“Better,” I said.

Her smile changed.

From his perch, Markie screeched, “WEIRDO!”

Zoey didn’t break eye contact. “He’s stressed,” she said lightly.

“I think he’s observant,” I replied.

On screen, someone began crying.

Zoey inched closer to me without comment. Our thighs pressed together fully now, and the warmth of her body seeped through the fabric. Her shoulder brushed mine.

“Why do you like this?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t like it. It’s a form of escapism.” She took another slow bite and considered her words. “These people,” she said finally, gesturing toward the chaos on screen, “make terrible decisions.”

“That is evident.”

“They implode and self-sabotage. They torch their own lives in high definition.”

“And?”

“And none of it is my problem.”

She leaned back into the couch, but she didn’t create distance. If anything, she settled more firmly against me.

“I spend most of my life anticipating consequences,” she continued. “Mapping outcomes, managing variables, cleaning up after other people.”

I kept quiet, waiting for her to continue.

“With this”—she nodded toward the television—“I get a front-row seat to absolute disaster, and I’m not responsible for any of it.”

“I admit, when you put it like that, it does sound appealing.”

“It’s therapeutic.”

“It looks exhausting, though.”

“It is,” she said. “For them.”

On screen, someone stormed out of the restaurant and a producer chased after them.

Zoey smiled faintly. “They chose to be on the show. They signed contracts and agreed to be ridiculous. That’s the beauty of it.”

“You prefer contained chaos.”

“Yes.”

“And you prefer observing to participating.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the spoon, but her expression was unreadable as she stared at the screen. “Watching reality television reminds me that I’m not obligated to fix everything.”

“You aren’t.”

She huffed quietly. “Tell that to my nervous system.”

As her thigh pressed even closer to mine, her neck drew my attention. The line from her jaw to her collarbone was clean and unguarded. There was nothing performative in the way she sat. No attempt to curate the angle. She was simply there, fully present, fully absorbed in the chaos unfolding on screen.

And I had an immediate, intrusive urge to lean in and press my mouth there.

The thought arrived fully formed.

I didn’t act on it.

The television continued its dramatic escalation. Someone was shouting about betrayal. Someone else was crying into a napkin. But I only vaguely heard it, too caught up in her.

Zoey set the tub of ice cream on the coffee table, then tucked one leg beneath her, angling her body toward me. The shift in movement closed what little distance remained between us.

“This show is all about people wanting something and pretending they don’t,” she said.

The statement hung between us longer than the dialogue on screen.

I cleared my throat. “That seems inefficient.”

“It is.”

“Why not say what you want?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw someone on the screen storming off again, and yet another producer was chasing them. Zoey’s hand rested on the couch cushion between us, close enough that I could reach it without effort. Close enough that the decision not to reach felt purposeful.

“That would be showing vulnerability,” she said lightly.

“And?”

“And I prefer chaos.”

“You don’t.”

She raised an eyebrow in challenge, then sighed. “I prefer control.”

“There we go.”

“And sometimes,” she added, her tone softer now, “it’s easier to watch other people ruin things than risk ruining something yourself.”

The noise from the television seemed distant now.

Markie shuffled on his perch and muttered, “TURN IT OFF.”

Zoey’s gaze flicked toward him, then back to me. Picking up the remote, I lowered the volume instead of killing it completely.

Her hand shifted closer to mine. A subtle adjustment. An invitation.

“I like it when you ask questions,” she said.

“Oh, I have more.”

“Obviously.”

I placed my hand on top of hers, gently rubbing my thumb against hers. Her hand stayed in mine for three seconds.

Four.

Five.

Then she withdrew it.

She muted the television entirely, then stood and gave me a look I hadn’t seen since the night in the hot tub as she stepped between my knees.

My body reacted before my mind caught up, every instinct and nerve going on alert.

She tentatively put her hands on my shoulders, waiting to see if I accepted her touch.

I didn’t move.

Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my shirt.

I let her.

When she saw I wasn’t moving away or shrugging off her touch, she straddled me. Her weight settled against me, the contact full and undeniable.

Every thought in my head vanished, and my focus narrowed to the space where we touched.

Zoey leaned forward, touching her forehead against mine. As she moved, her hair fell over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell as her breath ghosted over my skin.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said with no hesitation.

Her hands slid from my shoulders to the back of my neck, and I finally closed the distance, brushing my lips over hers.

Her mouth was warm against mine, and she leaned into the kiss like she had decided something and didn’t intend to retreat from it. I settled my hands on her waist, and when I did, everything in me reacted.

Her heat seeped through the thin fabric, and the weight of her felt glorious on my thighs. The scent of her shampoo invaded my senses, and I felt the subtle ripple of her muscles as she moved against me. I let my hands drift, memorizing the shape of her. When I palmed her ass, her knees tightened slightly at my sides, and a sharp pulse of want moved straight through me. I felt it in my hands first, my fingers flexing against her instinctively before I forced them to relax.

She was warm. Solid. Real.

And she was here because she wanted to be.

That knowledge burned hotter than anything physical.

I slid my hands higher along her sides, slow enough that she could stop me if she wished. She didn’t. Her small hitch of breath nearly broke my restraint, and I deepened the kiss, pouring all my desire into it. Her body responded to that, pressing closer against me.

My pulse was loud in my ears.

I could feel every point of contact between us: her hands in my hair; her thighs framing me; her mouth demanding more.

I wanted to pull her closer, wanted to anchor her against me and let the restraint snap entirely. Instead, I tightened my grip at her waist just enough for her to feel the strength there. Just enough to communicate that I was choosing control.

She shifted in my lap, and that nearly undid me. Holy fuck.

I clenched my jaw and forced my breathing to steady. I felt the full weight of her against me and the full force of my reaction to it.

She was aware of it.

I saw it in her expression when she leaned back just enough to look at me.

“You’re very calm,” she said softly.

I was not calm. I was barely holding the line.

“For you,” I said.

Her mouth curved, but not in amusement. Something darker, curious, moved through her eyes. She brushed her lips lightly against mine, testing, teasing.

“I want to see you unravel,” she murmured.

My grip on her tightened instinctively.

“For me, Liam.” Her fingers slid down from my neck to my chest, pressing lightly there. My heart beat unsteadily under her touch. “You’re so disciplined. I wonder what happens when you’re not.”

The room seemed to shrink, becoming warmer. I swallowed hard as I looked at her.

Zoey held my gaze without flinching. There was certainty behind the challenge in her expression.

That was enough.

I stood without warning. Gripping my shoulders, Zoey twined her legs around my waist. Her breath caught, and I felt it against my throat. The sound went straight through me. It was small but honest, the first crack in the composure she usually guarded so fiercely.

I held her securely, hands firm under her thighs, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her there. She fit against me so naturally, like our bodies were made to be pressed together like this. Her hair fell forward, and she pushed it back impatiently without breaking eye contact.

Her face was level with mine now. There was no distance left to hide behind.

“You want to see?” I asked as I took two steps forward.

Her pulse was visible at her throat. “Yes.”

I pressed her back against the wall, my gaze raking over her face, taking her in. Hair slightly disheveled. Stubborn defiance still sitting in her expression even now. Lips slightly parted. I crashed my mouth against hers, harder than I’d intended.

The moan that came from her throat shot through me with a force I felt in every inch of my body.

Her fingers slid into my hair—goddamn it—and pulled me closer before slipping back around my neck to hold me still. Her other hand found its way between our bodies, fisting in my shirt as if she needed something to keep her grounded against this new wave of desire she’d unleashed within me.

“Fuck,” I hissed as she rocked her hips, moving against my erection.

Sharp, demanding heat coursed through my body. Every instinct I had spent years learning to control pushed forward at once.

She whimpered into my mouth, and I wanted to take her right there against the wall if it meant making her feel this needy, this desperate for me.

The urge was overwhelming and powerful, but I’d promised myself patience. So, I held myself back, looking deep into her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.

When she licked her swollen lips, my brain short-circuited.

I pinned her against the wall with my body as I gripped the hem of her shirt and slowly pulled it over her head. Trailing my hand over the smooth skin of her back, I unhooked her bra, revealing her perfect breasts. My free hand cupped one gently, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger until it hardened under my touch, and a low growl rumbled through my chest.

“The noises you make will be my undoing,” she gasped before I claimed her mouth again, this time with more tenderness.

The shift surprised me, the kiss slow and deep.

She rolled her hips in desperation. “Bed,” she said.

Gripping her ass, I walked to the bedroom, my mouth never leaving hers. As I lowered her onto the mattress, I slid my hand beneath her skirt and up her thigh, teasing the lace edge of her panties. She gasped into my mouth, her fingers tightening in my hair again.

I pulled away, breathing heavily. “You’re soaked. Is this all for me?”

“You’re not giving me a choice,” she said, her eyes dark pools of lust filled with promise and challenge all at once. “Keep fucking going.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I trailed kisses up her thigh until I reached the waistband of her panties. Biting the lace, I dragged them down her legs until I was kneeling between her legs.

“Fuck, Liam, that was so fucking hot.”

The way she said my name sent a sharp pulse through my entire body.

I kissed the inside of her thigh and lingered there for a moment as she trembled beneath me, desperate for more. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted just yet.

Patience.

I moved to the other thigh and slowly licked my way closer to where I wanted to be.

“Christ, Liam.”

“Look at you, all spread out for me.” I teased the outline of her folds with my tongue, tasting her before licking a long, slow line from bottom to top. She tasted so sweet, so addictive.

I needed more.

I pulled her closer with rough hands against her stomach as I buried my face between her legs and pressed my tongue deeper into her core. I groaned against her, reveling in her heat and the scent of her arousal.

If the world ended in that moment, I would not have noticed because I was already in heaven.

Her legs opened wider and she moaned louder, begging for more.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling gently but firmly as she writhed against my face. The salty-sweet taste of desire coursed through my veins and made me want to claim every inch of this woman who looked down at me like I was the only man alive. She tasted so fucking good it hurt—and I took advantage of that by sucking on her clit roughly while one hand slid lower to find her entrance slick with need.

Zoey cried out and bucked against my mouth as I pressed two fingers inside of her slowly but surely until she was filled to the brim with my touch.

She trembled around me.

Her body bucked against my mouth and fingers, her scent filling the room as I lapped at her sweet honey. She shattered in my arms and all I could think about was being inside of her, filling her up until we both found our release.

“Liam,” she whispered when she caught her breath. “That was...”

I stood up slowly and pulled my pants and boxers down, freeing my already hard cock from its confinement. It stood straight out before me, leaking pre-cum for this woman who owned me completely whether I wanted to admit it or not.

For a moment I simply stood there, breathing hard, trying to steady the surge of feeling moving through me. Want was part of it. Hunger, too. But beneath that was something heavier, something I had spent most of my life learning to keep under control. With her, the discipline felt thinner, but more important.

I dragged my shirt off, revealing the skin and scars that told their own story.

Her gaze followed the movement. The scars never bothered me before. They were part of the map of who I had been forced to become. But the way she looked at them now made me suddenly aware of every mark.

She slid her skirt down her legs and reached for me. The gesture was simple, but it carried a quiet certainty that made my pulse kick harder.

Zoey was long and lean, all clean lines and quiet strength. Her blue hair spilled across the sheets in messy waves, the color contrasting with her warm skin. Her shoulders were narrow, her waist pulling inward before her hips flared just enough to make my hands ache to hold them again.

There was nothing delicate about her. She carried herself with a stubborn confidence that she brought to every argument, every challenge. Even here, bare and unguarded, she looked completely certain of herself.

And God help me, that might have been the most incredible thing about her.

I reached underneath her with one arm and flipped her over in one swift motion, inciting a squeal of surprise.

She looked back at me over her shoulder with a look of pure delight and lust. “Fuck me, Liam. Please.”

I couldn’t have resisted even if I’d tried.

I knelt behind her, my erection pressing against her ass as I took in her beauty one last time before positioning myself at her entrance.

My hands found her hips, and I filled her in a single thrust that made us both gasp. The sensation slammed through me, grounding me completely in the moment.

Zoey arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning in approval and as I began to move within her in long, deep strokes. “Holy… fuck…ohhh… yes, Liam. Yes.”

I could have come at any moment but I wanted—no, needed—this to continue. I would mourn the loss of her touch as soon as it was over, and it couldn’t be over. Not yet. So, I pulled out.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a whimper.

“I need to see you ride me, love.”

She sat up and smirked seductively, and I knew I was going to be ruined.

There was that spark again, that defiant confidence that had drawn me in from the start.

She shoved me down on the bed and straddled me, her body hovering over me. The tip of my cock brushed against her, and she gave me a sly grin.

“You like that?” she teased as she slowly lowered herself onto my cock, taking me inch by excruciating inch into her warmth until she was fully seated.

“Fuck, yes,” I groaned. She began to move with a rhythm that matched the beating of my heart against my chest. It was like heaven and hell all at once as she took control, creating a rhythm that drove me to insanity.

Her breasts bounced beautifully and I couldn’t resist palming them. Moaning, she leaned forward, giving me better access to her tits while still taking care of herself.

God, she was perfect. “Fuck,” I hissed as she increased the pace, slamming her hips down onto mine. She ran her hands up my stomach, digging her nails into my pecs, and that lick of pain hurt so fucking good.

Gasping, she lay down on top of me, her beautiful hair splayed across my face and her breasts pressed against my chest. I grabbed her ass, taking more control of the pressure and pace.

“Liam… damn it, Liam, you feel so good. Oh… God.”

She clenched around me, and I knew she was just as close to coming as I was. Still, I didn’t want this to end.

I wanted to hold this moment in place. Freeze it before reality caught up with us.

I wrapped my arms around her tightly, and she bit my shoulder.

She moaned my name until we shattered together in an orgasm so intense it would be impossible to ever, ever forget.

We came back to reality slowly, panting heavily in each other’s arms as our hearts raced from the exhilaration of it all. I traced the soft skin of her arm as I held onto this moment for dear life. Nothing would ever be the same for me again.

The air had gone quiet. Not the tense quiet that lived between people who didn’t know what to say, but the softer kind that settled after something powerful had already been communicated.

Zoey lay sprawled across my chest, her weight warm and solid on me. My arm rested on her back, my palm spread across the narrow span of her waist.

The world outside the apartment might as well have disappeared.

Her blue hair was everywhere. Across my shoulder. Tangled along my collarbone. Strands brushing my jaw when she moved slightly. I didn’t mind it all.

I hadn’t realized how much tension still lived in my body until she slowly, curiously, traced the tips of her fingers along the center of my chest, following the faint scar tissue there I had long since stopped noticing.

I stilled.

Zoey noticed immediately. She stopped tracing, then continued, but this time, her touch was lighter, slower, as she followed the path of the mark downward, the pad of her finger brushing lightly over the uneven skin.

“Are all of these from the same incident?” she asked.

I brushed a kiss over the top of her head. “They’re old.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her fingers moved again, mapping the next scar. The movement was almost absentminded, the way someone might trace patterns on a page while thinking.

Except she wasn’t thinking about anything else.

“They’re all pretty much the same story. Punishment in the name of growth.”

Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t like them.”

“They’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She raised her head, resting her chin on my chest. There was something sharp in her expression now. Something fierce and protective that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

Her fingers slid along another scar near my ribs. “I want to make whoever put these here pay,” she said quietly.

The words were calm, matter of fact.

Zoey didn’t say things lightly.

I studied her face for a moment. “Zoey.”

Her thumb brushed the scar again. “They hurt you.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I almost smiled because she looked genuinely annoyed by the concept of time as a mitigating factor.

Her gaze softened slightly as she studied the marks again. “Does it bother you when people touch them?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

She pinned me with her gaze. “Because I’m not planning to stop.”

Her fingers resumed their slow path across my chest, the touch light and comforting. I tightened my arm around her slightly without thinking.

Zoey settled closer against me in response, her leg hooking over mine as if the movement had been expected.

A little while later, she sighed. “This might be my favorite part,” she admitted.

“Which part?”

She tapped one finger lightly against my chest.

“The part where you stop pretending you’re not soft.”

I looked down at her. “I never claimed not to be.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I’m very honest about my disposition.”

She snorted quietly. “Sure you are.”

Her hand slowed again, resting flat over my heart. “Whoever did this, they don’t get to hurt you anymore.”

The statement was simple. Certain. And for reasons I didn’t fully understand, it landed deeper than the threat that had come before it.

I brushed a strand of that gorgeous blue hair out of her face. “Noted.”

Zoey smiled faintly and dropped her head back against my chest, resuming the idle tracing of patterns along my skin.

And this time when the quiet settled around us again, neither of us tried to interrupt it.

Chapter 15

Zoey

Morning arrived slowly.

Awareness came back in layers. First the warmth, then the faint sound of Markie shifting somewhere in the apartment, then the quiet hum of the refrigerator down the hall.

Then the very immediate realization that I was not alone.

I opened my eyes.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I just stayed there, taking inventory.

A large arm rested across my back, heavy and relaxed. One of my legs was thrown over his hip. My face was pressed into the center of Liam’s chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

Right.

Memory returned in a sequence that felt almost rude in its clarity.

The couch. The ice cream. The stupid reality show. The moment when everything tilted and never tilted back.

My stomach tightened.

I raised my head and looked at Liam. He was still asleep.

Up close, he looked younger. Not softer, but unguarded in a way he didn’t show when he was awake. His hair was a mess from my hands.

He had one hand spread across the middle of my back. The other rested loosely against my hip, fingers curved into my skin.

At some point during the night, I had migrated fully on top of him.

Excellent.

Outstanding decision making, Zoey.

I stayed still for another second, staring at the scar just below his collarbone. I had traced it last night.

I remembered telling him I wanted to make someone pay for it.

Which, in hindsight, was possibly a little intense.

My brain started running again.

That was the problem.

For the past two days it had been quieter than usual. My constant mental checklist had eased up, as had the running tally of everything I was responsible for.

Work tickets. Customer escalations. My mother’s increasing chaos. The constant sense that if I stopped paying attention for five seconds something in my life would catch fire. With Liam around, that had all faded to the background, and I barely heard the noise.

He checked things, and it wasn’t annoying when he did it. He noticed details and fixed problems before they became disasters. He paid attention to things I usually had to monitor myself.

I hadn’t realized how exhausting that constant vigilance was until someone else started carrying some of it without asking.

It explained why kissing him had felt less like a reckless decision, and more like the inevitable result of several days of my nervous system quietly surrendering to the concept of not being the only adult in the room.

I shifted slightly against him, and his arm tightened automatically, which made something uncomfortable happen inside my chest.

Fucking fantastic.

Attachment.

My favorite.

I closed my eyes briefly.

You absolute stupid bitch.

The words arrived with that casual cruelty my brain had perfected over the years.

You moved to a new town two minutes ago and immediately climbed into bed with the first extremely competent mountain man who offered you terrible breakfast.

Incredible strategy.

I pressed my forehead against his chest.

This was exactly how women ended up ruining their lives.

They relaxed for five minutes, allowed someone to take care of them for a day or two. That, in turn, led to their brains being flooded with extremely stupid hormones and feelings about safety and stability, then suddenly they were rearranging their entire emotional infrastructure around a man who probably just thought this was a pleasant detour.

My throat tightened. I hated that feeling. The stupid fragile one that lived right under my ribs and always appeared when something good happened. My brain immediately started calculating how long it would take before it disappeared.

Because it always did.

I lay there another moment, very still.

Liam’s hand moved absently over my back before settling on my waist again. The quiet steadiness of that movement made something in my chest hurt.

I stared at the wall.

Why was my life so fucked?

I exhaled slowly and dropped my face back against Liam’s chest. Apparently my coping strategy this morning was going to involve pretending I was still asleep on top of a man who made my brain stop screaming for five consecutive minutes.

Which, frankly, was ridiculous enough on its own.

But I stayed there, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart and breathing in his scent. If I stayed here, I could pretend this was a completely normal way to start the day.

“BREAKFAST.”

Markie’s timing was impressive.

I stared at the wall for another moment.

Right, gotta feed the parrot.

I slid carefully off Liam, inch by inch, moving with the slow precision of someone attempting to exit a high stakes crime scene without leaving evidence.

He didn’t stir. The man had the sleep instincts of a tranquilized bear.

He was sprawled across my mattress with the relaxed confidence of a man who had clearly decided my bed was structurally sound enough to support him, one arm still stretched across the space where I had been a moment ago. His hair was a disaster, but his face looked calm in a way that felt deeply unfair.

He had no right to look that peaceful after what we did last night.

“BREAKFAST!” Markie screeched.

“Yes,” I whispered sharply toward the doorway. “I heard you.”

I grabbed a pair of panties out of my dresser and pulled them on before I slipped out of my bedroom.

When Markie saw me, he slammed his beak against the bars, then leaned forward, his posture suggesting he had been conducting a detailed overnight surveillance operation.

He tilted his head and looked at me, then peered in the direction of the bedroom.

The bird had the expression of someone holding classified information.

“Do not,” I said immediately.

He leaned farther forward. “DOG!”

“Stop calling him that.”

“DOG!”

I opened the cabinet and grabbed his food container. “This is none of your business.”

Markie watched me scoop pellets into his dish, his head tilted in the other direction. He looked pleased with himself.

I situated the bowl where he liked it.

Markie climbed down immediately and began eating with focused determination.

I leaned one shoulder against the counter and watched him. “You don’t understand the situation.”

“GUEST.”

“Yes.”

“DOG.”

“No.”

“GUEST DOG.”

“That is not helpful.”

He returned to his food with great enthusiasm.

I rubbed my face. “This may have been a mistake.”

Markie chewed.

“This may have been a huge mistake.”

Crunch.

“I just moved here.”

Crunch.

“I have been in this town for approximately ten minutes.”

Crunch.

“And I’m already sleeping with the first extremely competent mountain man who takes care of me and fixes plumbing.”

Markie looked up. “GOOD PLUMBING.”

I closed my eyes. “This is not a healthy dynamic.”

“GOOD DOG.”

“I’m not keeping him.”

Markie continued eating.

Sighing, I pushed away from the counter. “Finish your breakfast.”

“BREAKFAST.”

“Yes. Eat your breakfast.”

His head lifted slowly, then he tilted it toward the bedroom. “OOOH.”

I froze, then very slowly turned my head toward my asshole bird. “You didn’t just do that.”

Markie puffed slightly. “OOOH.”

I pointed a finger at him. “Mind. Your. Business.”

He leaned closer to the bowl and took another bite, then he raised his head again.

I walked to my desk and opened my laptop. The machine took approximately two seconds to wake up, then the notifications poured in.

Slack exploded across the screen. Messages stacked instantly. Ticket alerts. Customer escalation flags. Internal threads.

Someone had already tagged me three times in the span of ten minutes.

I stared at the screen as my brain tried to boot up fully.

It made a sound somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

“Oh my god.”

Another Slack ping.

Then another.

And another.

My shoulders sagged.

The peace that had enveloped me upon waking vanished immediately as the full weight of my normal operating system slammed back into place.

I closed the laptop.

No. Absolutely not. Not until coffee.

I pushed away from the desk and walked into the kitchen.

Water first. Then coffee. Then whatever counted as breakfast in a household that had clearly prioritized ice cream over responsible grocery shopping.

I opened the cabinet and stared inside. Protein bars. Peanut butter. Half a bag of questionable granola.

Good enough.

Behind me, from the bedroom, I heard the groan of my bedframe.

I reached for the coffee grinder and poured in a scoop of beans. The machine rattled loudly against the counter while I leaned my hip against the cabinet and waited. Markie crunched through his breakfast with impressive commitment.

When the grinder finally stopped, I dumped the grounds into the filter and filled the kettle at the sink.

The apartment stayed quiet except for the sound of water and Markie chewing.

I poured the water into the machine, pressed the button, and stood there for a moment watching the first drops fall into the pot.

Progress.

A few minutes later, I filled a mug and took a long sip, staring into the cabinet while my brain attempted to reassemble itself into a functioning adult.

My brain had just reached the stage of consciousness where it was considering the possibility of cooperating when footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned.

Liam stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fully dressed. Jeans. Boots.

Shirt. His gaze moved over me slowly.

And that was when I realized I was standing in my kitchen in nothing but black panties, holding a mug of coffee.

I looked down at myself, then back at him as I took another sip of coffee.

Well.

There were two options.

Option one: panic and sprint out of the room.

Option two: behave like a woman who had very recently climbed this man like a tree and therefore had nothing left to prove.

Shrugging internally, I chose option two.

I leaned one hip against the counter and took another drink. “It’s morning.”

He was still looking at me, but not in the crude way I had come to expect from men who suddenly found themselves confronted with unexpected skin.

His expression had gone still, focused. He was looking at me the way he looked at something he intended to remember.

The attention rolled across my skin, making goosebumps jump up along my skin. My body reacted before my brain could intervene. A dangerous amount of heat pooled low in my stomach, and I had the immediate and deeply inconvenient urge to jump him again.

Stop it. I scolded myself. Absolutely stop that.

Liam moved again; three calm steps carried him across the kitchen.

He stopped in front of me.

Up close he smelled like what I had come to know was him. Soap and cedar. Clean, salty sweat.

Before I could react, his hand was on my waist, and he was kissing my cheek.

“You’re stunning, Zoey,” he murmured.

I smiled. Just enough. “Thank you.”

That was it. Because if I gave him even one inch of emotional engagement right now, my brain was going to start doing extremely irresponsible math about the rest of my life.

He watched me for a moment, then stepped back.

“I should get back to Pine Hollow,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to check before guests start moving around.”

Relief and something else I didn’t want to think about twisted together in my chest.

“That makes sense,” I said.

He nodded once.

Then his attention shifted to my laptop. “Work waiting?”

“A horrifying amount.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Good luck.”

“I’m going to need it.”

He grabbed his keys off the counter and walked to the door. “Can I text you later?”

My brain attempted to overanalyze that question immediately. I shut it down.

“Sure,” I said. “But I’m going to be buried in tickets all day.”

“I figured. No rush to respond.”

From the living room, Markie shouted suddenly, “BYE, DOG.”

Liam looked over.

Markie leaned forward on his perch. “GOOD DOG.”

Liam nodded once in solemn acknowledgment. “Bye, Markie.” Then he looked back at me. “Bye, Zoey.”

“Bye.”

The moment the door closed behind him, silence descended on my apartment.

I stood there, holding a mug of coffee and wearing nothing but underwear while my life attempted to reorganize itself around the concept of that man walking out the door.

“DOG,” Markie said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” I muttered.

I stared at the closed door for one more second, then I walked back to my desk and opened my laptop.

Slack exploded again immediately. Exactly what I needed.

Work.

Work was safe.

I was knee deep in a ticket when my phone buzzed on my desk. I glanced down automatically.

Mom.

I stared at the screen for a moment. The cruise had apparently reached cell service again. Markie leaned over the back of the couch.

“INCOMING PROBLEM.”

Apparently, he could sense my emotional state.

“Accurate,” I muttered before I answered, “Hi, Mom.”

Her voice arrived at full volume. “Zoey! Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.”

I checked the call log.

One missed call.

“Yes,” I said. “It must have been a very dramatic forty-five minutes.”

“I was worried,” she said immediately. “You never don’t answer your phone.”

There it was. Not hello. Not how are you. Immediate escalation into concern, which in my mother’s hands usually meant I was about to be made responsible for managing the fact that she had feelings.

I rubbed my forehead. “I’m at work.”

“You work from home.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re home.”

“That’s… technically correct.”

Markie flapped his wings once. “TECHNICALLY.”

I shot him a look. On the other end of the line, my mother sighed in the long-suffering way that suggested she had personally carried the burden of my entire personality for twenty-seven years.

“You should see the boat,” she said suddenly. “It’s enormous. Twelve restaurants. Twelve, Zoey. I didn’t even know what to pick.”

“That sounds very stressful.”

“I had to make reservations three days in advance.”

My Slack notification pinged again.

Mom continued talking without pause. “And the buffet is unbelievable. Seafood, carving stations, desserts everywhere. I keep thinking you would love it.” She paused briefly. “You should have come.”

The familiar tug of guilt slid quietly into the conversation.

Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to hook. That was one of her better skills. She rarely came at me directly. She preferred implication. A soft little line laid across the doorway so I could trip over it myself.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” I said carefully.

“Well,” she said, “it would be better if you were here.”

Markie leaned forward. “GUILT DETECTED.”

“Please stop narrating my life,” I hissed.

“What was that?” my mother asked.

“Nothing.”

She sighed again. “I just hate the idea of you all alone out there.”

I stared at the wall. “I’m not alone.”

“Well,” she said, in the tone that meant she absolutely believed I was. “You know what I mean.”

Yes, I did. My mother had spent most of my life treating solitude as a temporary problem that needed solving. She preferred solutions that involved me rearranging my life around whatever situation she currently needed help with.

It had been like that when I was a kid too, just in smaller, meaner ways. We were “close,” which in practice often meant she had access to me at all times. My attention. My labor. My ability to stay calm when she was not. My willingness to handle all the practical things she didn’t want to deal with. The story she liked best was that it had always just been us. The less flattering version was that “just us” had mostly meant there was no one else between me and the responsibility.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I was thinking you could come stay with me for a while when I get back.”

I closed my eyes. There it was. The reason for the call.

“Mom,” I said gently, “we talked about this.”

“I know, but—”

“I moved here because I needed some space.”

There was a short silence.

My mother was very good at hearing boundaries. She was less enthusiastic about respecting them.

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to be so far away,” she said.

I wanted to be so far because if I stayed close, every small crisis would become my responsibility again. Because I had spent years solving problems that were never actually mine to solve. Because sometimes loving someone meant not letting them lean on you for everything.

None of those explanations would get me anywhere with her.

“I’m doing well here,” I said instead.

Another pause.

“Well,” she said finally. “If you say so.”

She’d perfected that particular sentence over decades. It meant I disagree and will revisit this later. It also meant I was being filed temporarily under difficult, ungrateful, or confused.

“Text me when you’re done with work,” she added.

“Okay, Mom.”

“All right,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Slowly, I put my phone down.

Markie tilted his head at me. “SUCCESS.”

“That felt suspiciously like setting a boundary,” I said.

“BOUNDARY.”

I rubbed my face with both hands.

The conversation hadn’t been dramatic. Still, I could already feel the familiar aftertaste of guilt settling somewhere in the back of my brain. It was amazing how a five-minute phone call could make me feel like I had just failed a test I didn’t remember signing up for.

My laptop chimed again, and only then did I realize I had been pacing.

Right. Slack, work.

Normal life.

I exhaled slowly and picked up my coffee.

Chapter 16

Zoey

By eleven thirty, I had developed a deep and sincere hatred for the entire internet.

Not the fun kind of hatred either. The quiet, simmering kind where you stare at a Slack thread and wonder if the person on the other end understands how computers work, or if they had simply wandered into the profession by accident.

Ticket one had been a login issue caused by someone typing their password wrong six times and then accusing the system of “discrimination.”

Ticket two involved a client who had deleted their own database and then asked if we could “roll the vibes back to Tuesday.”

Ticket three contained the phrase “urgent emergency” followed by a request to change a font color.

By noon, my shoulders were tight, and my patience had evaporated.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my face.

This was the part of the day where my brain usually started looking for an exit ramp.

Lunch.

I pushed away from the desk and stood up slowly. My ankle reminded me it still existed. The limp had mostly faded but long stretches of sitting made it complain again.

From his perch near the living room window, Markie said, “LUNCH.”

“Yes,” I muttered.

The kitchen felt strangely orderly when I walked in. The cabinets were arranged. The dishes had homes. The small stack of boxes I had planned to unpack sometime in the next three weeks had vanished.

I opened the freezer and grabbed one of the frozen meals I had stocked up on before moving. It went straight into the microwave.

I leaned against the counter while it rotated slowly behind the glass.

And that was when the second realization hit.

Liam had done all of this.

The kitchen hadn’t looked like this before him. The cabinets had been chaos. The counter had been covered in moving supplies and loose kitchen tools I had intended to organize eventually.

Now everything was where it belonged.

I glanced toward the hallway.

The same thing had happened in the living room. My bookshelves were assembled and organized. The television was mounted. The furniture had shifted into actual functional placement instead of the temporary disaster I had been living in.

The microwave beeped.

I glared at it.

I didn’t like how easily he had stepped into my life and started fixing things.

I especially didn’t like how helpful it had been.

Or how he made me laugh.

Or how he paid attention.

Or how he looked at me in a way that made my entire nervous system stop screaming for five minutes.

And—

No.

I opened the microwave and pulled my meal out.

That line of thinking was banned.

I walked back to my laptop, carrying the steaming plastic tray.

The room looked almost respectable now. My desk was clear. The monitors were aligned. The cables were bundled together neatly along the wall.

I hadn’t really registered any of this before now. I was totally checked out.

I sat down, and then I screamed.

The tray slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a loud splat.

A pair of legs hung through my office window.

Attached to those legs was Bobbi.

Her torso was already inside, bent awkwardly over the windowsill while the rest of her remained outside. One sneaker kicked slightly against the siding as she tried to scoot farther in.

For a full second my brain refused to process the situation.

“How did you get there?” I shouted.

Bobbi froze halfway through the maneuver.

She twisted her head to look at me, hair falling across her face where it had slipped loose during the climb.

“Your front door was locked. And the balcony door.”

“That is not what I asked.”

She wriggled slightly and dropped the rest of the way inside, landing lightly on the floor.

“Oh,” she said. “Window.”

I stared at her. “You scaled my balcony.”

Bobbi frowned. “I used the railing.”

I stared at her some more. “The balcony railing.”

“Yes.”

“You walked along the outside railing of a second-floor balcony?”

She shrugged. “It’s very sturdy.”

“That does not comfort me at all.”

Bobbi pulled the rest of herself through the window and landed lightly on the floor.

I frowned. “Why are you here in the middle of a school day?”

Bobbi looked mildly offended by the question. “Conference day. Teachers have meetings, so the children are released into the wild.”

“That feels like a design flaw,” I said.

“Can Markie play?” she asked.

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Then I sighed.

“Okay,” I said. “What are we playing?”

Markie leaned forward on his perch immediately. “PLAY.”

Bobbi lit up.

The next thirty minutes devolved into a game that involved stacking coasters into small towers while Markie attempted to steal them and shout commentary.

Bobbi sat cross-legged on the floor with complete concentration.

“You’re very good at this,” she told Markie.

“DAMN RIGHT.”

Bobbi gasped and pointed at him sternly. “That is inappropriate language to use in front of a minor.”

Markie froze.

There was a long pause.

Then he said carefully, “HELLO.”

I choked on a laugh.

Bobbi nodded approvingly. “Much better.”

Markie sat very straight after that, feathers pulled tight and posture rigid with the kind of exaggerated dignity that suggested he believed he had just restored order to the room.

I leaned back against the couch and watched the two of them while Bobbi continued building her tower of coasters on the coffee table. She worked slowly and carefully, lining up the edges before adding the next one. Every coaster received the same level of attention, her head tilting slightly as she checked the balance of the stack.

It occurred to me that most kids her age would have knocked the tower over on purpose by now just to see what would happen. Bobbi, however, appeared fully committed to structural integrity.

“Why do you come here so much?” I asked finally.

She didn’t look up. “Because you’re nice.”

That wasn’t the answer I expected.

I folded my arms. “I’m not that nice.”

“Yes, you are.” She placed another coaster carefully on top of the stack. “You talk normal.”

“What does that mean?”

Bobbi finally looked at me.

“Most people talk with two faces,” she said. “They say one thing but mean something else. There are rules you can’t see and you’re supposed to know them anyway.”

I considered that for a moment and realized what she said was true. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” She added another coaster. “You just say what things are.”

That landed somewhere I hadn’t been expecting it to land.

I glanced toward the window. “Well,” I said lightly, “someone has to.”

Bobbi nodded.

For a minute, the only sound in the room was the soft click of coasters being stacked together, then she spoke again. “My therapist says that’s part of it.”

I raised an eyebrow in question. “She says I like coming here because my brain gets less confused.”

That made a certain amount of sense.

“What else does she say?”

Bobbi rested her chin on her hand and chewed her lip as she thought about it. “She says my brain notices lots of things at once. So sometimes it gets loud and I have to move around until it quiets down.”

She tapped the table with one finger.

“That’s when I start walking.”

“Hot feet,” I said.

She nodded immediately. “Exactly.”

Markie leaned forward. “HOT FEET.”

Bobbi grinned at him. “Contextually accurate.”

I leaned my head back against the couch cushion and stared at the ceiling. Bobbi talked about therapy like someone might talk about piano lessons or math tutoring. It was just another place she went each week to learn how her brain worked.

Meanwhile, my brain had spent the last several years pretending certain things didn’t exist.

My mom and her endless needs. The guilt that followed any attempt to say no. Moving here was the first real boundary I’d drawn in my life. Even now the idea of it still sat in the back of my mind like an unresolved argument.

Therapy probably had opinions about people who built entire lives around avoiding emotional landmines.

The thought slipped into my head before I could stop it.

Maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst idea for me.

I wasn’t sure I liked that realization.

Still, the fact that it appeared at all probably meant something.

I lowered my gaze and slid lower on the couch.

My lunch was abandoned on the coffee table. My Slack notifications were multiplying. And somehow my living room now contained a runaway child and a parrot on behavioral probation.

Bobbi placed the final coaster on top of the tower, then she looked at me, very seriously. “You’re nicer than you think.”

The tower tipped sideways, and coasters scattered across the floor.

“CHAOS! CHAOS!”

I stared at the ceiling.

That felt accurate.

As I watched Bobbi play, I handled minor work tickets. Bobbi and I had reached a point in our afternoon where the game rules had dissolved entirely.

The coasters had been repurposed into fortifications. Markie had attempted three separate theft operations. One had been successful. Two had resulted in Bobbi lecturing him about ethical behavior. He’d listened to the lecture with visible patience.

An unexpected calm had settled over the apartment, and that was when the knock came.

Bobbi’s head lifted immediately. “Oh,” she said.

I opened the door.

Mei stepped inside with the confidence of someone who had already learned that asking permission in this apartment was largely ceremonial.

She was carrying a basket, which required two hands and visible effort to hold.

Bobbi stood and brushed the coaster crumbs from her legs. “Hi, Mom.”

Mei looked relieved to have found her child exactly where she’d expected her to be.

“Hello again,” she said to me.

“Hello.”

She stepped fully into the kitchen and set the basket on the counter with a soft but heavy thump.

“I brought a few things,” she said.

I looked at the basket. “A few?”

“Yes.”

Bobbi wandered over and peered inside with interest.

“Rice,” she announced.

Her mother nodded. “And a few meals that should reheat easily. I know moving is exhausting, even without an injury.”

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. The basket was full of containers, their glass lids neatly labeled. One large pot released the faint smell of something warm and comforting that immediately made my stomach notice it had been surviving on frozen meals and stubbornness.

“Thank you,” I said finally.

She waved one hand dismissively. “You help Bobbi. This is nothing.”

That was what touched me. Not the food, but the lack of ceremony. Mei wasn’t making me earn the help, or explain the need, or perform the correct amount of gratitude to justify the effort. She had simply noticed a problem and responded to it.

Bobbi climbed onto a stool and inspected the pot. “Rice,” she said again in approval.

Mei patted her shoulder. “We should go.”

Bobbi slid down from the stool. “Can Markie play tomorrow, Zoey?”

“That depends,” I said. “Will he continue to use appropriate language?”

Markie straightened on his perch. “HELLO.”

Bobbi nodded. “That’s promising.”

Mei smiled as she guided her daughter to the door. “Thank you again.”

When I was alone in my apartment, I opened the basket.

Inside were containers with real food. Braised chicken with dark sauce clinging to the meat. Stir-fried greens glossy with garlic. A container of dumplings folded neatly in rows. Another of something that had been slow cooked with ginger and scallions.

The pot of rice was still warm.

I stood there longer than necessary. This felt really strange. No one had asked me what I needed. No one had waited for instructions.

Mei had simply shown up with food and left it on the counter.

And maybe that shouldn’t have felt strange, but it did, because I’d seen Bobbi receive the kind of care children were supposed to receive. Not dramatic. Not heroic. Just a mother who noticed where her daughter was, came to get her, brought food to the injured neighbor, kept a hand on Bobbi’s shoulder as they left, and did all of it like this was what adulthood was meant to be.

There was no guilt tucked into the kindness. No subtle suggestion that the care itself was a burden someone should remember later. No emotional invoice waiting to arrive by phone call.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Worse, I didn’t know what to do with the part of me that wanted it. Not specifically from Mei, just in general. I yearned for that easy, practical, almost boring care that didn’t turn into a referendum on loyalty or love.

The thought settled slowly in my chest.

Maybe the absence of one kind of love didn’t mean I was barred from finding pieces of it elsewhere. I hadn’t had a mother who knew how to care for me like that. But maybe other safe relationships could still reach into that empty space without asking me to disappear first.

That alarmed me. Before my brain could continue down that road, my phone buzzed.

I picked it up. It was the group chat labeled “Survivors.”

The others had been talking all week, sending messages about plans, work complaints, and random photos of meals that looked suspiciously expensive.

I hadn’t sent a single message.

My silence had stretched long enough that they had stopped tagging me directly and simply continued the conversation around the empty space where I should have been.

The newest messages sat at the bottom.

Morgan: New sushi place just opened downtown.

Jamie: Saturday lunch?

Cris: Zoey picks the rolls. She has standards.

I stared at the screen. An hour drive. Crowds. People. Conversation.

My natural instincts recommended staying home with the rice, but then my phone buzzed again.

Morgan: Zee? You alive over there?

I leaned back against the counter and looked around the kitchen.

The cabinets Liam had organized. The food Mei had brought. The apartment that no longer looked completely temporary.

Then I looked back at the screen.

Being socially proactive didn’t come naturally to me. It was almost biologically offensive, which probably meant I should do it.

Zoey: Fine. I’ll come.

The chat exploded immediately.

Jamie: SHE LIVES

Morgan: Historic moment

Alex: Wear the blue hair

I set the phone down and opened one of the containers, releasing deliciously scented steam.

Standing there, fork in hand, I looked around. The apartment felt different today.

Still mine.

Just… less empty.

Chapter 17

Liam

I got back to Pine Hollow before nine.

The gravel lot was already half full. Midweek hikers from Saratoga had taken over the front porch again. Two women in bright windbreakers were arguing over trail maps as intensely as if they were planning a military campaign.

I parked the truck in my usual spot and shut the engine off, then sat there with my hands on the steering wheel.

My brain had not fully caught up with the fact that I had left Zoey in her kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a look that suggested she was actively resisting the urge to jump me again.

The physical part wasn’t the problem. I could manage that. I had spent most of my adult life managing that. What I couldn’t seem to manage was the quiet pull that had settled deep inside me.

The instinct had started the moment she stepped in that hole and refused help. And now, I wanted to solve things for her before she even asked, wanted to calm her when she pushed too hard against the world.

The urge lived low in my chest now, and it made concentrating on ordinary things more difficult than usual.

I closed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then I got out of the truck.

Work helped.

Work always helped.

I walked to the maintenance and unlocked it, then started my usual checks.

Water pressure gauges.

Pool filtration.

Hot tub temperature.

I ran my hand along the spa cover and checked the seal.

Everything was exactly where it belonged.

That helped more than it should have. Order had always been the easiest way to quiet the noise in my head. If the systems were correct and the property ran smoothly, then the world was more manageable.

But now that my mind had slowed down again, it wandered right back to Zoey. Her laugh the night before. The way she challenged everything I said. The look she had given me in her living room when she decided not to run from the moment between us.

Nora found me ten minutes later.

She walked across the patio, carrying a clipboard and the expression of someone who had been waiting patiently to ask a question.

“Vacation over?” she asked.

I tightened one last fitting on the spa valve and straightened. “Yes.”

“That was quick.”

“It wasn’t technically a vacation.”

“Mm.” Nora had known me long enough to recognize when my routine had been interrupted. She noticed things most people missed, which made sense since she had watched this property and the people inside it long enough to understand how we all functioned. She knew exactly how rarely I allowed anything to disrupt my schedule.

“So,” she said with a smile. “Did you have fun?”

I wiped my hands on a rag and set it back on the counter. “I had a productive time.”

The understatement hung between us, and I had to try really hard not to think about the feel of Zoey’s hands gripping my shoulders or how she’d said my name, or when she’d traced the scars across my chest and looked at me with something that felt dangerously close to care.

Nora leaned against the railing. “So.”

I tightened the last fitting on the spa valve and stood. “Yes?”

“Woman with the blue hair.”

I wiped my hands on the rag. “Yes.”

She watched me for a moment. “You know, I met her the first day that group checked in.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And the other day you left here so fast, Pete thought something was on fire.”

My chest tightened slightly. The truth was that I had left faster than I intended to. The moment Zoey needed help, there hadn’t been any real decision involved. My body had simply moved.

“Liam.”

I snapped my focus back to her. “Yes?”

“I’ve known you for six years. In that time, you’ve never sprinted off this property for a guest.”

“I don’t know about that.”

She snorted. “Name one time.”

I said nothing.

Nora nodded slowly and pushed off the railing. “Right. For the record,” she added calmly, “she’s very pretty.”

I picked up the wrench and set it back in the tool bin. “That’s not relevant.”

Nora smiled. “Mmm.”

Despite myself, my lips twitched.

Nora noticed immediately. “You like her.”

The words landed with uncomfortable inaccuracy. Like was not the right word. Like was simple and manageable. What I felt when I thought about Zoey had none of those qualities.

I turned back to the equipment panel. “Everything in the spa system is calibrated now.”

“You’re not denying that you like her.”

“Guests check in at four.”

Nora laughed under her breath. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your feelings.”

“I’m not having feelings.”

I was having entirely too many.

“Of course not.” She walked away, looking extremely pleased with herself.

After I finished the rest of the system checks, I moved to the woodshed.

Pete was sitting on an overturned bucket with a heating pad strapped across his lower back. “You survived,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Shame.”

I stacked three pieces of split oak against the rack and adjusted the pile until the edges lined up.

Pete squinted at me. “You left here real fast the other day.”

“There was a situation.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Yes.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully. “The blue-hair situation.”

I didn’t answer, because every answer that came to mind made me sound more invested than I intended to admit.

He leaned back slightly and grinned. “She’s a knockout.”

“What is it with you people? The way she looks isn’t relevant.”

Pete watched me stack another piece of wood. “Kid,” he said.

“What?”

“In the six years you’ve been working here, you have turned down every woman who has attempted to flirt with you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?”

I placed the final log into the stack.

Pete waited for me to reply, and when I didn’t, he nodded. “That is what I thought.”

I brushed my hands together. “Zoey was a guest.”

“She is also very obviously interested in you.”

“That is speculation.”

And also what had kept me awake half the night. I knew the difference between attraction and something deeper. I had no idea which one she felt.

Pete snorted. “You think we didn’t see the way she looked at you while you were fixing that filtration unit?”

I picked up the axe and checked its blade.

“You deserve something good, kid.”

I looked at him. “That’s not the point.”

“It should be.”

The words landed heavier than I expected. Pete and Nora had both heard enough of my past to understand why I rarely let people close. Their concern felt suspiciously familial, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

Silence stretched between me and Pete.

The wind moved through the trees behind the lodge, and guests laughed somewhere near the firepit.

Pete shifted on the bucket. “So,” he said.

“So?”

“You gonna see her again?”

I rested the axe against the chopping block. “Honestly… I don’t know. But I hope so.” The admission made me feel more vulnerable than I cared to admit.

Pete nodded once. “Good.” He reached down and turned the heating pad up another notch. “Just try not to scare her with the whole mysterious-forest-man routine.”

“I do not have a mysterious-forest-man routine.”

Pete scoffed. “You absolutely do.”

Considering that, I picked up the next log and set it on the block.

Pete grinned. “Boy, you got it bad.”

I brought the axe down, and the wood split neatly in half.

The impact ran up my arms and settled into my shoulders. Physical work helped burn off the restless energy sitting under my skin, and for the first time all morning, my mind stopped trying to reorganize itself around the memory of Zoey standing naked in her kitchen with a mischievous look on her face.

The problem was that I already knew I wasn’t capable of treating her casually. Whatever existed between us had moved past casual the moment she looked at my scars and told me she wanted to make someone pay for them—probably way before that if I was being honest with myself.

I stacked the wood carefully, piece by piece, trying very hard not to count the hours until I could text her without seeming desperate.

The next log also split cleanly.

The sound echoed through the trees.

As I lifted the axe again, a voice cut across the yard.

“Unbelievable.”

I lowered the axe.

Mr. Harlan stood at the edge of the gravel path, his arms crossed over his chest and his face twisted into the scowl that had become a regular feature of his face over the past year.

“Your guests,” he said, pointing toward the firepit area, “are loud… again.”

Three hikers sat around the pit, drinking coffee and arguing about whether bears were active this season. They were speaking at a perfectly normal volume.

I set the axe down. “Good morning, Mr. Harlan.”

“It is not a good morning,” he said immediately.

Pete watched the exchange with open interest as Mr. Harlan marched a few steps closer.

“I have lived next to this property for fifteen years,” he continued, “and lately there is constant noise. Talking. Laughing. Car doors slamming. People stomping around at all hours.”

“They checked in yesterday,” I said calmly. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”

“That is not the point.”

I nodded and suppressed a sigh. “What is the point?”

Mr. Harlan opened his mouth, closed his mouth, opening it again. He looked a little like a fish that had found itself on the lakeshore unexpectedly.

Pete leaned forward on his bucket.

Ordinarily, I was patient with Mr. Harlan. His complaints followed a familiar pattern. Noise. Parking. The smell of firewood drifting across his property on cool mornings. None of it was new, and none of it required confrontation. Most days I listened, nodded, and offered a solution that satisfied him enough to send him home feeling heard.

Today, my attention refused to stay where it belonged.

Zoey had been alone in her apartment for several hours now, and the thought had followed me across the property all morning, settling into the back of my mind and refusing to leave.

Was she resting, or had she already buried herself in work again? Had she remembered to eat something? The image of her limping slightly when she walked slammed into me. I’d noticed it when she got out of the car yesterday. She had brushed it off with that familiar shrug of hers, the same way she brushed off most things that mattered.

Zoey pretended a lot of things were nothing.

Was she pushing herself too hard again? Was she hunched over that laptop right now while Markie shouted obscenities in the background? Had she remembered to take the pain medication, or had she decided she didn’t need it the way she didn’t like needing help?

There was nothing I could do about any of that from here.

Work usually solved that kind of restless energy. If my hands stayed busy, my thoughts tended to follow. Except, it wasn’t working so well today.

Mr. Harlan was glowering at me. It took me a moment to realize he had been speaking again, and I had missed most of it.

I spoke before he could gather enough momentum to start over.

“Mr. Harlan,” I said quietly, “do you have anything better to do this morning than come over here and yell at people drinking coffee?”

Pete made a small choking sound behind me and I heard him turn away, probably hiding a smile.

Mr. Harlan’s mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His shoulders dropped a fraction and the anger drained from his face so quickly it caught me off guard. The reaction stirred the same surprise inside my chest. I hadn’t meant to snap at him. Frustration had slipped through the edges of my control without permission—that almost never happened.

I ran a hand over the back of my neck and forced myself to slow down.

This was not about Mr. Harlan.

The tension sitting under my ribs had a different source entirely, one that had followed me across the property.

I was worrying about someone who didn’t belong to me, someone who had made it very clear she preferred handling things on her own. The realization settled heavily in my gut. I was not behaving like my normal self, and the cause of that problem was currently sitting in a kitchen an hour away with blue hair and a stubborn refusal to let anyone take care of her.

Mr. Harlan looked down at the gravel. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”

The answer grabbed my attention immediately.

Wind moved through the trees behind us while Mr. Harlan studied the ground for several seconds, his shoulders slumping as though something had drained out of him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Darlene used to keep me busy.”

The name settled between us. Pete straightened slowly behind me and the shift in his posture told me he recognized it too. Mr. Harlan continued staring at the gravel as he spoke.

“She died two years ago.”

The words came out flat, but they still carried weight.

“I keep thinking I’ll find something to do,” he continued. “Somewhere to go. Something to fix.” He gave a small shrug. “But the house is already fixed.”

Pete shifted quietly behind me.

Mr. Harlan cleared his throat. “So now I walk around complaining about noise.” He attempted a smile that faded almost as soon as it appeared. I recognized the shape of it. Grief had a particular presence that was hard to miss once you knew it.

“Do you like venison stew?” I asked.

Mr. Harlan blinked at me. “What?”

“I’m making dinner tonight. Seven o’clock.”

He stared at me, confusion replacing the frustration that had been there earlier. I suspected the invitation surprised him as much as it surprised me. If I was honest, I needed something to occupy my thoughts this evening anyway.

Pete watched us with open approval.

Mr. Harlan frowned. “You’re inviting me to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Because you don’t have anything better to do.”

Pete laughed.

Mr. Harlan studied me for a few seconds longer before nodding. “I guess I’ll see you at seven,” he said, then turned and walked back to his house without another word.

When he disappeared across the property, Pete looked at me, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline. “You’re collecting strays, kid.”

I picked up the axe. “He seems lonely.”

Pete studied my face while I brought the axe down. The log split cleanly in half, and I stacked the pieces beside the shed, one at a time.

“You been doing a lot of thinking today,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That usually means trouble.”

I adjusted the pile of wood. “Maybe.”

Pete nodded slowly. “Blue hair.”

I rolled my eyes and let my silence answer for me.

Dinner started quietly, which suited both of us.

Mr. Harlan sat at my small kitchen table with the bowl cradled in both hands while the stew cooled. He leaned over it slightly, studying the contents with the careful attention of someone encountering an unfamiliar object. The seriousness of his inspection made me pause at the counter longer than necessary while I wiped down a surface that was already clean.

“You cook often?” he asked.

“Not really. This stew is the only thing I’m mildly successful with, and that’s only because it’s so simple.”

He tasted the stew with obvious caution, as though the bowl might contain something unpredictable. A second bite followed almost immediately. I watched the tension in his shoulders ease a little as he continued eating.

“Well,…it’s good,” he said.

“I’m glad.”

For several minutes, we ate without conversation. The cabin filled with the quiet sounds that come with a simple meal: spoons touching ceramic, chairs shifting slightly against the floorboards, the low creak of the wood stove settling. The wind outside made the tree branches slap against the windows every now and then.

Mr. Harlan eventually leaned back and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “You live out here alone?”

“Yes.”

He nodded as if confirming a fact he had already suspected. “Darlene wouldn’t have allowed that.”

I looked up from my bowl.

“She liked people,” he continued, glancing around the cabin again. “Neighbors. Guests. Hell, anyone who wandered through town long enough to sit down at the table.”

His gaze moved slowly across the room. “This place would’ve been full if it were hers.”

The cabin was orderly. Every surface served a purpose. The furniture sat where it needed to sit, the shelves were organized, and the stove warmed the room efficiently when it was cold.

It was also very quiet.

“She dragged me everywhere,” he said. “To the lake, up hiking trails. Farmers’ markets. Church picnics.” His mouth curved faintly. “I complained the whole time.” The small smile lingered for a moment before settling. “I liked it. She knew I liked it.”

“How long were you together?” I asked.

“Forty-two years.”

The number settled into the room with a weight that surprised me. Mr. Harlan lowered his gaze to the table as if the memory lived somewhere on the surface of the wood.

“Forty-two years of waking up next to the same person,” he said slowly. “Forty-two years of knowing someone would be sitting across from you at dinner.” His thumb moved along the napkin, smoothing a fold that didn’t need smoothing. “You don’t realize how much of yourself lives inside another person until they’re gone.”

The words were quiet, yet the meaning inside them carried force.

Forty-two years.

I couldn’t imagine it.

For a long time, my life had been defined by movement. It was easier to leave a place before anyone expected too much from me than to stay long enough to risk failing people who depended on me. New towns, new work, temporary arrangements that ended before anyone looked too closely at who I was or what I carried with me.

At the time, I had told myself that suited me. Freedom sounded better than admitting I simply didn’t trust myself to stay.

Pine Hollow had changed that, even if I rarely allowed myself to think about it. Somewhere along the way, the work here had stopped feeling temporary. Pete and Nora had stopped feeling like coworkers, and their routines had started to matter to me. They had started to matter to me. The lodge had become a place where I woke up each morning, already thinking about what needed to be fixed, checked, or prepared before anyone else noticed.

I had put down roots here.

The part I still kept guarded told me that letting people depend on you carried weight. The closer someone stood to the center of your life, the more damage you could do if you failed them.

That possibility had always made distance feel safer.

Mr. Harlan was describing a life built beside another person for forty-two years, a partnership steady enough to shape decades of shared direction.

That kind of closeness required a level of trust I had never fully tested.

Mr. Harlan took another bite of stew. “You ever married?”

“No.”

“Ever come close?”

I thought about the people who had crossed my path over the years. There had been friendships and occasional relationships, connections that lasted for a while before the natural pull of different lives carried everyone in separate directions. None of them had ever settled into the center of my world.

“No,” I said.

Mr. Harlan nodded slowly, as if that answer confirmed something he had already suspected. He focused on the stew again, turning the spoon through the broth.

“Darlene used to say people aren’t built for too much quiet,” he said after a moment.

He glanced around the cabin as he spoke, taking in the small table, the single chair, the orderly surfaces that rarely changed from one day to the next.

“She hated eating alone,” he continued. “If she knew someone in town was by themselves, she’d find a way to invite them over for dinner. Didn’t matter if they barely knew each other.”

He gave a small shake of his head.

“I used to tell her the house was already busy enough without adding more people to it.” His mouth curved slightly. “She never listened. Strange thing about that now,” he added.

“What’s that?”

“You notice the empty spots more once somebody’s been sitting there a long time.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the single chair before returning to the bowl. The words settled into the room quietly.

I thought about what he had said while the wind moved through the trees outside the cabin. Because the truth was that I already had somewhere I returned to. Even if it was mostly in my mind.

Zoey.

Blue hair that caught attention even when she stood still in a room. The sharp way she looked at the world often made people underestimate how carefully she observed everything around her. She carried herself with a kind of stubborn independence that suggested she had spent a long time learning how to rely on herself alone.

I imagined her sitting at her desk surrounded by glowing screens and half-finished mugs of coffee. Markie would be providing commentary that Zoey pretended not to appreciate. I could picture the way she leaned back in her chair when she argued with him, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant amusement.

The thought stayed with me longer than I expected.

Mr. Harlan wiped the last of the stew from his bowl with a piece of bread.

“You find someone good,” he said. “Hold onto them.”

He looked up at me, a man who had built that kind of life for more than four decades. A life shaped by shared direction. Shared belonging.

I already understood the instinct to protect the people around me. That responsibility had always come naturally. Making sure others were safe and supported was simply part of who I was.

But I had never had someone standing fully beside me.

Someone who shared the center of things.

Mr. Harlan stood slowly and carried his bowl to the sink. “Good meal,” he said. “Thank you.” He moved toward the door and paused, resting his hand on the frame. “Really…thank you,” he added.

The door closed behind him a moment later. The cabin returned to its usual quiet.

I remained where I was, considering the conversation we had just shared. For most of my life, I had convinced myself that independence was enough, that movement and flexibility were preferable to the risk that came with building something permanent.

Tonight had shifted that perspective. I wanted more than that—a partner, someone who stood beside me instead of passing briefly through my life.

And when I let myself think about that kind of future, my mind returned to Zoey without hesitation. Her stubborn independence. Her intelligence. The kindness she kept trying to hide behind irritation and sarcasm.

What existed between us felt real, and if there was even a chance she felt it too, then ignoring it would be its own kind of mistake. I wanted to show her I was someone she could trust, someone worth building something with, and as that certainty settled into place, slow but firm, I realized I would protect whatever this connection between us became.

By then the cabin had gone completely quiet. I cleared the table automatically, rinsing the bowls and stacking them beside the sink, giving my hands something to do while my mind kept circling back to the same place.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for my phone. Her name appeared immediately when I opened my contacts, and I hesitated only a moment before pressing call. The line rang once. Then twice. Then a third time, and with each one, my stomach tightened in a way I didn’t particularly enjoy.

By the fourth ring, I told myself she was probably still working. Her job involved strange hours and constant interruptions. It was entirely possible she had simply stepped away from the phone.

The call rolled to voicemail.

I lowered the phone slowly and considered sending a text message. Just checking in. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Then I stopped.

Zoey valued her independence more than most people I knew. Calling once to check on her was reasonable. Filling her phone with messages because she hadn’t answered immediately would cross a line she had made very clear.

I put my phone down on the counter.

Still, the uneasiness remained.

A small, persistent knot of concern settled low in my stomach, the same instinct that usually appeared when something in the environment felt slightly off.

I told myself she was fine.

She was capable. Intelligent. More than capable of handling her own evening without supervision.

None of that stopped the quiet tension from lingering.

After a moment, I picked up the phone again and checked the screen, just to confirm there hadn’t been a missed call in the last thirty seconds.

Nothing.

I set it back down and forced myself to step away from the counter.

She would call if she needed something.

Until then, the most respectful thing I could do was give her the space she had asked for.

Even if part of me still felt uneasy walking away from the phone.

Chapter 18

Zoey

Friday morning, I almost didn’t get out of the car.

The therapist’s office sat at the end of a narrow road that curved through tall trees and quiet houses spaced far enough apart that no one could hear their neighbors breathing wrong. The Southern Adirondacks had already trained my brain to expect silence. The small wooden building with a wide porch and two chairs that faced the mountains leaned into that expectation of silence.

I turned off the engine and stayed in the driver’s seat. I had already completed four tickets early this morning and planned to work an hour later than usual to accommodate this appointment. I hoped it was worth it.

My phone sat in the cup holder. The clock said 9:56.

Four minutes.

Plenty of time to drive away.

Therapy had seemed like a logical step when I scheduled the appointment three days ago while standing in my kitchen holding a container of Mei’s dumplings and thinking about Bobbi explaining emotional regulation exercises with the calm authority only an eleven-year-old could possess.

It felt less logical now that I was parked outside the building where someone was going to ask questions about my life.

I looked up from the dashboard.

The mountains sat behind the building, and pine trees filled the valley below. The morning was quiet, like this place often was. No traffic noise. No construction. No horns. Just wind moving through branches and the occasional bird that sounded extremely confident about its personal schedule.

I had been here for a few weeks, but my brain still hadn’t adjusted to the scale of it. Every time I looked up and saw so much open space, it reset something in my chest.

I liked it here.

That still surprised me.

My hands rested on the steering wheel.

Three minutes.

I could leave right now, and no one would know.

Dr. Ellie would assume I had forgotten or gotten busy or been eaten by a bear. All of those options were socially acceptable explanations for missing a therapy appointment.

Instead, I opened the car door.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the porch. The building smelled faintly of cedar when I stepped inside. The waiting room held two chairs, a small table with magazines that looked intentionally non-threatening, and a window that framed the mountains in a way that felt almost unfair.

A woman sat behind the front desk. “Zoey?”

“That’s me.”

She smiled. “Dr. Ellie just finished up with someone. She’ll be right out.”

That was unfortunate. I had been hoping for a longer waiting period so I could build a convincing argument for leaving.

Instead, the door down the hallway opened about twenty seconds later.

“Zoey?”

Dr. Ellie stood in the doorway, holding a notebook and a pen.

She looked exactly how a therapist in the Adirondacks named Ellie would look. Comfortable blouse. Calm expression. Neat hair. Posture that suggested she was capable of sitting quietly while people cried for an hour.

“That’s me.”

She stepped aside and gestured toward the hallway. “Come on back.”

Her office looked less like a therapy space and more like someone’s living room that had accidentally become licensed for psychological evaluation. Two chairs faced each other with a small table between them. A plant sat in the corner next to a bookshelf that held titles about trauma, boundaries, and nervous system regulation.

I sat down and folded my hands in my lap, but that seemed performative and not something I would normally do, so I adjusted them.

Dr. Ellie settled into the chair across from me.

“I know this appointment was scheduled quickly,” she said. “So, we’ll keep things simple today. Mostly introductions, and a chance for me to get a sense of what brings you here.”

That sounded manageable.

“So,” she said gently, “what made you decide to come in?”

I considered lying. It seemed polite. But I was pretty sure lying in therapy was frowned upon.

Instead, I said, “An eleven-year-old.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Interesting.”

“She told me therapy helps organize your brain,” I said. “Then she demonstrated several coping mechanisms while building a tower out of drink coasters.”

Dr. Ellie nodded slowly, though I noticed she didn’t write anything down yet. She seemed content to let the comment sit between us for a moment.

I shifted in the chair, suddenly aware that I had just opened a therapy session by quoting an eleven-year-old.

“She also said my brain probably has too many thoughts at once.”

Dr. Ellie watched me with the patience of someone who had clearly done this many times before. She didn’t rush to respond. She simply waited.

Silence stretched across the room.

It became clear that she was not going to step in and finish the thought for me.

“That seemed possible,” I admitted.

Her pen moved across the paper in her lap. “And what kinds of thoughts tend to show up the most?” she asked.

The question sounded simple, but answering it required a brief negotiation with myself.

My first instinct was to deflect with something vague and socially acceptable: stress, work, the general complexities of life.

My gaze dropped to my hands.

Responsibility.

The word arrived uninvited and uncomfortably accurate.

Responsibility for my mother. Responsibility for people who needed help. Responsibility for situations that somehow became mine even when I hadn’t created them and hadn’t consciously volunteered to manage them.

For most of my life, I had treated that pattern as a personality trait.

Something practical. Efficient. Helpful.

Only recently had I started noticing how heavy it felt.

“I have a habit,” I said slowly, “of assuming it’s my job to solve things.”

Dr. Ellie nodded once. “For other people?”

“Yes.”

Her expression didn’t change, but I had the sense that she had just located the beginning of a very familiar map.

“Where do you think that habit came from?”

That question landed harder than the previous one.

My mind moved automatically toward my mother. Years of phone calls that began with small problems and ended with me rearranging my life to fix them. Situations where the easiest way to keep the peace had been to step in and handle whatever was happening before it escalated.

But it had started long before phone calls. Before adulthood. Before I had the option of screening her name and pretending I hadn’t seen it. It had started when I was a kid and our house ran on whatever I noticed in time. Bills left unopened on the counter until I started opening them. Late notices tucked under mailers and grocery coupons until I started sorting them. Empty cabinets followed by some version of my mother standing in the kitchen, saying she had meant to go to the store, like intention and dinner were roughly interchangeable.

By the time I was fourteen, I had a job because we needed to keep the lights on. The story everyone preferred was that I was mature for my age, responsible, and good in a crisis. The less flattering version was that if I hadn’t stepped in, things didn’t get paid and people didn’t eat.

I knew too much too early. Which bills mattered most. How long a company would wait before shutting something off. How to stretch groceries. How to tell, from the sound of my mother moving around in the kitchen, whether she was going to function that day or whether I needed to adjust accordingly.

“Experience,” I said.

Dr. Ellie didn’t challenge the answer. She simply watched me, giving the impression that she was allowing the word to expand in whatever direction it needed to go.

“What experience?” she asked gently.

“My mother was not good at being a parent in practical ways,” I said. “She was affectionate when she had the bandwidth for it. She could be funny. Charming, even. But if something stressful happened, everything started sliding almost immediately. Money. Food. Paperwork. Basic life maintenance.”

Dr. Ellie nodded once. “And who stabilized things?”

I gave her a look.

“That would be me.”

Her expression flickered, but not with pity. With recognition.

“How old were you when you started doing that?”

I let out a small laugh that was not especially amused. “Young enough that I don’t know when it started. Old enough to remember that nobody stopped me.”

She let that sit for a moment.

“You also mentioned that you moved here recently,” she said.

“Yes.”

“That sounds like a significant change.”

“It was.”

“What prompted it?”

I hesitated.

This was the part where people usually decided I was dramatic.

“I needed distance from my mother,” I said finally. “Our relationship had developed a structure where I handled most of the problems in her life. At some point, I realized that arrangement wasn’t sustainable.”

Dr. Ellie nodded thoughtfully. “So, moving here was a way of creating a boundary.”

I looked up. “Yes.”

“How did that feel?”

“Terrifying.”

The word came out without hesitation.

She nodded again, completely unsurprised.

“That reaction is very common for people who are used to being responsible for others,” she said. “When you step back from that role, it can trigger a lot of guilt.”

I waited for the follow-up sentence that usually came next in conversations like this. The one where someone explained why the guilt meant I had done something wrong.

Instead, she said, “Feeling guilty doesn’t mean the boundary itself was a mistake.”

That idea landed somewhere deep in my chest.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “That concept is still under review.”

A small smile appeared on her face. “That’s fair.” She leaned forward slightly, resting the notebook on her knee. “One thing we’ll work on together is reframing the idea of boundaries. Right now, it sounds like you see them as something that hurts people.”

“That’s generally the feedback I receive.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “From your mother?”

“Primarily.”

I looked down at my hands again. They were clenched, my nails making little half-moon imprints on my palm. “She has a gift for making any limit sound cruel. If I don’t answer the phone, I’m abandoning her. If I don’t fix something fast enough, I’m cold. If I point out that a crisis was preventable, suddenly I’m harsh and impossible and making her feel like a terrible mother.”

Saying it out loud made something ugly settle into focus. “Which was efficient, really. I either solved the problem or I had to manage her feelings about the problem, which was somehow more exhausting.”

“Another way to view them,” she continued, “is as a structure that allows healthy relationships to exist at all.”

I frowned.

“That feels optimistic.”

“It’s practical,” she said. “Without boundaries, you eventually burn out or build resentment. When that happens, the relationship collapses anyway.”

That was annoyingly logical.

She made another small note.

“Another belief you mentioned,” she continued, “is that you have to save the day.”

I felt my shoulders tighten slightly.

“That’s not a belief,” I said. “That’s a pattern.”

“Patterns come from beliefs. Right now, it sounds like you believe being open or vulnerable will eventually lead to someone taking advantage of you.”

I didn’t answer.

The silence probably counted as confirmation.

“That belief makes sense given what you’ve experienced,” she said. “But it may not be entirely accurate. Or helpful.”

“People do take advantage of you,” I said.

“Some people do. Others don’t.”

I considered that.

It felt suspicious.

“I think,” I said slowly, “that I learned very early that if I relaxed, something bad would happen. Not dramatic-movie-bad. Utility-shutoff-bad. Unpaid rent bad. Open the fridge and figure it out bad. So now when people say something is handled, my instinct is to assume that means I should probably double-check.”

Dr. Ellie nodded. “Because in your experience, safety was unreliable.”

The words landed hard enough that I looked up.

“Yes,” I said.

She was quiet for a moment. “Was there a specific memory that stands out when you think about that?”

“We got evicted when I was younger,” I said. The sentence came out flat, which felt unfair to the memory considering how much damage it had apparently done. “Not in a dramatic possessions-on-the-lawn way. Just in a landlord-at-the-door, final-notice, this-is-happening way.”

I stared at the wall behind her. The half-moons in my palm were starting to become painful. “I already knew things were bad. I had seen the notices. I had asked about the rent. She kept saying she was handling it.” My mouth tightened. “She wasn’t handling it.”

The room stayed quiet. Calm enough that I could hear the clock on the bookshelf.

“She fell apart,” I said. “I packed.”

I can still see it with annoying clarity. Trash bags. Towels wrapped around dishes. Me taking things off the walls while my mother cried and said she didn’t know what we were going to do.

“I remember being furious with her. I remember feeling guilty for being furious with her. I remember her looking at me like I was the problem for not comforting her fast enough.”

Dr. Ellie’s expression stayed steady. “Do you remember what she said?”

I laughed once under my breath.

“Not every word. Just the general message.” I looked down at the floor. “I was making it worse. I was too hard on her. I always knew how to make her feel terrible.”

The old anger moved through me, sharp and familiar. “Which was impressive, because we were losing our housing and somehow, I still ended up in the role of emotional aggressor.”

Dr. Ellie exhaled slowly through her nose. “That is a tremendous amount for a child to bear.”

“Well,” I said, because apparently even in therapy my instinct was to downplay. “We didn’t die.”

“No,” she said gently. “But survival is not the only measure of harm.”

That shut me up.

“One thing that can be helpful,” she said, “is understanding that the part of you who learned those lessons is still very active.”

I frowned slightly.

“We all carry younger versions of ourselves. And the one in you who had to stay alert that early learned some very powerful rules.”

I looked down at the indentions in my hands. That was somehow worse than if she had said something clinical and impossible to argue with. This sounded usable, which was irritating.

“Such as?” I asked.

“If I don’t handle it, no one will. If I relax, something bad will happen. If I need too much, I become a problem. If someone says they’ve got it, I should probably verify. If I allow someone in, they will use me.”

I looked at her. “That is annoyingly accurate.”

A small smile touched her mouth. “The important thing is that those rules were created by a younger you, who was doing her best with the information she had. You kept yourself safe.”

Something in my chest tightened. “So, what? I’m being haunted by my own childhood?”

“In a sense, yes,” she said, which was rude of her. “But not by weakness. By adaptation. That younger version of you is not trying to ruin your life. She is trying to protect you using very old information.”

That went uncomfortably deep immediately.

“She doesn’t know what you know now,” Dr. Ellie said. “She doesn’t know you can leave situations that are unhealthy. She doesn’t know boundaries exist. She doesn’t know that some people can be disappointed without making it your responsibility. She doesn’t know that not every relationship leads to chaos.”

I cleared my throat. “So, what am I supposed to do? Inform her the situation has changed?”

“More or less,” Dr. Ellie said. “By recognizing when she’s running the show and reminding her that you are an adult now. You can hold boundaries. You can assess what is actually happening in front of you. You can choose carefully, instead of assuming every discomfort is danger.”

I was quiet for a moment. “That sounds suspiciously close to talking to myself.”

“It is talking to yourself,” she said. “But with more kindness than you may be used to.”

That was offensive on several levels because she was right.

Dr. Ellie tapped her pen on her notepad. “The goal is not to become less discerning. Your caution exists for a reason. The goal is to help the younger, frightened part of you learn that discernment is different from permanent alarm.”

I stared at the rug. “And eventually she’s supposed to believe me?”

“Eventually,” Dr. Ellie said, “she gets evidence. Safe people. Safe boundaries. Repetition is key. You don’t force trust all at once. You build it. Including with yourself.”

Dr. Ellie rested her pen on the notebook.

“One of the goals we’ll work toward,” she said, “is helping you identify safe people.”

“Define safe.”

“People who respect your boundaries. People who don’t require you to solve their lives for them. People who allow you to show vulnerability without punishing you for it. Once you identify those people, you can allow them access to your life at a pace that feels manageable.”

“Access?” I repeated.

“Yes. And vulnerability.”

“That sounds risky.”

“It is.” She smiled slightly. “But it’s also how healthy relationships develop.”

I thought about Pine Hollow. I thought about Bobbi climbing through my balcony window with a backpack full of snacks and social commentary.

And then my brain did something extremely inconvenient. It produced an image of Liam standing in my kitchen, holding a plate of food, and watching me in a way that made it difficult to pretend he didn’t notice everything.

I looked down at the floor.

Dr. Ellie scribbled something on a small card and handed it to me. “For this week, I want you to try two things.”

I took the card.

“First, notice when you feel responsible for solving someone else’s problem. Pause before stepping in. And remember that adult you lives a different life from the version of you trying to protect you.”

“That sounds uncomfortable.”

“It will be.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“Notice people who feel safe.”

I stared at the card for a moment. “And then what?”

“You don’t have to do anything yet,” she said. “Just notice.”

When I stepped back outside, I gazed at the mountains.

Safe people.

My brain immediately tried to reject the concept. Unfortunately, it had also already started making a list.

The first name that showed up made me sigh.

Liam.

Markie watched me from the back of the kitchen chair while I opened the container of seeds.

He had been quiet for several minutes, which meant he was preparing something. Silence from Markie was rarely accidental. It usually meant his brain was assembling an announcement that would arrive with absolute confidence regardless of whether it made sense.

I poured the seeds into his dish and slid it across the counter.

“There,” I said. “Dinner.”

He hopped down immediately and began cracking seeds with serious concentration as I picked up my phone.

Slack notifications had multiplied in the background while I ignored them. A bank alert sat underneath that. Then a calendar reminder about a meeting on Monday that already felt like a personal attack.

And below all of that sat the message I had already read twice earlier in the day.

Liam: Just checking in. How are you?

The night before that, there had been a missed call.

One call.

One text.

No follow-up.

The restraint alone made it harder to ignore.

I set the phone back on the counter and watched Markie crack another seed with methodical efficiency.

He lifted his head and looked at me. “DOG.”

“There is no dog.”

“DOG.”

Frustration built inside me. “There is a man.”

“DOG.”

“That man occasionally turns into a wolf.”

Markie paused, processing that information. He cracked open another seed, then said, “DOG.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re refusing nuance.”

“DOG.”

“Excellent discussion.”

He finished the last seed in the dish and hopped back onto the chair.

I glanced down at my phone again, where the message was still on the screen.

Liam: Just checking in. How are you?

There was something very deliberate about the way Liam had communicated with me. One call. One text. Then silence. No pressure. No expectation. He had simply placed the question in front of me and left the decision to respond to me.

Which meant he had probably assumed I was working. Or busy. Or not interested in talking. He had given me room. Which was thoughtful. Annoyingly thoughtful.

“He’s fine,” I said. “He’s not sitting somewhere dramatically waiting for my reply.”

Markie tilted his head.

I carried the phone into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Markie followed behind me and landed on the headboard with a quiet thump.

“DOG.”

I groaned. “You have committed to the bit.”

I unlocked the screen.

The message thread opened immediately.

Liam: Just checking in. Are you okay?

Dr. Ellie’s session returned to my mind without invitation.

Safe people.

Notice them.

Allow access slowly.

The idea had sounded very reasonable when she said it earlier that morning. Sitting in her quiet office with mountains outside the window had made the concept feel almost achievable.

My thumb moved across the keyboard before I had fully decided what I was doing.

Zoey: Sorry. Had a busy few days. I’m good.

I stared at the sentence. Normal and friendly. I deleted it.

Markie leaned forward from the headboard, watching with interest.

I typed again.

Zoey: Mei dropped off something incredible for dinner.

I studied that one too. Deleted.

Markie shifted above me, feathers rustling.

I set the phone on the nightstand and leaned back against the pillows.

The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead while the quiet of the evening settled into the room. Outside, a car moved down the road, then disappeared into the distance.

Dr. Ellie’s words returned.

People who respect your boundaries.

People who don’t require you to fix everything.

People who allow you to move at your own pace.

I rolled onto my side and looked at the phone again.

The message thread was still open.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I locked the phone and set it back down. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Markie rustled his feathers. “DOG.”

“Yes.”

“DOG WAIT.”

I stared at the ceiling.

By the time I pushed open the restaurant door in Albany, I already regretted my choice of footwear. Heels had seemed like a good idea when I left the apartment. Heels made me feel confident and a little dramatic in the best way. They also currently made my feet feel like they had been personally offended by my life decisions.

The hostess looked up. “Meeting someone?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think I see them in the back.”

My party had taken over a long table near the window. Cris spotted me first, waving both arms in the air with alarming enthusiasm. “There she is!”

Four heads turned.

Cris. Jamie. Morgan. Alex.

I walked over carefully, which meant slowly and with the dignity of someone pretending her feet were not currently screaming.

“You’re late,” Morgan said.

“I live an hour away now,” I replied. “Geography complicates things.”

Cris stood and pulled me into a hug before I could sidestep it. “You look so good!”

“It’s just the lighting.”

She ignored that and pulled out the chair next to her. “I saved you a seat.”

The small gesture warmed something in my chest before my brain could object.

I sat, smoothing down my dress while the familiar noise of the table wrapped around me. Plates clinked. Someone laughed at the bar. The restaurant smelled faintly of soy sauce and rice.

Normal life.

Cris leaned toward me. “I ordered tea for you.”

“Thank you.”

That warmth showed up again.

My brain immediately began issuing warnings.

Careful.

Don’t get attached.

Dr. Ellie’s words floated up in response.

Notice safe people.

Allow access slowly.

I glanced around the table.

Jamie was already halfway through a glass of wine. Morgan was reorganizing the chopsticks. Alex was watching everyone with the calm amusement of someone who expected chaos and enjoyed it.

Maybe I didn’t need to brace for disaster immediately.

When the waitress arrived, we ordered sushi with such enthusiasm, you’d have thought none of us had eaten for days.

Conversation turned to work.

“Have you met the new boss yet?” Alex asked.

Jamie groaned. “He scheduled a meeting about synergy.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “He used that word?”

“Four times.”

“That’s a crime.”

Cris shook her head. “This is why we shouldn’t work in corporate environments.”

I sipped my tea. “It’s why I moved to the mountains.”

Morgan pointed a chopstick at me. “That reminds me.”

I immediately sensed danger.

Jamie sat up slightly. Cris leaned forward. Alex lowered her glass with suspicious interest.

I looked around the table. The formation was unmistakable. I had become the entertainment.

I sighed. “That is never a good opening.”

Morgan leaned forward. “So.”

I narrowed my gaze. “So?”

She smiled sweetly. “Have you talked to the extremely sexy mountain man you slept with on our girls’ weekend?”

I stared at her. “No.”

Cris slapped the table. “You never told us what happened!”

“It’s private.”

“You left with him,” Jamie said.

“That doesn’t make it a public event.”

“You disappeared for hours,” Alex added.

“That is how privacy works.”

Morgan leaned closer. “Zoey.”

“No.”

“Zoey.”

“No.”

Cris set down her chopsticks. “We need closure.”

“You do not need closure.”

“Yes, we do.”

I rubbed my forehead. I became aware of a woman at the booth behind me who had turned around in her seat. She was watching us with open interest.

I ignored her.

“Fine,” I said.

“What happened?” Jamie demanded.

I took a sip of tea, knowing more silence from me would only make them suspicious.

I had three options.

Deflect.

Detonate the room and end the interrogation immediately.

Or have girl talk with a group of women I had told myself I was going to try and slowly open up to.

Fuck my life. Here we go. “It was the best sex of my life.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

“Oh my god.”

“I knew it.”

“I absolutely knew it.”

The woman in the other booth gasped. “I knew it too!”

I turned slowly.

She held up both hands. “Sorry. Continue.”

Morgan stared at her. “Are you… invested in this?”

“Yes.” She turned fully around in her booth. “Please proceed.”

I rubbed my temples. “Why is everyone like this?”

Cris leaned forward. “What happened after?”

“I had a plan.”

“What plan?”

“To never see him again.”

The woman behind me gasped.

Cris clutched her chest. “You slept with a man that hot and planned to never see him again?”

“That was the idea.”

Morgan narrowed her gaze. “What changed?”

I sighed. “Emergency contact forms.”

“Explain,” Alex said.

“I put him down on a form at the B&B.”

“Why?”

“He was in the room with me, and I assumed it wouldn’t matter.”

The woman behind me leaned forward. “It mattered?”

“Yes,” I said. “It mattered.”

Cris grabbed my arm. “What happened?”

“I fell.”

They all froze.

“You fell?” Jamie asked.

“Yes.”

“And they called him?”

“They called him.”

Morgan slapped the table. “They called your one-night stand as your emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

The woman behind me swooned dramatically. “Romantic.”

I groaned. “It was not romantic.”

“What did he do?” Jamie demanded.

“He showed up.”

“Of course he did,” Cris said.

“He stayed.”

The woman behind me clutched her chest. “Oh my god.”

“He cooked for me.”

“Hot.”

“It was terrible. He checked the locks on my doors.”

“Extremely hot.”

“He unpacked my kitchen.”

Morgan pointed a chopstick at me. “That is marriage behavior.”

“He made sure I ate.”

Cris leaned back in her chair. “You’re describing a dream man.”

I rubbed my temples. “That’s exactly the problem.”

“Why is that a problem?” Jamie said.

“He’s… very competent.”

They stared at me.

“That’s the complaint?” Alex asked.

“I have complicated feelings about people doing things for me.”

Morgan huffed. “You’re telling us a giant attractive man showed up, fed you, fixed your house, and you’re conflicted?”

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.”

“That’s rude,” I said.

“It’s accurate.”

The woman in the booth nodded vigorously. “She’s right.”

Morgan leaned closer. “Do you like him?”

Four faces waited for an answer they already suspected.

My brain immediately began assembling defensive arguments.

Too soon. Too complicated. Too many variables.

Unfortunately, none of those arguments actually answered the question.

I hesitated, and that was answer enough for them.

“Oh my god,” Cris said. “You like him.”

I stared at my sushi. “Maybe.”

Jamie grabbed my shoulders. “Text him!”

I thought about the unanswered message on my phone.

Dr. Ellie’s voice returned to my mind.

Safe people.

Allow access slowly.

It sounded nice. Actually, it sounded really nice.

Maybe I had been guarding the door so aggressively that I forgot someone might deserve to walk through it.

My phone buzzed on the table.

Everyone looked down. I flipped it over.

Unknown number.

I answered. “Hello?”

“Is this Zoey Carter?”

“Yes.”

“This is Officer Ramirez with the Southern Adirondack Police Department. We’ve had a break-in reported at your apartment,” he said. “You’ll need to come right away.”

My stomach dropped.

The woman behind me whispered, “Well, that escalated.”

I stood up slowly.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it did.”

Chapter 19

Liam

The lodge was quiet by the time I finished the last of the Saturday afternoon tasks. There was nothing left to do on Nora’s to-do list. Technically, there were still a few small things I could do before evening check-ins started, but none that actually needed doing.

Everything was handled, which meant I had run out of legitimate reasons to stay busy.

The day was over, but my body and my brain didn’t seem to agree.

I stood behind the front desk for several minutes, pretending to review tomorrow’s reservation sheet. The same names stared back at me in the same order they had been in five minutes earlier.

My attention had been drifting all afternoon.

Zoey had not responded to my message. She hadn’t returned my call.

My phone sat on the counter beside the reservation book. I had put it there intentionally so I wouldn’t carry it around with me and check it every thirty seconds.

That strategy had failed.

I picked it up again, glancing at the message thread. Still no response.

No response.

I stared at it longer than necessary.

Then I locked the screen and set the phone down again.

There were reasonable explanations for silence.

She worked remotely. Her job involved long stretches of focused work and complicated systems that didn’t tolerate interruption. She had also made it very clear that she valued her independence and didn’t appreciate people hovering.

I respected that—I respected her—which meant I should leave it alone.

I walked around the desk and pushed the front door open a few inches.

The hinges moved smoothly. Earlier in the afternoon, the door had caught slightly against the frame. I had adjusted the hinge screws and sanded a small ridge near the threshold.

I tested it again.

The door swung open and closed without resistance.

Good.

I stepped back and checked the welcome mat. One corner had shifted out of line with the stone entryway. I nudged it back into place with my foot until the edges were aligned with the doorframe.

Then I looked through the glass panels across the front of the lodge, where the gravel path stretched toward the parking area. Two cars sat in their spaces. Both belonged to guests who had gone hiking earlier. Their rooms were tidy when I checked them that morning. Their bags were still inside.

Everything appeared normal.

I rested my hand against the doorframe, the quiet of the lodge settling around me as I scanned the area one more time before stepping back toward the desk.

My brain tried to present the logical conclusion for Zoey’s silence.

She hasn’t answered, you fool. You should accept that information, that rejection, and move the fuck on.

It was impossible, though. Something about Zoey had settled into my system, making distance feel unnatural. My thoughts kept returning to her without permission. Her name showed up in my head at random moments. Her blue hair was easy to spot in a crowd. The way she moved through a room stayed with me long after she left it.

I had experienced attraction before, but this was different. The pull was quiet but constant. It sat underneath everything else. I noticed it when I woke up in the morning, and when the lodge grew quiet at night.

I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck and stepped outside.

The sun had settled over Pine Hollow. The trees stood tall against the sky. The gravel path toward the cabins stretched out in neat lines.

Everything was in order. Everything except my thoughts.

I took my phone out again, glanced at the screen.

Still nothing.

I told myself to put it away, but instead I opened the message thread.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I locked the screen again.

No.

She deserved space.

If she wanted to talk to me she would.

I walked to my truck and stood beside the driver’s door.

Then an idea formed.

Flowers. Yes, I could get her flowers. And chocolate.

Just a small, simple gesture that said I was thinking about her without demanding anything in return.

I imagined leaving them by her door with a short note.

Hope you’re feeling better. Thinking of you.

That seemed reasonable and not invasive. It also sounded like something a desperate man would do after being ignored for days.

I leaned my forehead against the truck door.

It was a bad idea.

She hadn’t replied to my message.

That was data, and the correct response to that data was dignity, self-control, and possibly emotional maturity.

Buying flowers after being ignored was none of those things.

You are not doing that, dumbass.

I stood there for several minutes as my brain continued presenting the same argument.

She hasn’t answered. Leave it alone.

My heart disagreed with impressive stubbornness.

The thought of her alone in that apartment didn’t sit right with me. She’d be working late, forgetting to eat. She was probably still sore from the fall she’d insisted was nothing.

My stomach tightened as I checked my phone again.

Still nothing.

Exhaling slowly, I opened the truck door and got in.

I sat there with my hands resting on the steering wheel, while the headlights lit up the gravel in front of me.

You are absolutely not buying flowers, I told myself as I shifted into reverse.

Just a quick stop at the store, I decided. Flowers, chocolate, and a note.

Nothing dramatic.

If she wasn’t home, I’d leave them at the door and drive away.

No pressure, no expectations. Just a caring gesture.

I pulled onto the road and headed toward town, my phone silent in the cup holder beside me.

But even that silence didn’t make me turn the truck around.

So, I kept driving.

I parked across the street from Zoey’s building and sat in the truck, the engine still running.

The flowers were on the passenger seat. The chocolate sat beside them in a small bag that looked increasingly ridiculous the longer I stared at it.

I turned the engine off anyway.

The front door of the building required a key. I knew that already. Zoey had mentioned it the first day she showed me the apartment. She had also mentioned the broken intercom that nobody had fixed yet.

I stood outside the door, holding flowers and chocolate for several minutes before someone finally stepped out from the lobby.

A man in running clothes held the door open while checking his watch.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded and jogged past me toward the sidewalk.

The lobby smelled faintly of old carpet and cleaning solution. The stairwell sat to the left of the mailboxes. I climbed the stairs slowly, holding the flowers carefully so the stems didn’t bend.

Zoey’s door was halfway down the second-floor hallway, and several packages were stacked outside it.

A large box, with a picture of an office chair printed on the side, had fallen across the hallway. Anyone walking through would need to step over it.

That seemed like a problem.

I knocked on her door, then waited.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

She was probably out.

I glanced down the hallway. There was no movement from the other apartments.

Setting the flowers down beside the packages, I took a small notebook from my jacket pocket. It took a few tries before my pen started working.

Hope you’re having a good day. Thinking of you. Liam.

I placed the note between the stems so it wouldn’t fall off, then I put the chocolate beside the flowers. That seemed like a normal amount of effort.

I made it halfway down the hall before I stopped.

I couldn’t just leave everything outside the door. Anyone walking past could take them.

Obviously, tenants were not concerned with letting people in who didn’t live here.

I turned around and looked at her door again.

Zoey had shown me where she kept the spare key once. I could simply place the flowers and packages inside the apartment, then lock it up again.

Problem solved.

My brain immediately rejected that idea.

That is a boyfriend task. You are not her boyfriend. That is also stalker behavior. You are not a stalker.

I stepped away again, but I only made it four steps.

A woman came out of the stairwell, carrying a full laundry basket. She nearly tripped over the office chair box.

“Oh,” she said, catching herself on the wall.

“Sorry,” I said.

She looked at me, then at the door, then at the flowers. She walked past without comment.

I stared at the box, then I walked back and put it upright against the wall so it wouldn’t block the hallway anymore.

Better.

I turned and walked down the hallway again.

Stopped again.

The flowers were still sitting there.

Anyone could take them.

Zoey would never know they existed.

Which meant she would never read the note.

Which meant she would never know I came by.

Which meant I would assume she was not interested.

Which meant this entire situation could collapse because someone stole a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers.

I paced the length of the hallway. Sighing, I headed for the stairs.

Two minutes later I stood outside the building again, and my eye caught the drainage spout.

The spare key was under a rock right beneath it.

You are not entering her apartment. You are placing flowers inside the door. Then you are leaving. That is all.

I took the key and went back in and up the stairs.

I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to slide the flowers through the gap.

The apartment was quiet.

I began gathering the packages to move them inside, then a loud, mechanical sound exploded from the living room.

It sounded exactly like a security alarm.

I froze.

The sound continued. It was so fucking loud.

Then Markie screeched from his enclosure. “INTRUDER.”

I held up both hands. “Markie.”

“INTRUDER.”

“Please stop.”

He leaned forward. “ALEXA! CALL 911.”

My stomach dropped. “Markie.”

“INTRUDER.”

“I’m not an intruder,” I hissed.

“ALEXA. CALL 911.”

“Markie.”

He puffed up. “INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER.”

Motherfucker.

My phone buzzed in my pocket just as the device on Zoey’s kitchen counter lit up.

A calm voice came through the speaker. “911. What is your emergency?”

Markie puffed up and shouted toward the ceiling. “INTRUDER.”

I stepped toward the counter slowly. “Hello,” I said carefully. “There is no emergency.”

Markie screamed again. “INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER.”

The operator paused for a moment. “Sir,” she said, still perfectly calm, “this device placed a call reporting a break-in.”

I rubbed a hand across my face. “Yes, that appears to be what happened.”

“Are you currently inside the residence?”

Markie leaned forward proudly. “INTRUDER.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I am.”

The pause on the other end lasted slightly longer this time.

“Sir,” the operator said, “officers are already on the way.”

Of course they were.

I rested my hand against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment.

You absolute fucking idiot.

Markie puffed his feathers. “INTRUDER.”

“Yes,” I said. “That part has been established.”

I could leave. I could walk out of the building and be halfway down the road before the cops arrived. But then it would look exactly like I had broken into Zoey’s apartment and tried to run.

She would never speak to me again.

Markie leaned forward and shouted proudly. “INTRUDER.”

Chapter 20

Zoey

By the time I reached my building, my feet had moved past irritation and into open hostility. Wearing heels had definitely been a mistake. Right now, they mostly made me feel like I was being punished for vanity.

Two police cars were parked outside the building.

I slowed on the sidewalk, my stomach tightening.

Two police cars seemed excessive for a broken window or a stolen package.

I pushed open the front door and ran up the stairs, my feet screaming the whole way.

Two officers stood near the stairwell, and sitting on the hallway bench between them was Liam.

He looked terrible, his shoulders pulled tight and his hands carefully still. His head was slightly lowered while the officers talked quietly beside him.

For a moment, something inside my chest reacted before my brain caught up with the situation.

Concern.

Protectiveness.

Then Markie’s voice echoed from down the hallway. “BAD DOG. INTRUDER.”

Right.

I closed my eyes briefly. “Fuck,” I muttered.

I leaned against the wall and bent down to pull off my heels.

“Let me take these damn things off before I deal with whatever the fuck is going on here.”

The first one came off easily. The second took effort. I flexed my toes against the floor. Relief moved through my feet immediately.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

One of the officers cleared his throat.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Do you know this man?”

I looked at Liam, and he finally lifted his head. The expression on his face landed somewhere uncomfortable in my chest.

Shame.

Regret.

And something heavier underneath both of those.

“Yes,” I said. “I know him.”

“We received a call from your residence reporting a break-in,” the officer said.

From down the hall, Markie shouted again. “INTRUDER.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Of course you did.”

The officer looked at Liam. “Sir?”

Liam sat very still, then he cleared his throat and said, “I brought you flowers.”

Both officers looked confused.

I blinked. “You brought… flowers.”

“Yes.” He nodded slightly toward the hallway. “They’re in your apartment now.”

One of the officers shifted his stance and looked between the two of us.

“Ma’am,” he said, “we just need to confirm what’s going on here.”

I rubbed my forehead again and glanced toward the apartment where Markie was still yelling his interpretation of events. I would invite the cops to have this discussion there, but I needed my apartment to be my safe place. This would taint that.

“INTRUDER. BAD DOG.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

The officer’s attention moved back to Liam.

“Sir, can you explain why you were inside the apartment?”

He didn’t rush the answer or try to soften the situation. His shoulders stayed tight and his hands rested on his knees in that careful, contained way he used when he knew he had already made a mistake.

“Like I said, I brought her flowers,” he said.

Both officers blinked.

I stared at him.

He glanced toward the stairwell behind us. “And chocolate.”

The second officer tilted his head slightly.

“And how did you end up inside the residence?”

“There were several packages outside her door,” he said. “One of them was blocking the hallway, and anyone walking past could have taken them.”

He paused again.

“I was concerned about that.”

The officer nodded slowly.

“I used the spare key she keeps outside.”

I felt my shoulders tense at that, not with anger, but awareness.

The officer looked at me again. “Ma’am, are you comfortable sorting this out with him or would you like to press charges?”

“Yes,” I said.

That part was not in question.

“Yes, you’d like to press charges, or?”

“No! I mean… yes, I’m comfortable sorting this out myself. Thank you, officers.”

“INTRUDER. BAD DOG.”

The second officer glanced toward my apartment. “Is that the bird?”

“Yes,” I said. “That is the bird.”

“Well,” he said calmly, “he seems very committed.”

That was accurate.

“Everything appears fine here. If anything else comes up, you can contact us.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Silence settled over the hallway as the officers descended the stairs.

Then Markie screamed again. “INTRUDER.”

I stared at the ceiling.

“Please stop helping,” I muttered, then turned my attention back to Liam.

Up close, the damage to his composure was obvious.

His shoulders were still tight, and his posture had that careful stillness of someone who knew they had crossed a line they couldn’t easily uncross.

The earlier flash of concern returned, then the reality of the situation settled back into place.

I crossed my arms. “What happened?”

Liam exhaled slowly and looked down at his hands.

“I finished work this afternoon,” he said. “And you hadn’t responded to my message.”

My stomach jittered slightly.

“I told myself that was information that I should respect.” He glanced up briefly.

“Correct,” I said.

“But I kept thinking about you being alone in the apartment, still sore from the fall.”

I watched him carefully.

The muscles in his jaw jumped slightly. “Possibly forgetting to eat.”

That was uncomfortably accurate.

“I decided I would bring flowers and chocolate,” he said. “I planned to leave them outside your door.”

“That would have been normal.”

“Yes.” His gaze dropped again. “But when I got upstairs, there were several packages sitting there.”

I pictured the pile immediately.

“One of them was a large box with a chair printed on it,” he continued. “It had fallen across the hallway. People were stepping over it.”

I could see that happening very clearly.

“So, I stood it up against the wall.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

He paused. “But the flowers and the chocolate were still outside the door.”

“And that bothered you?”

“Yes.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

“I kept thinking someone would take them,” he said.

“That is a risk with hallways.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I remembered the spare key.”

My chest tightened. “And you used it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought I would just open the door,” he said. “Set everything inside. Lock it again.” He lifted his head. “I wasn’t going to step inside.”

That part sounded exactly like something Liam would believe counted as restraint.

“And then Markie called the police.”

Markie screamed again. “INTRUDER.”

I pointed down the hall. “He’s going to talk about this forever.”

Liam nodded. “I deserve that.”

I studied him for a moment. His explanation had been straightforward. He hadn’t made any excuses or attempted to twist the situation.

He knew exactly how it looked. He also hadn’t asked me to make it easier for him or given me the burden of carrying the emotional weight.

That made it harder to stay angry.

Unfortunately, my brain was already heading somewhere else.

Old territory.

The place where one bad decision could turn into my problem in under thirty seconds. The place where my body never seemed entirely convinced that mistakes stayed small.

I trusted Liam. That was part of the problem. If this had been some random man with bad intentions, anger would have been simpler. Instead, I was standing there with someone I felt safe with, trying to figure out how much of my reaction belonged to what had happened, and how much of it was old panic showing up in my nervous system with a clipboard and a flashlight. I needed time to figure that out.

I straightened slightly. “Liam.”

He looked up immediately.

“Entering my apartment without permission is not okay.”

“I know.”

“Even if the intention was good.”

“You’re right.”

“I need you to understand that.”

“I do.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t make me manage his feelings on top of my own. He just accepted it.

That made the next part harder.

“I need some time to think about this,” I said.

He held still, then nodded. “I understand.”

“And while I’m doing that,” I continued carefully, “please don’t reach out to me. This triggered something bigger than just tonight. And I need a little time to sort out what is reasonable to be upset about here, and what my body is reacting to because it’s working off old information.”

The words were heavy as they left my mouth.

“I’ll contact you if I decide I want to talk.”

He absorbed that quietly. “Okay.”

The regret on his face had deepened. The apology was still there too. And underneath both of those sat something that looked dangerously close to heartbreak.

Guilt moved through my chest immediately. Old, fast, familiar guilt. The kind that wanted me to smooth this over before his expression could turn into something I would feel responsible for.

I pushed it down.

This boundary mattered.

“I’m not saying this to punish you,” I said.

“I know.”

“I just need space.”

“It’s okay, Zoey. I understand.”

He stayed where he was. No bargaining. No attempt to explain himself again. No pressure. It only made it harder to ignore that this was not the same kind of situation my body was reacting to. Not the same kind of person either. Just a real mistake from someone I trusted. A line crossed by someone who actually cared that he had crossed it.

“Goodnight, Zoey.”

He stood and walked toward the stairwell.

I stayed where I was while he descended the stairs.

For a moment, it looked like he might stop, but he didn’t.

“BAD DOG. INTRUDER.”

Picking up my shoes, I went into my apartment. I stopped just inside the doorway and looked around. Nothing appeared disturbed. The lights were still on in the living room. My laptop sat on the desk where I had left it earlier that morning. The stack of packages that had been outside my door had been moved inside and lined up neatly along the wall. Very neatly.

My gaze shifted across the room.

The large box with the office chair was gone. Instead, the chair itself sat at my desk, fully assembled. The height had been adjusted. The plastic wrapping had been folded into a tidy square and placed beside the recycling bin.

I stared at it.

Liam had assembled my furniture while he waited for the police. Of course he had.

A small ache settled in my chest before I could stop it.

The flowers and chocolate were sitting on my kitchen counter, and a note rested between the stems.

I didn’t open it.

The chair sat quietly behind me at the desk, ready to use.

After a minute, I pulled out my phone and typed a message.

Hi, Dr. Ellie. Are you available Monday for an emergency session?

I hit send.

Something told me I was going to need the session.

Markie shuffled across the back of the couch and looked at me. “BAD DOG.”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you for your continued commentary.”

“INTRUDER.”

“That situation has resolved.” I rubbed my face. The apartment felt too full and too empty at the same time.

The flowers made it feel that way. The chair made it worse. The quiet had a weight to it that I didn’t want to sit with any longer tonight.

I grabbed a travel mug from the cabinet and poured a generous amount of wine into it. Then I added a little more.

The moon was visible through the kitchen window, and the sidewalks around my building were quiet. The neighborhood had wide streets and tall trees, and the kind of calm that made a late walk feel reasonable even after a long day.

My ankle had been feeling better too.

Movement seemed like a good idea.

Fresh night air was even better.

I put on my tennis shoes and took my time tying them, deciding now would be a good time for some deep breaths. It was surprisingly effective.

Grabbing my jacket, I headed to the door. My phone started ringing before I reached it. I looked down at the screen.

Mom.

Of course. The fucking cherry on top of this fan-fucking-tastic day.

I leaned my head briefly against the door as I answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Zoey!” she said brightly. The enthusiasm alone told me this conversation was going to require patience.

“Yes?”

“I left my debit card at the bar.”

I closed my eyes. “You what?”

“I think I left it there earlier tonight.”

“You think?”

“I was wondering if you could check my bank account for me and make sure nobody has used it.”

I stared at the wall. “Mom.”

“Yes?”

“You need to call the bank and have them cut off the card.”

“Well, I know that.”

“Then do that.”

“But I think it’s probably safe,” she said quickly. “It’s a small bar and the bartender knows me.”

“That’s not a security policy.”

“I just don’t have it right now,” she continued. “I thought maybe you could log into my account and see if there are any charges.”

I rubbed my forehead slowly. “Mom.”

“Yes.”

“It has taken you more time and more data to call me and ask me to do this than it would have taken for you to just open your banking app.”

She paused.

“Well, I just wanted to check in with my daughter. Is that so bad?”

That sentence had a tone to it—a slightly wounded tone.

It was familiar to me. It was the tone that took a practical problem and slid it, with disturbing efficiency, into a referendum on whether I loved her enough.

“You’re also better at that stuff anyway,” she added.

There it was.

I closed my eyes again.

Dr. Ellie’s voice appeared in the back of my mind.

Notice the pattern. Decide whether you want to participate in it.

The problem was that I could notice the pattern perfectly and still feel my body moving toward it like it had grooves carved in place. My shoulders had already tightened. My stomach had already dropped. Somewhere deep and old inside me, a very young version of myself had apparently sat up straight and said, Right. Emergency. We’re doing this.

My first instinct was to say no. My second instinct was to fix the problem.

The first instinct felt adult. The second felt automatic, one I’d been conditioned into.

The second instinct won.

“Fine,” I said. “Tell me your login.”

“Oh good!” Relief moved into her tone so fast it almost made me laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was so predictable. Tension handed off. Problem transferred. System functioning exactly as designed.

Five minutes later, I had confirmed that no one had used her card.

Another three minutes after that, she located it in her purse.

“See,” she said cheerfully. “Everything worked out. You’re so good at these things.”

The compliment landed exactly where it always had, in the place where praise and resentment shared a wall. I had been hearing versions of that sentence for years. You’re so good at these things. You’re the strong one. Thank God one of us is organized. All of it sounding generous. All of it quietly fastening the responsibility back onto me.

We said goodbye.

I ended the call and stared at the phone. It buzzed with a text.

Mom: I miss when it was just us.

Mom: We used to be so close.

Mom: I don’t know why you don’t want that anymore.

My throat constricted. It was painful to be consistently hurt by someone who was supposed to protect you.

My chest felt hot with anger and something worse under it. Grief, probably. Or guilt. They wore each other’s clothes often enough that I couldn’t always separate them.

My thumb hovered over the screen. I didn’t know what counted as a reasonable amount of anger anymore. I didn’t know what part of this reaction belonged to the present, and what part was my body running old code. Dr. Ellie would probably have had a calm, regulated, and deeply irritating perspective on that. Something about noticing the younger part of me that still heard messages like this as a summons. Something about choosing not to let her run the whole system.

What I knew was simpler. I felt eight years old and forty at the same time. I felt mean. I felt manipulated. I felt sad enough to resent it.

I typed, deleted, typed something else, deleted that too. Every possible response had a trapdoor. Too warm, and I’d be back in it. Too cold, and I’d be cast as hard and withholding, and somehow I’d still end up doing emotional cleanup for both of us.

In the end, I locked my phone and tossed it onto the couch.

The silence in my apartment settled around me. My pulse was still too high. My whole body had that strained, over-alert feeling I was starting to recognize as old information wearing a current outfit. But this wasn’t old information. Not really. This was my same old story.

The point Dr. Ellie was hoping to make with me was that I could choose not to live there anymore. I could change the story.

I hadn’t even been in the room with my mother, and I’d still felt thirteen.

A long exhale left my chest before I could stop it.

Why? Why was it so hard for me to say no to her? Why did I always end up solving the problem anyway, and then just bitching to myself about it?

I picked up the travel mug and took a long drink.

This had been an exhausting day.

An hour’s drive.

Socializing.

A call from the police.

An emotional confrontation.

And now this.

The worst part was the uncomfortable thought that followed: Liam had also created a problem tonight, but he had handled it very differently. He had owned the mistake immediately. He’d managed it himself. He hadn’t tried to convince me to solve it for him. He hadn’t pushed or asked for reassurance.

He had simply accepted the boundary and left.

That difference sat quietly in the back of my mind. Unfortunately, I still needed to be mad about the situation. My brain was not prepared to process anything else tonight.

I opened the door.

“BAD DOG,” Markie said.

“Yes,” I muttered. “Everyone has been a bad dog today.”

The night felt different the moment I stepped outside.

Cooler. Quieter.

The street stretched out in both directions under the pale glow of the streetlights. Trees lined the sidewalk, and the moon sat high above the rooftops, bright enough to turn the sidewalk silver.

I stood there, letting the night settle around me.

The fresh air helped immediately. My lungs expanded fully for the first time since I had rushed into the lobby earlier. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly as I took a slow breath and rolled my ankle gently to test it.

Still sore, but functional. Good enough for a walk. Of course, the heels I’d worn today hadn’t helped anything.

I took another drink of wine and started down the sidewalk.

The quiet helped. Walking helped even more. My mind began sorting through the wreckage of the evening, while my body focused on something simple and repetitive.

One step, then another.

That was when I saw the truck. Liam’s truck. It was parked halfway down the street.

I slowed as my brain processed the information. Then irritation surged back immediately.

What the fuck? He hadn’t left?

I looked up and down the street.

No Liam. No movement. Just the truck.

I kept walking toward it slowly, scanning the sidewalks and the tree line.

No sign of him.

I reached the truck, putting my hands on my hips as I glared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I turned in a slow circle, searching the shadows between the houses.

“Liam!”

Nothing.

“Liam!”

Still nothing.

I took another drink from the travel mug and shook my head. “This is absurd.”

I started walking again, circling the block slowly while keeping an eye on the yards and driveways around me.

Movement caught my attention near the tree line across the street as a wolf stepped out from the shadows.

My brain took half a second to react before the rest of me caught up. “Jesus Christ.”

The large, gray wolf stopped when it saw me, its ears flattening against its head.

“Seriously?” I asked.

One second there was a wolf; the next Liam was standing between the trees. He ran a hand through his hair and walked toward me.

I folded my arms. “What are you doing?”

He stopped a few feet away.

I gestured toward the truck. “You were supposed to leave.”

“I will.”

“Then why are you still here?”

He hesitated slightly before answering. “I always do a perimeter run before leaving. Plus, I needed some fresh air before driving home.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A perimeter run. To check for any danger.”

My patience evaporated. “Fuck, Liam. I’m not in any danger.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you patrolling my neighborhood like a personal security guard?”

He met my gaze. “It’s a ritual that makes me feel safe. Like I’m in control. It makes me feel like I can prevent something bad if I only run a few laps.”

That answer made me pause.

He continued carefully. “I know it sounds unreasonable.”

“It does.”

“But I can’t leave without checking.”

I rubbed my forehead again.

This conversation had officially moved beyond my current emotional processing capacity.

“Liam, you cannot spend hours roaming around my home.”

“I understand.”

“You cannot build furniture in my apartment without my permission.”

“Okay.”

“You cannot conduct patrols around my neighborhood.”

“You’re right.”

“You cannot break into my apartment because of potential thievery.”

“I know.”

I pointed at the truck. “You need to go home.”

He nodded slowly.

“And if you ever want to come here again,” I continued, “you need to be invited or you need to call ahead.”

“Okay.”

“No more surprise patrols.”

A nod. I studied him. He looked calmer now than he had in the lobby, but the exhaustion around his eyes remained.

“Are you safe to drive?” I asked.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

I raised a hand. “Please don’t.”

He stopped speaking immediately.

“I have had a really bad night,” I said.

“I understand.”

Something shifted in his expression. A quiet calculation. He closed his eyes briefly and took several slow breaths. “I’m good to go home.”

The words were calm, measured.

My heart broke a little.

“Okay.”

He turned and walked toward the truck.

I stood there, watching him go.

And I hated myself just a little.

Chapter 21

Liam

The drive back to Pine Hollow seemed to take longer than usual.

The road itself had not changed. The same turns appeared in the same places. The same trees leaned over the sidewalk. My truck moved over the quiet stretch of highway, while the mountains rose dark on either side.

But my thoughts refused to settle. I had fucked up and made the situation even worse than it already was. Why had I done a perimeter run when she’d asked me to leave? I should have respected her boundaries. I did respect them… internally. But in practice, my compulsion to protect her at all costs was stronger than my need to respect her boundaries. And I didn’t know how to fix that.

Zoey’s last words kept returning to the front of my mind.

Please don’t reach out to me.

I had agreed, because it had been the correct response.

Respect the boundary. Give her space.

I had to accept the consequences of my mistake.

None of that settled me, though.

By the time I turned onto the gravel road leading to the lodge, the tension in my chest had settled into a steady pressure that refused to move. I parked near the front entrance, but I didn’t get out of the truck yet.

The lights in the main lodge were on, glowing softly against the dark hillside.

I needed a drink.

Technically, my body processed alcohol quickly. Shifter metabolism had advantages and disadvantages, and the inability to stay drunk for long periods was firmly in the second category.

Tonight, I would settle for temporary relief.

I stepped inside the lodge and walked to the bar.

Pete stood behind the counter polishing a glass while a single guest sat on the stool closest to the wall.

Pete looked up when I entered. “Uh-oh.”

That was not encouraging.

“What?”

He studied my face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I need a drink.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”

“A triple.”

He nodded slowly and reached for the bottle. “That kind of night?”

“Yes.”

The guest beside me glanced over as Pete poured the glass. “Same thing I ordered.”

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and the relaxed posture of someone who had spent a long day outdoors.

“Liam, this is Connor. He comes up here at the beginning of every fall. Shifter too.”

He lifted his glass. “Shifter metabolism barely lets me get a buzz,” he added. “Might as well start strong.”

That caught my attention. I rarely encountered other shifters in casual settings. Most of us who didn’t live in packs kept to our own territories or moved quietly through human spaces without drawing attention.

I picked up the glass Pete set in front of me.

“Fair point.”

I lifted the drink slightly toward the man beside me, then took a long swallow.

The burn settled briefly in my chest before fading.

Pete watched me for a moment. “You want to talk about it?”

I set the glass down and looked at the bar. “Yes.”

Pete leaned his elbows on the counter. “Well?”

I exhaled slowly. “I really fucked things up with Zoey.”

Pete winced. “That’s not the opening line I was hoping for.”

Running a hand through my hair, I told him what had happened.

Pete listened without interrupting. The man beside me stayed quiet as well, nursing his drink while I finished explaining.

When I stopped speaking, Pete gaped at me. “Whoa,” he said finally.

“Yes.”

“That’s… a lot.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But I can see where you were coming from.”

“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

“No,” Pete agreed. “But it does help explain it.”

I finished my drink, and Pete refilled it without asking.

“You care about her,” he said.

I nodded. “Obviously.”

Connor slid his glass over to Pete for a refill. “Sounds almost like she’s your fated mate.”

Something in my memory stirred at that.

I had heard the term before. Stories from the old pack gatherings. Conversations that had happened when I was younger.

Rare connections. Deep bonds. A fated mate was someone who triggered instincts you couldn’t easily ignore.

I frowned slightly. “I’ve been out of the shifter world since I was a kid,” I said. “That possibility never crossed my mind.”

Connor studied me.

“It would explain the intensity.” I stared at the glass in front of me.

The connection with Zoey had felt immediate from the beginning. The pull toward her had grown stronger each time we crossed paths. No matter what I did, my thoughts wandered to her.

It would explain the impulses and the constant awareness, the constant need to make sure she was safe.

I rubbed my temples. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Connor asked.

“Because I already ruined it.”

Connor took a small card out of his wallet. “I’ve had a lot of junk to work through,” he said casually. “There’s a therapy group for shifters a few towns over. Helps with some of the instinct stuff.” He slid the card toward me. “Might be worth looking into.”

I picked it up and studied the simple print on the front.

Shifter Support Group. Weekly meetings.

“Thank you.”

He finished his drink and stood.

“Good luck,” he said as he headed to the door.

“To a certain extent, you’ve always had these tendencies,” Pete said quietly. “Checking things. Getting stuck on problems.” He tapped the bar lightly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’ve managed it for years.”

“I know.”

“But if it starts affecting your life negatively,” Pete continued, “or the people around you, it might be time to talk to someone who understands how your brain works.”

I rolled the small card between my fingers.

“I know it’s not normal,” I said.

Pete shrugged. “Normal is overrated.”

“That doesn’t change the problem.”

“No,” he said. “But it might help you figure out what to do next.”

I took another drink as Zoey’s face flashed through my mind.

Her firm expression when she told me she needed space. The way she had stood there, holding the boundary even though I could see the conflict in her posture.

I set the glass down slowly.

Whatever came next, I would have to respect that—even if it meant learning how to live with the silence she had asked for.

I stared down at the glass in my hand, the silence at the bar stretching out.

Making mistakes had never been safe where I came from.

My father believed control was the same thing as strength. Discipline was constant. Expectations were clear. You did the right thing every time, or you accepted the consequences.

There was no room for hesitation. No room to misjudge. No room for the kind of impulsive decision that had just destroyed the most important relationship I had stumbled into.

Our pack had been small, but rigid. Every action reflected on the family. Every failure carried weight. When something went wrong, my father didn’t ask questions. He corrected it.

My shoulders tightened at the memory. My body still remembered the sting of those lessons even after all these years. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor. The heavy quiet before the correction came. The expectation that I would stand there and take it because the mistake had been mine.

Pain had been simple.

You endured it. You learned. You adjusted your behavior so it never happened again.

That system had made sense to younger me. It had rules. Clear cause and effect. Clear paths to improvement.

What I was feeling tonight had no such structure. No rule to follow. No correction to make it right. All I knew was that I had crossed a line Zoey needed me to respect, and that the damage might not be repairable.

I turned the glass slowly in my hand.

If my father had been here tonight, the situation would have ended very differently. He would have delivered the lesson.

The pain would have passed.

The problem would have been closed.

Instead, I was sitting in a quiet bar, with a hollow feeling in my chest and the knowledge that the person I wanted most in the world had asked me not to contact her again.

I would have gladly taken a beating over this.

At least then there would have been something I could do about it.

Chapter 22

Zoey

The apartment was quiet when I got up late on Tuesday morning. The same kitchen. The same small stack of dishes beside the sink. The same laptop sitting on the desk waiting for me to work.

Nothing had changed.

Except my brain would not stop replaying the look on Liam’s face when he left.

I started the coffee and leaned against the counter as the liquid dripped into the mug. My ankle had made enough of an improvement that I could stand comfortably again. The swelling had mostly disappeared, and the bruising had faded to an ugly yellow that suggested my body was almost done dealing with it.

The rest of me was not nearly as efficient.

I carried my mug into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Markie watched me from his perch.

He had been studying me for several minutes.

I could tell he was deciding whether or not to involve himself.

“Don’t,” I told him.

He tilted his head. “DOG.”

I closed my eyes. “Fuck.”

“DOG.”

“We are not doing this.”

He leaned forward. “BAD DOG?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Very bad dog.”

Markie considered that. “DOG.”

I pointed at him. “Hush.”

He shuffled his wings and resumed cracking seeds with great seriousness.

I stared into my coffee.

It had been two days.

Two days since the worst possible combination of misunderstanding, panic, police involvement, emotional boundaries, and a very large, emotionally devastated mountain man had collided in my apartment hallway.

Two days since I had told Liam not to contact me.

The silence had been exactly what I asked for.

Which meant I could not complain about it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop my brain from replaying the entire situation in slow motion.

Because the more distance I put between myself and the moment, the clearer certain things became.

Liam had made a mistake—a big one—but he had also taken responsibility for it immediately. No excuses. No argument. No attempt to convince me I was wrong.

He had listened and agreed to my boundaries. He had walked away even though it clearly hurt him.

That was… not nothing.

I set the coffee on the table and leaned back into the couch.

My therapist’s voice drifted into my thoughts.

Safe people.

Notice them.

Allow access slowly.

I hated how reasonable that advice sounded.

Because the more I examined the situation honestly, the more I had to admit something uncomfortable.

Liam was a safe person—a very large, slightly obsessive, occasionally overprotective safe person, who had absolutely terrible judgment regarding apartment entry procedures.

But, still safe.

He had fed me. Taken care of me. Respected my independence, even when every instinct in his body clearly wanted to hover around me like a six-foot-four emotional security system.

He had never asked me for anything.

Not once.

And if I allowed myself to think about it for longer than five seconds, the truth became even more inconvenient.

I liked him.

I didn’t generally like people.

People were complicated. They were demanding and unpredictable. Frequently exhausting.

Liam, however, had somehow become the one person whose presence in my space didn’t immediately drain my social battery.

I liked talking to him.

I liked arguing with him.

I liked watching his very kind face when Markie yelled profanity at him.

And if I was being brutally honest with myself, the chemistry between us was not subtle. That night in the mountains had not been a fluke.

I rubbed my face with both hands.

This was deeply inconvenient. Feelings required vulnerability. Vulnerability required trust. And trust required evidence.

Lowering my hands, I stared at the ceiling.

So far, the evidence suggested that Liam was someone worth considering.

Which was both encouraging and deeply irritating.

Markie hopped onto the arm of the couch beside me.

“DOG.”

“Stop.”

“DOG.”

“Stop.”

He leaned forward. “WHERE DOG?”

I turned my head slowly and looked at him. “You are not helping.”

“DOG.”

“Liam is not currently present,” I said firmly. “And we are not discussing him.”

Markie clicked his beak. “DOG.”

I closed my eyes again. This bird was going to be the death of me.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table.

I picked it up and saw Cris’s name on the screen. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she said. “Are you alive?”

“Technically.”

“That bad?”

I sat up and tucked one leg under me. “It has been a week.”

“It’s only Tuesday. How was therapy?”

“Complicated.”

“That sounds productive.”

“It probably was.”

Cris laughed quietly. “Well. I was thinking we could take a walk this weekend. Nothing ambitious. Just one of the easier trails.”

“That sounds nice,” I admitted.

“And your ankle?”

“Functional. Should be up to the task by the weekend.”

“Good.”

The warmth in her tone seeped into my chest. Our friendship had grown quickly since I arrived here, and much faster than I expected. What started as casual had turned into something more stable.

So far, Cris didn’t demand excessive emotional labor. She didn’t expect me to fix her life. She showed up. She listened and offered companionship without pressure.

It felt… safe. For now.

We settled on a time for a short trail walk and ended the call a few minutes later.

My thoughts returned to Liam almost immediately.

That was becoming a pattern.

I stood and carried my coffee back into the kitchen.

Maybe it was time to reach out. Not today. But soon. A small step. Something cautious. Something honest.

I stood up from my desk and rolled my shoulders back as I walked to the kitchen to get more coffee. As I turned to the machine, a frantic knock suddenly sounded at my front door.

I froze.

The knocking came again. Fast. Urgent.

I set my mug down and went to open the door.

Mei stood in the hallway, her hair loose around her shoulders, her chest rising quickly as she breathed unevenly. She looked terrified.

“Please,” she said immediately, gripping the doorframe. “Please tell me Bobbi is here.”

“No...”

Her shoulders dropped immediately with a defeat that made my stomach twist. “Oh,” she said.

I stepped aside instinctively. “Come in for a second.”

She shook her head quickly and glanced down the hallway behind me as though Bobbi might appear if she looked hard enough. “The AirTag in her necklace stopped updating about twenty minutes ago.”

That stopped me.

“The AirTag what?”

“The locket,” she said. “The necklace she wears. There’s a tracker in it.”

Something unpleasant settled in my chest. So that was how she always knew Bobbi was here.

I thought about the small silver locket the girl wore constantly. The one she fiddled with while explaining things to Markie. I’d assumed it was sentimental, but it was surveillance.

“It’s not working?” I asked.

She shook her head again. “I keep refreshing the location, but it won’t update. I’ve called both babysitters three times and they’re searching the neighborhood, but she’s not anywhere near the house.”

My stomach dropped.

“Start from the beginning,” I said.

She pressed her hands together.

“I had a doctor’s appointment for my son this afternoon. He’s having some medical issues, and it took months to get the appointment. So, I had our regular sitter with Bobbi and another sitter with my youngest.”

“Okay.”

“It was nap time,” she continued quickly. “Bobbi doesn’t nap, but we still keep things quiet during that hour. One sitter stepped into the bathroom and the other was with my youngest and…” Her voice cracked. “She slipped out.”

Shit.

“We looked everywhere around the apartment and the building, but she’s gone.”

Another wave of cold understanding moved through me. Bobbi didn’t wander randomly. Bobbi explored. She investigated. She followed interesting things, which meant she could be anywhere.

“Shit,” I said out loud.

Markie chose that moment to shout. “BAD DOG.”

I ignored him. “How long ago?”

“About forty minutes.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Something inside me shifted. It wasn’t panic but focus. The rest of the world narrowed down to one simple objective: find Bobbi.

“I’m going to start making calls,” I said.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”

The truth hit me with alarming clarity: I cared about that kid. More than I realized—more than was probably wise.

Bobbi asked strange questions. Built coaster towers in my living room. Discussed therapy with the seriousness of a small philosopher. Treated Markie as a legitimate conversational partner.

And apparently, she had crawled straight into the part of my brain responsible for protecting small, chaotic humans.

I stepped back into the apartment and grabbed my phone.

Markie hopped onto the counter. “DOG.”

“Not now.”

“DOG.”

“This is serious.”

“BAD DOG.”

I pointed at him. “Silence.”

He shuffled his wings but complied.

My fingers moved quickly across the screen.

Cris first. She answered on the second ring. “Hey—”

“This little girl who visits me regularly is missing.”

“What?”

“She slipped out during nap time. The tracker in her necklace stopped working.”

There was a short pause. Then Cris’s voice shifted into the same focused tone my brain had already adopted. “I’ll start calling people. I have family in the Southern Adirondacks. Send me your address.”

Next, I called Dr. Ellie. That conversation took thirty seconds. She knew my stories of Bobbi well enough to understand exactly how concerning this situation was. Within minutes, she had already reached out to several contacts in the community.

The information spread quickly.

Within an hour, the small circle of people I trusted had turned into an organized search effort.

Text messages bombarded my phone from people checking the parks, the trails, the stores, the playground near the elementary school.

Mei moved down the hallway, making calls of her own.

I stepped outside to scan the street while replying to another message.

My phone rang again.

I answered without looking at the screen.

“Yes.”

“Oh good,” my mother said. “You answered. I lost my itinerary,” she continued cheerfully. “The one I printed out before the cruise. Could you text it to me?”

My brain stalled for half a second. “Mom.”

“Yes?”

“It’s in your email.”

“I know, but I don’t want to dig through all that right now,” she said. “Couldn’t you just write it out for me again? You’re so much better at that logistical stuff.”

A few days ago, I would have done it without hesitation. I would have opened the email, copied the information, and sent it, because that was the role I had always played.

Fix the problem. Soften the inconvenience. Make things easier.

My therapist’s words surfaced quietly in my mind: Boundaries. Safe people. You are allowed to say no.

I looked down the street where neighbors were beginning to gather.

People were spreading out in different directions, looking for a small girl who liked to wander.

“Mom,” I said calmly, “there’s a little girl missing right now.”

She paused. “What?”

“One of the kids in my building slipped out of her apartment and no one knows where she is.”

“Oh.”

I started walking faster toward the cluster of people near the sidewalk. “I can’t do this for you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“It would only take a second,” she said.

The old phrasing landed exactly where it always did. Small thing. Quick thing. Easy thing. Language designed to make refusal sound unreasonable before I had even made it.

“No,” I said.

“Zoey, I’m asking for one simple favor.”

I stepped around a flower bed and spotted Bobbi’s mother halfway down the block, talking too fast into her phone.

“I heard you,” I said. “And the answer is still no.”

My mother exhaled in that injured way she had perfected years ago. “I just thought maybe you’d care that I’m trying to get everything together for once.”

There it was. The emotional invoice attached to the request.

“I do care,” I said. “That’s not the issue.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m bothering you?” she asked. “You don’t even respond to my text messages anymore.”

I tightened my grip around the phone. I could feel the old structure trying to snap back into place. The implication that closeness meant access. That love meant immediate compliance. That if I said no, I was not protecting my time or attention. I was betraying something sacred and sad and maternal.

A few weeks ago, that probably would have worked. I would have caved and resented it later.

Not tonight.

Not with Bobbi missing.

“Mom,” I said, and my tone came out flatter than before. “This is not a closeness issue. This is a grown woman not wanting to search her own email while I’m in the middle of an actual emergency.”

She went quiet for half a second, then said, “You do not have to talk to me like I’m incompetent.”

That almost impressed me. Ask me to do the task because I’m better at it, then punish me. A classic.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m saying you are capable of doing this yourself.”

“I was just asking for help.”

“And I’m saying no.”

“You’ve been so different since you moved.”

Yes, less available for unpaid administrative labor.

But to my surprise, I didn’t feel guilty. I didn’t feel cruel. Bobbi was still missing. My mother was still standing somewhere with a phone in her hand and full access to her own inbox. These two things were not morally equivalent, no matter how hard she tried to drag them onto the same level.

“I love you,” I continued. “But you are capable of managing your own life.”

“Wow,” she said.

“You can be annoyed with me later,” I said. “Right now, I have to go help find a child.”

She let out a huff. “Fine. Go save the neighborhood. I’ll just figure it out myself.”

Petty. Predictable.

Then my mother sighed. “Okay, good luck finding her.”

We hung up.

I stared down at my phone for a moment.

For the first time I could remember, I had not rushed to fix my mother’s problem.

My heart was beating hard in my chest—mostly from nerves, but also from pride and disbelief.

Shaking my head, I turned back toward the street.

The search continued. Minutes passed. Then more minutes. And the longer we searched, the worse the possibilities became.

My thoughts drifted unwillingly to Liam.

The way he had circled the neighborhood the other night. Checking everything. Watching everything.

I had been furious with him for that.

But standing here now, waiting for updates that weren’t coming fast enough, I suddenly understood that kind of vigilance came from fear. The kind of fear that settled deep in your chest when someone you cared about might be in danger.

If that was what Liam had been feeling that night, I could not imagine carrying it for long, because the small slice I was experiencing right now already felt unbearable.

My phone buzzed again.

No new leads.

I paced across the sidewalk.

Think. Think. Think.

Then something obvious occurred to me.

Bobbi might be unpredictable, but she wasn’t invisible.

And I knew one person with a very particular skill set when it came to finding things.

I pulled up his contact before I could talk myself out of it.

My thumb hovered over the call button for half a second, then I pressed it.

The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, but it was only three rings.

When he answered, I spoke immediately.

“Liam,” I said, “I need your help.”

Chapter 23

Liam

I sat at the small table in my kitchen and stared down at my glass. The cabin had that particular quiet it always had in the evenings. Pine Hollow sat far enough away from town that the night settled into a comfortable stillness once the last lights from the guest cabins had dimmed.

Normally, I appreciated that quiet, but tonight it only gave my thoughts more room to move.

I poured another drink just to give my hands something to do while my thoughts continued their very efficient campaign against my peace of mind.

My phone buzzed on the table.

I looked down at the screen without much interest.

Then I froze.

Zoey.

Her name sat there in bright white letters.

I simply stared at it. My brain moved through several possibilities at once. Maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe she had decided we could talk.

Maybe—

The phone buzzed again.

I answered immediately. “Zoey?”

There was a short pause on the other end. “Liam. I need your help.”

Something in her tone pulled me upright in the chair.

Fear. Not irritation or guarded politeness.

Fear.

My body reacted before my thoughts caught up. I was already standing. “What’s wrong?”

“Bobbi is missing.”

My mind tried to place the name, then the image of the small girl with dark hair and serious questions about birds and emotional regulation sprang into it.

My stomach dipped. “What happened?”

“She slipped away from her babysitter,” Zoey said. “We’ve been searching for over an hour. Her tracker stopped working.”

The room around me seemed to narrow.

I moved toward the door automatically, grabbing my keys from the counter without breaking the phone connection.

“Where are you?”

“We’re near the canal.”

My hand stopped halfway to the door handle. The canal. Cold understanding moved through me.

That area had water access along several sections of the path. People walked there often. Kids explored there. If a small child wandered too close to the edge—

“We’re worried she might have gone this way,” Zoey continued. “I thought maybe you could track her. I have some of her stuff.”

Her words came out controlled, but I could hear the strain beneath them. Zoey was afraid.

That fact overrode every other thought immediately.

“Of course.” I was already moving. “I can track her. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I stepped outside and hurried to my truck. “Stay where you are.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“I’ll find her.”

There was a small pause.

“Okay.”

The night suddenly felt colder than it had earlier. My mind moved quickly through the information she had given me.

Missing child.

Unknown direction.

Water nearby.

Bobbi had only spent limited time around me, but she’d left an impression. She asked direct questions. Observed everything. Moved through the world with curiosity that didn’t always account for danger.

The thought of that girl alone, somewhere in the dark, sent a spike of worry through me.

I climbed into the truck and started the engine. The tires rolled over the gravel as I pulled onto the road.

Another realization settled into place.

Zoey had called me. She’d asked for my help.

The knowledge didn’t change the urgency of the situation, but it did ease some of the awfulness that had been inside me the past two days.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and pressed my foot down on the gas. The wolf inside me was already awake, searching, preparing. Fifteen minutes suddenly felt far too long.

The drive to the canal blurred into a series of turns I barely registered.

My mind tracked distance automatically. The road. The intersections. The time it should take to reach the path where Zoey was waiting. Every few seconds, my thoughts tried to jump ahead to the unknown places where a missing child could be hiding.

I forced them back.

One step at a time.

Find Zoey.

Get the scent.

Follow the trail.

I rolled to a stop in the gravel turnout beside the canal path. Dust rose behind the tires before settling again. The evening sun hung low enough to cast long shadows through the trees, turning the narrow trail into alternating bands of light and shade.

People had gathered, moving along the canal bank in small groups, calling Bobbi’s name while scanning the brush. A few carried walking sticks. Someone had brought binoculars. The tension in the air was unmistakable even without the raised voices. Everyone moved with the same urgent purpose.

I found Zoey immediately.

She stood near the entrance to the path with her phone pressed to one ear, one hand braced on her hip as she listened. Her posture was rigid with concentration. Her hair had been pulled back quickly, and a few strands had escaped around her face. Even from across the gravel lot, I could see the tightness in her shoulders.

She saw my truck and ended the call mid-sentence.

Relief crossed her face for a brief moment before her expression settled back into determination.

“Thank you for coming,” she said when I reached her.

“You said you had something she wore.”

Zoey held out a scarf and a small glove, her fingers tightening around the fabric. I took them carefully. The moment the scent reached me, the rest of the world faded to the background.

Small human. Soap. Dirt. A faint trace of something sweet from whatever snack she had eaten earlier.

The wolf inside me stirred immediately, alert and focused.

Zoey studied my face while I worked through the scent. “Can you track her?”

“Yes.” I handed the items back to her. “Stay here.”

Zoey closed her eyes in tentative relief. “Just bring her back.”

I held her gaze. “I will,” I said, then I stepped off the path and moved deeper into the trees.

The shift came easily.

Bones moved. Muscles rearranged. The familiar transformation settled across my body in a practiced motion that took only seconds.

The forest sharpened, every scent separating into clear lines.

Damp earth. Moss. Pine needles. The faint trace of animals moving through the underbrush earlier that evening.

And beneath it all, Bobbi.

The trail started near the canal path but quickly moved away from the water. That alone eased some of my worry.

She’d gone into the woods, not toward the edge.

The scent moved steadily between the trees, wandering but not entirely directionless. I followed it carefully, keeping my pace.

Tracking required focus. If I moved too fast, the trail blurred. Too slow, and the scent would fade.

Branches brushed my shoulders as I moved through the forest. The ground shifted from packed dirt to soft leaves and back again. In the distance, someone called Bobbi’s name again.

She had traveled farther than I expected.

The scent strengthened briefly near a fallen log where she had likely stopped before continuing. Small footprints marked the soft soil nearby.

She had climbed over the log, then continued north.

I picked up my pace slightly.

The trail curved away from the main residential area and deeper into the wooded land beyond the canal.

Concern tightened through my chest.

Bobbi might be curious and clever, but she was still a small child alone in unfamiliar terrain.

The scent grew stronger again. It was fresh and recent.

I slowed automatically, then another scent entered the space.

Wild dogs. Two of them.

Their smell cut through the underbrush. Immediately, every instinct in my body sharpened.

I moved forward cautiously.

The loud, agitated barking reached me a moment later.

I pushed through a cluster of low branches and took in the scene in front of me.

Bobbi sat high in the branches of a large oak tree, her small form pressed tightly against the trunk while two large dogs circled below.

They barked up at her relentlessly, jumping at the lower branches.

When Bobbi spotted me, her eyes widened. “Liam!”

The dogs turned. One of them lunged forward with a low snarl.

I moved before the sound finished leaving its throat.

The first dog met the full weight of my body and rolled sideways across the dirt with a surprised yelp. The second lunged from the opposite direction but misjudged the movement entirely.

I intercepted him mid-step.

The fight ended quickly.

These were not trained animals, just aggressive strays used to chasing smaller prey. They had no interest in facing something their own size that refused to back down.

The first dog scrambled to his feet and ran.

The second followed, vanishing into the brush with a final growl of retreat.

I turned back to the tree. Bobbi was still clinging to the branch with both arms wrapped around the trunk.

“You found me,” she said, her tone filled with relief.

I shifted back into my human form and stepped toward the base of the tree.

“You climbed well,” I said.

She nodded seriously. “I needed the high ground.”

“That was smart.”

“The dogs were below my defensive perimeter,” she added.

I rested my hand on the lowest branch. “Ready to come down?”

She looked toward the ground cautiously. “Yes.”

I positioned myself beneath the branch and reached up. “Slide toward me.”

Bobbi followed the instruction carefully. Her small hands gripped the bark as she lowered herself toward my shoulders.

Once she was close enough, I lifted her easily and set her feet on the ground. The second her shoes touched the dirt, she wrapped both arms tightly around my waist.

“I couldn’t see the apartments,” she explained. “I was trying to get a better view to see which way to go.”

I held her carefully while she spoke.

“The tree was good,” she continued. “But then the dogs arrived.”

“That happens sometimes,” I said.

She leaned back and studied my face with calm curiosity.

“We should return quickly. People are looking for you.”

Bobbi nodded once.

Then she settled comfortably against my side as we walked back. The trail home was much easier to follow now.

“That situation was suboptimal,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

I glanced down the trail. It was quite a distance between us and the canal path. Walking back would take time, and the people searching for her were already moving farther down the trails.

The faster we returned, the faster Zoey could stop imagining the worst.

I crouched slightly so we were closer to the same height.

“Bobbi,” I said carefully, “I can get us back faster if I shift.”

She tilted her head, then she nodded with immediate interest. “That seems efficient.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But I want to make sure you’re comfortable with that.”

She studied my face seriously. “You mean riding on your back?”

“Yes.”

“That is acceptable.”

I couldn’t stop the chuckle that left me. “Good. There are a few rules first,” I said. “You’ll need to hold onto my fur near my shoulders. Not my neck.”

She nodded again. “That would interfere with movement.”

“Exactly. If you need me to slow down,” I said, “tap my shoulder twice.”

“And if I need you to stop?”

“Three taps.”

“That is logical.” Her expression remained thoughtful. “What if I fall?”

“You won’t,” I said calmly. “But if you start to slide, grab tighter and I will stop.”

She nodded again. “Understood.”

I stood and stepped back a few feet, so she had room.

The shift moved through me quickly this time. Bones rearranged. Muscles expanded. The forest sharpened again as the wolf took control.

Bobbi watched the transformation with quiet fascination. “Impressive.”

Then she approached and placed one small hand into the fur along my shoulder.

“May I climb?”

I lowered slightly.

She swung one leg carefully over my back and settled into place with surprising balance. Her small hands gathered in my fur exactly where I had instructed.

“Secure,” she said.

I started forward slowly to test her balance.

Her grip tightened slightly.

“Ready.”

We ran.

I followed the trail back toward the canal path, the forest passing quickly around us. Bobbi leaned forward slightly with the motion, adjusting naturally to the rhythm of my stride, her grip firm on me.

The scent of the canal grew stronger as we moved closer to the search area, and voices carried faintly through the trees ahead.

People were still calling her name.

We broke through the last line of brush, and the clearing opened ahead.

Zoey stood near the path entrance with several others. Her head snapped toward the trees the moment we appeared.

For a second, she didn’t move.

Then she saw Bobbi.

“Bobbi!”

The sound broke out of her with startling force.

Bobbi slid off my back before I had fully stopped running.

“I’m here,” she announced.

Zoey crossed the distance between them in seconds and dropped to her knees in the dirt. She wrapped her arms around Bobbi so tightly that the girl lifted slightly off the ground.

“Oh my god,” Zoey said, her voice shaking. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

Bobbi patted her shoulder. “I encountered dogs.”

“Wow, you’ll have to tell me about that,” Zoey said roughly.

Bobbi’s mother came running over, and the reunion became even louder.

Crying. Hands reaching for Bobbi from every direction.

While that unfolded, I shifted back to my human form.

Zoey watched Bobbi and her mother, then stood, her face wet with tears. She looked over at me, and the expression on her face changed immediately.

Gratitude.

Relief.

Something deeper underneath both.

She walked toward me slowly. “Thank you,” she said. “You found her.”

“Yes.”

For several seconds, she said nothing. Her gaze moved over my face carefully, as though confirming that I was real and standing in front of her, and not another piece of information arriving through a phone call.

The tension she had been holding was still in her posture. Her shoulders remained tight. Her hands opened and closed at her sides.

She stepped forward suddenly and hugged me.

The impact of it was sudden and firm enough that I rocked back half a step before regaining my balance. She pressed herself fully against my chest, gripping the back of my shirt as though she had no intention of letting go any time soon.

I simply stood there, then after a beat, my arms came up around her.

A shaky breath left her. Her shoulders moved with the exhale. The sound that followed was quiet, but unmistakable.

She was crying.

The realization tightened something in my chest immediately.

My hand moved instinctively to the back of her head. I slid my fingers gently into her hair and held her there, one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

Her grip tightened slightly. “I know,” she said, but the words were muffled against my shirt. Another small breath followed. This one shook more than the last.

I kept my hand steady in her hair, smoothing it slowly away from her face. The movement seemed to ground her a little. Her shoulders lowered gradually as the adrenaline drained out of her.

“You found her,” she murmured. “I was trying very hard not to imagine worst-case scenarios.”

“I know.”

The relief in her posture was obvious now. The rigid control she had held through the search was finally giving way to exhaustion and gratitude in equal measure.

“She’s safe,” I said. “Everything is okay.”

Zoey stayed where she was. For once, she didn’t rush to step away. She remained pressed against my chest, her breathing slowly settling into an easier rhythm.

I stroked her hair and leaned down just enough to press a soft kiss on the top of her head.

The contact was simple, meant to comfort.

She let out one last quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Today has been a lot,” she said.

“I’m sure.”

She finally pulled back just enough to look up at me.

Her eyes were still damp, but the tension in them had eased. Relief had replaced the fear.

“Will you walk back with me?” she asked. Her voice carried a quiet vulnerability now that had not been there earlier. The edge around her had softened in the aftermath of the search and the relief of finding Bobbi. The tears hadn’t completely dried on her face yet, and there was something about the way she looked at me that made the request feel heavier than the words themselves.

“To my apartment.”

Two days ago, she had asked me not to contact her.

Two days ago, I had walked away from her building convinced that whatever fragile connection had been growing between us, might be permanently damaged.

And now she was asking me to come back with her.

Not out of obligation or because she needed help with something practical, but because she wanted me there.

That alone was enough to leave me speechless.

But there was something else as well.

Zoey didn’t seem like the kind of person to let anyone see her when she was shaken. The version of her standing in front of me now was different.

The fear had passed, but her hands were still shaking slightly, and her shoulders hadn’t quite returned to their usual guarded posture.

And for some reason, she had turned to me.

The realization moved quietly through my chest.

I had spent most of my life being careful about the way I interacted with people. Careful about how much space I took up in their lives. Careful not to become the problem that needed managing.

But standing here with Zoey leaning closer to me than she had earlier, still recovering from the shock of the evening, the instinct that rose inside me was not restraint.

It was protective.

Grounded.

The same instinct that had pushed me through the woods when she called.

The same instinct that had made it impossible to ignore the fear in her voice.

Being the person she leaned on now felt right.

“Of course,” I said.

Zoey held my gaze for another second before glancing back toward Bobbi.

The girl was now firmly contained in her mother’s arms while explaining the tactical reasoning behind climbing trees when confronted with hostile animals. Several neighbors hovered nearby, offering reassurances and water bottles.

“Let’s go home,” Zoey said.

I fell into step beside her.

As soon as Zoey opened her door, familiar chaos greeted us.

Markie spotted me before either of us had fully stepped through the doorway.

The bird launched off the back of the kitchen chair, and flapped halfway across the room, with the enthusiasm of a creature that had been waiting for this moment for days.

“BAD DOG!” His wings beat loudly once before he landed on the counter. “BAD DOG!”

Zoey closed the door behind us and leaned back against it, rubbing her hand over her face. “Yes,” she said. “We’ve established that.”

Markie turned his head toward me. “HELLO.”

“Hello,” I said carefully.

He leaned forward. “BAD DOG.”

I stepped farther into the room. “You called the police on me.”

Markie puffed slightly. “INTRUDER.”

Zoey snorted quietly and walked toward the kitchen. “You did break into my apartment.”

“I didn’t break in,” I said.

“You used a hidden key and triggered a bird.”

Markie lifted one foot. “SECURITY.”

I stared at him. “You are a narc.”

Markie nodded and clicked. “GOOD JOB.”

Zoey opened a cabinet and pulled down two glasses. “I need wine.”

“That seems reasonable.”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “You want some?”

“Yes.”

She filled both glasses generously and carried them into the living room. I followed her, trying not to overanalyze the situation unfolding around me.

The last time I had been here, the police had been involved.

Now Zoey was pouring wine.

It felt like a significant shift.

She handed me a glass and dropped onto the couch beside me. Not across the room. Not in the armchair. Directly beside me with her knee angled slightly toward mine.

Markie hopped down from the counter and strutted across the floor toward us.

“HEEL.”

“You are a bird,” I told him.

“HEEL.”

Zoey took a long drink of wine and exhaled slowly. “Today has been… intense.”

“I can believe it.”

She leaned back against the couch and studied the ceiling, then turned to me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being someone I felt safe calling.”

The sentence landed heavily in my chest.

We had only known each other briefly, but I already knew Zoey rarely handed out that kind of trust.

“And,” she continued, “for actually showing up.”

“I would never dream of not helping you.”

The answer came easily because it was true.

Her mouth twitched slightly at the seriousness of my tone. “I know.” She took another drink, then set the glass down on the table in front of us. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last two days.”

My shoulders tensed. That could go in several directions.

“Therapy,” she added.

“That makes sense.”

“It does.” Zoey tucked one leg underneath herself and turned toward me more fully. “I’m working through some things. A lot of old habits. Patterns. The way I respond to people.”

I waited.

She met my gaze steadily. “I want to be open to having real relationships in my life.”

The statement was simple, but the meaning underneath it was anything but.

“And,” she added, “I would like to go out to dinner. With you.”

The sentence took a moment to fully register.

“Dinner.”

“Yes.”

Her expression held a mix of determination and vulnerability that felt very Zoey.

“I’m not promising perfection,” she continued. “I’m actively learning how to do this in a healthier way. But I really want to try.”

My chest tightened again. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“But,” she added carefully, “I think you might need to do some work too.”

That caught my attention. “What kind of work?”

Zoey shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t want to armchair diagnose you because I’m not qualified.”

“Fair.”

“But some of the things you’ve said about how your brain works, some habits I’ve observed, reminded me of a teacher I had once. She had OCD.”

The room went quiet. I sat there for a moment, turning the statement over in my mind. Pete’s voice drifted through my memory. You’ve always had these tendencies.

The card Connor had slid across the bar. Therapy group for shifters.

Zoey watched me carefully. “You don’t have to agree with me. But if we’re going to try to build something healthy together, I want both of us working on our stuff.”

I nodded slowly. “That seems reasonable.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.” I rested my forearms on my knees and stared into my wineglass. “I’ve been thinking about that already.”

Her head tilted slightly.

“I have a card for a therapy group.”

Zoey blinked. “That was faster than I expected.”

“A stranger at the bar gave it to me.”

“That sentence contains several concerning details.”

I shrugged. “He was a shifter.”

“Okay, that makes it a bit better.”

“I was planning to look into it.”

She studied my face again. “You would actually do that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I looked up. “Because if I’m going to be part of your life, I want to be the best version of myself.”

Zoey went very still, then suddenly she leaned forward, pressing her lips against mine. She slid her hand into mine, the other resting against my chest. I pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Zoey broke the kiss. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay.”

She picked up her wine again and took a long drink. “Have you ever had Korean barbecue?”

I blinked. “No.”

She smiled. “Good. We’re fixing that Saturday night.”

Chapter 24

Zoey

Cris sat cross-legged on my bed, holding up two pairs of shoes as if she was making a life-altering decision.

“These,” she said.

I shook my head vehemently. “No.”

“These.”

“Absolutely not.”

She wiggled the heels. “You cannot show up to a date with a man that tall wearing flats.”

“I absolutely can,” I said. “Flats are democratic. Flats respect the human foot. Besides, I already slept with him.”

Cris snorted. “That is not the point.”

“That is exactly the point.” I leaned against the dresser and folded my arms. “It’s just dinner. A casual dinner between two emotionally responsible adults.”

Cris lifted an eyebrow. “You made out with him in a hot tub, slept with him, called him to track a missing child through the woods, and now he’s coming over to take you out to dinner.” She held up the heels again. “Nothing about this situation is casual.”

I sighed. “That doesn’t mean I need orthopedic damage.”

“It means,” she said patiently, “you should show up looking exactly how you want to look when you’re excited about someone.”

I hesitated. “That’s manipulative.”

“It’s honest.”

“Cris, I’m trying to make responsible decisions.”

“You’re wearing the black dress and the heels.”

I looked down at the dress in question. It was simple. Black and sleek, and it made my legs look like they belonged to someone significantly more coordinated than I actually was. The neckline was low enough to be interesting, without making my boobs a social event.

I had tried it on ten minutes earlier.

Cris had stared at me in stunned silence for a full three seconds.

Then she had said, “Oh my god.”

Unhelpful.

“Put them on,” she said, waving the heels in front of me.

“I hate heels.”

“You love heels.”

“I love how heels look. My feet hate heels.”

“You are going to a nice restaurant, right?” Cris asked.

“Yes.”

“You will be sitting down.”

“That is not the point.”

Cris tossed the shoes onto the bed and stood up. “Listen to me.”

I braced myself.

“You are going on a date with a six-foot-four emotionally responsible wolf shifter who already thinks you are the center of the universe.”

I rubbed my forehead. “That’s a dramatic interpretation.”

“He tracked a missing child through the forest and returned her to you like some kind of mythological guardian creature.”

“He was just helping out.”

“He brought you flowers.”

“That resulted in police involvement.”

“He respected your boundaries.”

“Okay, that was impressive.”

Cris grabbed the heels and stepped closer. “You’re wearing the shoes.”

I stared at them. They were exactly the kind of heels that made my legs look absurdly long.

“Five minutes,” I said.

“That’s all you’ll need to know I’m right.”

“That is not true.”

“Put them on.”

Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed. Sliding my foot into the first heel felt like signing a contract with gravity. The second one followed. I stood up, smoothing down the dress.

Cris clapped once. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Look at you!”

I looked at my reflection. The result was… unfortunate. Meaning, I looked extremely good.

The dress fit perfectly, and the heels made my legs look miles long. My hair had been loosely styled in a way that suggested effort without screaming about it. The makeup Cris had insisted on applying made my skin look even and my eyes brighter.

Cris placed both hands over her mouth. “Zoey, you are going to destroy this man.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“He’s already obsessed with you.”

“That’s not a helpful or healthy framing.”

“You’re walking into this dinner looking like that.” She gestured at me broadly. “It’s going to escalate.”

I leaned closer to the mirror and adjusted one of the straps.

Something unfamiliar sat in my stomach.

Excitement.

Actual excitement.

That irritated me, because I had spent most of my adult life avoiding situations that made me feel this invested in another person.

Now I was standing in heels I hated, wearing a dress that made me look formidable, preparing to go to dinner with a man who had literally tracked a missing child through the forest for me.

My brain tried to remind me that this situation contained several red flags, but my heart didn’t seem to mind.

At first, I hadn’t trusted my quick impulse to ask him to dinner. Fast was usually how bad ideas introduced themselves. Quick was how you talked yourself over your own instincts and called it chemistry.

But now, I had to admit that my relationship with speed in this specific situation wasn’t exactly objective. I had spent most of my life identifying and labeling what was safe and what wasn’t. I was good at that, but I was also good at treating anything emotionally significant as suspicious. I was also guilty of avoiding “safe” situations just in case I was wrong about them. Sometimes that was wisdom. Sometimes it was fear with a better publicist.

What Liam had done at my apartment wasn’t okay. I wasn’t reframing it because he was handsome or helpful or because Bobbi had gone missing and scared the life out of me.

But that night had given me new information.

So had the way he had respected the space I asked for and taken accountability. So had every small thing since. Going to dinner with him wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t me pretending the hard part hadn’t happened. It was one deliberate step taken with my eyes open, in proper lighting, wearing shoes I already regretted. To be honest, I was proud of myself for coming to that conclusion this quickly.

It was progress.

Cris leaned against the dresser. “So, how are you feeling?”

I considered the question. “Nervous.”

“Understandable.”

“Excited.”

She grinned. “Also understandable.”

“And mildly suspicious of my own decision-making.”

“That part will pass.”

I turned away from the mirror and grabbed my purse. “You’re sure this isn’t a terrible idea?”

Cris adjusted the neckline of my dress. “Zoey, you’re allowed to like someone.”

I exhaled slowly as we walked out of my bedroom.

Across the room, Markie shuffled on his perch. “BAD DOG.”

I looked over at his enclosure. “That has been resolved.”

“DOG DATE.”

Cris burst out laughing. “You told the bird.”

“I didn’t tell the bird.”

“DOG DATE.”

I grabbed my coat. “Traitor.”

Cris plopped on my couch. “You’re going to have fun tonight.”

“That seems optimistic.”

“You like him.”

“I do.”

“He likes you.”

“That appears to be the case.”

“And you look hot.”

I paused in the doorway and glanced down at the heels again.

“Also,” she added thoughtfully, “you are going to be wearing heels and still be shorter than him.”

That image settled immediately in my mind. Standing next to Liam. In heels. And still having to look up at him.

The thought sent a strange little thrill through my stomach, which was extremely annoying.

I shook my head. “Fine.”

Cris grinned.

At that exact moment, someone knocked on the door.

Cris froze. “Oh my god.”

“That’s probably him.”

“Oh my god.”

I huffed. “You’re reacting like a teenager.”

She grabbed my shoulders and shoved me toward the door. “Open it.”

Taking a steadying breath, I opened the door, and all words vanished from my brain.

Liam looked really hot.

Dark jeans. Clean shirt. Boots. His hair was slightly damp, which suggested he had showered recently and run a hand through it instead of doing anything deliberate.

His gaze moved slowly from my heels to my dress and back up again.

He blinked once, then again.

“Hi,” I said.

Liam opened his mouth, then cleared his throat. “You look…” He paused.

His brain appeared to have left the building.

Cris leaned around the corner behind me and said, in a stage whisper, “Use your words.”

Liam glanced at her, then back at me. “You look incredible.”

The sincerity in his tone sent warmth coursing through me. “Thank you.”

His gaze moved across my face again with a calm focus that made the hallway feel much smaller.

Before I could decide what to do with that, he stepped in and pulled me gently against him. He lowered his head and inhaled slowly, like he couldn’t help himself.

Something soft and dangerous filtered through me, and that feeling only increased when he pressed his lips lightly to my forehead.

When he pulled back, it was only so he could look at me again, like he had needed that and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the fact that he had taken it.

“I brought the truck,” he said quickly. “So, we can drive.”

“That’s generally how trucks work.”

Markie chose that moment to shout from inside the apartment. “BAD DOG.”

Liam closed his eyes briefly. “He and I are still working through that situation.”

I laughed lightly. “Understandable.”

“Before we go,” he said carefully, “may I use your restroom?”

Cris snorted behind me.

“Yes,” I said. “You know where it is.”

Liam headed down the short hallway toward the bathroom.

“He is gone for you,” Cris whispered. “That man looked like he forgot how language works.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

She grabbed my arm and squeezed it once. “You’re about to have the best date of your life.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was beating much faster than usual.

From down the hallway, Liam cleared his throat. “Markie,” he said.

“BAD DOG.”

“I maintain that you escalated the situation unnecessarily.”

Cris covered her mouth. “Oh my god.”

I shook my head.

“Let’s go before the bird files another police report.”

We drove through the quiet evening traffic for several minutes before curiosity finally got the better of me.

I shifted slightly in my seat and glanced over at Liam.

He was driving with both hands on the wheel, his face set in concentration. Every few seconds, his attention dropped briefly to the dashboard clock before returning to the road.

Finally, I said, “Where are we going? This is not the way to Korean barbecue.”

He didn’t look over. “I have to make a stop on the way.” He checked the clock again.

“Why do you keep looking at the time?”

“There’s something quick I want to do before dinner.”

“What kind of something?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

He glanced at me briefly, then returned his attention to the road. “You’ll like it.”

“That’s also not reassuring.”

We drove another thirty seconds in silence before a new thought occurred to me.

I turned toward him. “Are you taking me up a mountain to murder me?”

Liam smiled wryly. “No.”

“That was a very quick answer.”

“It’s an easy question.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I don’t need time to consider whether I’m planning to murder you.”

“That sounds defensive.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I’m not taking you up a mountain to murder you.”

“Okay but that does raise a follow up concern.”

“What concern?”

“You are taking me up a mountain.”

Liam’s mouth twitched again. “Yes.”

I nodded slowly. “That is exactly how every true-crime podcast begins.”

He shook his head slightly. “I promise you’re safe.”

“That is exactly what a murderer would say.”

Liam finally looked over at me. His expression held that quiet patience he seemed to reserve exclusively for me. I cracked a tiny grin so he could see I was mostly kidding.

“If I wanted to murder you,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t plan to do it during a public evening outing that begins with dinner reservations.”

I pursed my lips. “That is a solid logistical point.”

“Thank you.”

“But it does not eliminate the possibility.”

“I’m not going to murder you, Zoey.”

“Okay.” I paused. “Kidnapping remains on the table.”

He laughed then, and the sound seemed to surprise him as much as it did me.

We drove another minute before he checked the clock again, and his posture straightened.

“Good,” he said under his breath.

“Good what?”

“Timing.”

“Timing for what?”

“You’ll see.”

The road curved upward and the trees began to thicken on either side.

I watched the winding road ahead of us for a moment before looking back at him.

“You know,” I said thoughtfully, “if this is a murder situation, I do appreciate the scenic route.”

Liam shook his head again. “You’re going to like this.”

“That remains to be seen.”

But despite myself, curiosity had begun to creep in, and judging by the small smile Liam was trying not to show, he knew it.

The road narrowed as we climbed.

Trees pressed closer to the sidewalk and the view behind us began to open through gaps in the branches. The truck engine settled into a steady rhythm as Liam guided us through the last curve.

Then the road leveled out and widened into a small parking area. Liam pulled into a spot and shut off the engine. He got out of the truck and walked around the front to open my door.

He held out a hand to help me down.

I took it.

The evening air was cooler up here.

I looked around the mostly empty overlook. Stone walls ran along the edge of the mountain, old and sturdy, drawing the line between solid ground and the open drop beyond. Past them, the sky was beginning to change, the last of the daylight thinning into something softer and more deliberate. The whole place had the unsettling energy of somewhere a person might either have a life-changing realization or end up in a true-crime documentary.

I glanced back at Liam. “Is this where you murder me?”

He gave me a long look. “No.” His hand closed gently around mine. “Come on.”

We walked together toward the overlook.

The path curved slightly around a low stone monument before opening toward the edge of the mountain. The trees thinned as we approached the wall, and the horizon began to stretch wider with every step.

I could see water in the distance.

Lake George spread below us in long blue ribbons between dark ridges of forest.

Above the lake, the sky was changing slowly, the gold thinning into orange, then darkening into deep rose as the light settled lower. We stopped at the stone railing, the rough surface cool under my hand.

Liam checked his watch.

“You are extremely committed to whatever schedule you are running,” I said.

“Almost…”

“Almost what?”

He took my hand and guided me a few more steps along the overlook path. We rounded a small bend in the stone wall.

Liam looked up at the sky, then at the lake, “Now.”

I followed his gaze, and my breath caught in my throat.

The sun was just touching the horizon, turning the entire lake a molten gold. The water reflected the sky in wide glowing bands that stretched between the dark mountains. Clouds above the horizon caught the light and turned deep orange and crimson, pouring color across the entire sky. Every ridge and forested hill rolled away into the distance, fading into layers of purple and blue. The lake curved through it all in a long shining path.

“Oh,” I said softly, awestruck at the beauty. Then I sighed. “Well, what a way to go.”

Liam made a sound beside me.

I turned toward him. “You really picked a beautiful spot for murder.”

But he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking at me.

Completely focused.

My stomach did something very strange.

“You’re missing it,” I said.

His expression didn’t change. “I’m not.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I stepped closer and kissed him, just a soft press of my mouth against his.

When I pulled back, I said quietly, “Thank you.”

He smiled, and we turned back to the view. Neither of us spoke as the sun slipped slowly below the mountains. The sky deepened into darker reds and purples as the gold faded from the lake.

The wind moved softly across the overlook.

And we stood there together, hand in hand, watching the day end.

Dinner was loud and warm and full of too many small moments to keep track of.

Liam had ordered an enormous entrée that looked capable of feeding a family of six. He listened to everything I said with that intense attention of his, occasionally asking questions that proved he had been absorbing details I barely remembered sharing. At one point, he moved my water closer to me without interrupting the story I was telling.

It was extremely inconvenient behavior when I was trying really hard to remain emotionally reasonable about this man.

When we were done, Liam held the door open for me, and we stepped onto the sidewalk. The village had settled into the comfortable hum of a summer night.

“There’s an ice cream place just down the block,” he said. “Small place. Family owned. They make everything fresh every morning.”

I looked up at him. “Is that a sales pitch?”

“It’s the best ice cream around.”

“Well,” I said, “I never say no to ice cream.”

He smiled slightly.

“But can we drive?”

Liam blinked.

I pointed at my heels. “My feet are staging a formal protest.”

“Oh,” he said slowly. “I hope this doesn’t come across as creepy.”

That was a fascinating opening. “Proceed.”

“When I saw you were wearing heels,” he said carefully, “I grabbed your sandals on my way out of the restroom before we left the apartment.”

I stared at him.

He reached down and pulled one boot slightly forward, then took out one of my sandals.

My brain stopped working.

Before I could respond, he reached into the other boot and pulled out the second one.

“I put one in each boot,” he explained, holding them out to me as I continued staring.

“I remembered you complaining about your heels the other night during the… unfortunate incident.”

The unfortunate incident. The phrase nearly made me laugh, but my brain was still stuck on the sandals.

“You brought my shoes,” I said slowly.

“I thought you might want them.”

“You carried my shoes.”

“Yes.”

“Inside your boots.”

“Yes.”

I genuinely had no idea what to say. Because that was…

Incredibly thoughtful. Extremely Liam.

And very inconvenient for my long-term emotional stability.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said finally.

His face fell slightly. “You don’t want them.”

“Oh no,” I said quickly, already stepping out of the heels. “I want them very much.”

The relief in my feet was immediate and dramatic as I slipped into the sandals.

I closed my eyes briefly. “Sweet mercy.”

Liam chuckled as he scooped up my heels and walked over to the truck, setting them in the back. “Better?”

“Infinitely.”

He offered his hand. “Ready for ice cream?”

I intertwined my fingers with his. “Lead the way.”

The air had cooled, and faint sounds carried across the lake. A few porch lights glowed in the distance, and somewhere down the block someone laughed loudly.

Above us the sky stretched wide and clear, a myriad of stars scattered across it.

I tilted my head back to look. “Wow. You don’t see them this clearly in Albany.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

We kept walking, his hand large and warm around mine. My thumb brushed against the side of his hand without me entirely meaning to do it.

He tightened his grip slightly.

Ugh. I was absolutely catching feelings. It was becoming increasingly difficult to deny.

It probably should have been alarming, but as I walked down a quiet Adirondack street in my comfy sandals with Liam Beltane holding my hand under a sky full of stars, it mostly just felt…

Really good.

Chapter 25

Liam

The building looked like a dentist’s office, which seemed appropriate because every instinct in my body insisted that walking inside was going to hurt.

I sat in my truck for another minute anyway.

The card Connor had handed me at the bar rested on the center console. I had already read it three times. The letters had not changed.

Shifter Support Group

Tuesdays

7:00 PM

The clock on my dashboard read 6:58. I kept my hands still on the steering wheel and told myself that if I stayed in the truck another two minutes, it would count as trying. I’d have made an effort. After that I could leave, head back to the lodge, and return to the system of routines that had kept my life contained for years, that I’d managed so carefully that being alone had started to feel interchangeable with being safe.

Beside me, Zoey sat with one knee pulled slightly toward her chest, scrolling through something on her phone.

She had insisted on coming.

“I’m not going inside,” she had said on the drive over. “But I can sit in the car and provide moral support. Or sarcastic commentary. Whichever proves more useful.”

Now, she glanced up from her screen and studied my face. “You look like you’re about to be executed.”

“I’m considering leaving.”

“That seems premature.”

“I’ve technically already arrived.”

“Liam, this is not how bravery works,” she said matter-of-factly, calmly. Not pushing, just present.

I looked at the small building across the parking lot, its windows glowing a soft yellow against the dark. People moved inside, talking. The whole place carried the easy warmth of something shared. My chest constricted slightly.

Zoey followed my gaze. “That’s the place.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You don’t have to solve anything tonight.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You just have to walk in.”

I kept staring at the building. “I’ve avoided rooms like that for a long time.”

Zoey reached across the center console to place her hand over mine on the steering wheel. Her hand was warm, her touch soothing.

“You tracked a missing child through the woods.”

I sighed. “That was different.”

“You fought off feral dogs.”

“That was also different.”

“You drove up a mountain and delivered a perfect sunset.”

“That required timing.”

She squeezed my hand again. “All this requires is walking through a door.”

I exhaled slowly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’m extremely persuasive.”

She leaned back in her seat and glanced toward the row of small shops down the street. “I’m going to walk down to that tech store while you’re in there.”

She brushed her thumb over my knuckles, then let go of my hand. Picking up the card, she handed it to me. “You’ve got this.”

The confidence in her voice landed deep in my chest.

Not pressure.

Belief.

That was far more uncomfortable.

I took the card.

Zoey opened her door and got out. “Hey.”

I looked at her.

“You’re brave, Liam.” She said it casually, then shut the door and walked to the tech shop.

I sat there, staring at the card. Taking a deep breath, I got out of the truck. As I walked, I noticed everything. The crunch of gravel under my boots. The smell of pine and flowers. The soft click of the door when I opened it.

Inside, the building smelled faintly of coffee and old carpet. A folding sign stood in the hallway.

SHIFTER GROUP. ROOM B.

The door was partially open, and voices drifted out from inside. I paused just outside the doorway. The urge to leave rose quickly and sharply in my chest. I hadn’t walked into a room full of shifters in a very long time. Not since I left the pack. Not since I decided I would build a life somewhere quieter, safer, more controlled. For a moment, I stood there and listened. Someone laughed. It was an easy sound. Not threatening or demanding. People were just talking. Shaking off my hesitation, I pushed the door open.

The room held a circle of folding chairs, with about a dozen people scattered around. A woman with dark hair and glasses sat at the front, holding a notebook. She looked up when I entered and gave a small welcoming nod.

“Come on in.”

Every head in the room turned briefly toward me.

The instinct to assess the room arrived immediately. It was habit.

Positions. Movement. Threat levels.

There were none.

Just shifters. Different kinds of shifters.

A bear shifter sat up front, arms folded across a massive chest. A fox shifter leaned sideways in her chair, one leg tucked under her. In the center, two wolf shifters were talking softly.

And Connor.

When he spotted me, his eyebrows rose in recognition. He grinned and waved me over. I walked across the room and sat in the empty chair beside him.

“You came,” he said.

“I did.”

Connor leaned back in his chair. “That’s how this works. All you have to do is show up and be willing to learn.”

The woman at the front of the room clapped her hands softly.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s get started. My name is Mira. For anyone new here, this group is a place for shifters to talk about things that are harder to manage on our own.”

Her gaze moved around the circle briefly before landing on me.

“No pressure to speak if you’re new,” she added. “You can just listen.”

I inclined my head. That felt manageable.

Mira gestured toward the man sitting beside her. “Why don’t we start with check-ins?”

The man cleared his throat. “Name’s Dwayne. Bear shifter.”

Several people nodded.

“I’ve been working on the anger management stuff we talked about last week,” he said. “Turns out you can’t just shift and punch a tree every time someone annoys you.”

A few people laughed.

Dwayne rubbed the back of his neck. “My wife says she appreciates the effort.”

“That’s progress,” Mira said.

The conversation moved around the circle.

Each person spoke for a few minutes, about small things, big things.

A fox shifter talked about sensory overload in crowded places. A wolf shifter admitted he had been avoiding phone calls because the stress triggered his shift response. Another woman described the struggle of managing instincts when her human coworkers didn’t understand what she was dealing with.

I listened, and recognition slowly settled inside me.

The patterns in their stories felt familiar—too familiar.

The way they described the constant vigilance. The urge to check things repeatedly. The need to control every variable in the environment so nothing could go wrong.

Connor eventually spoke. “Connor,” he said simply. “Wolf.”

Several people greeted him by name.

“I’m still working on the control stuff,” he said. “Trying to stop assuming every problem is mine to fix.”

A few people nodded knowingly.

Connor leaned back in his chair. “Turns out hyper-responsibility makes relationships… complicated.”

That word sat in my chest.

Complicated.

My attention drifted briefly to the memory of Zoey standing in her doorway, her face calm but firm while she told me she needed space.

Mira’s gaze shifted toward me. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

The room grew quiet.

The instinct to say nothing remained strong, but something about the calm patience in the room made it easier to breathe.

“My name is Liam,” I said finally. “Wolf.”

Several heads nodded.

“How long since you’ve been around other shifters?” Mira asked gently.

“Years.”

“Welcome.”

The simplicity of the word affected me more than I’d expected.

I shifted slightly in my chair. “I mostly live around humans now.”

“And how is that going?”

I considered the question. “It’s… efficient.”

Connor snorted, and a few people smiled.

Mira tilted her head slightly. “Efficient can mean many things.”

I rested my hands together. “I manage things carefully,” I said.

“What kinds of things?”

“Everything.”

When the room remained quiet, I continued before I could stop myself. “I check doors. Windows. Perimeters. Systems. I keep track of schedules. Supplies. Safety risks. It keeps people safe.”

Mira nodded slowly. “And when you can’t control those things?”

I hesitated. “That is… difficult.”

Connor leaned slightly closer. “You should see him at the lodge,” he said to the group. “Everything runs perfectly.”

“That sounds exhausting,” the fox shifter said gently.

I frowned slightly. “It works.”

“Control can be helpful,” Mira said, folding her hands in her lap. “Until it starts controlling you.”

The words hung in the air.

Quiet.

Uncomfortable.

Because they felt true.

I stared at the floor. “I think I may have crossed that line.”

No one reacted with surprise. No one laughed.

Connor simply nodded once beside me. “Welcome to the club,” he said.

Something strange happened then.

The tension in my chest eased. It didn’t disappear, but it was lighter. For the first time in a very long time, the things that had always felt like personal failures didn’t seem unusual in this room.

They were simply problems.

Problems other people understood.

Problems that could be talked about. Worked on. Managed.

Mira smiled gently. “You’re not alone here, Liam.”

And for the first time since I left the pack, that possibility felt real.

The meeting ended slowly. People lingered, talking to each other while Mira packed up her notebook and stacked a few empty coffee cups near the door. The room had become lighter than when I first walked in.

Connor stood and stretched beside me. “Well, you survived.”

“Barely.”

“You talked.”

“That was unexpected.”

Connor grinned. “That’s usually how it goes.”

People filtered out of the room one by one. The bear shifter clapped Connor on the shoulder on his way out. The fox shifter waved at both of us before disappearing into the hallway.

I stood up. “Connor.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a minute?”

He studied my expression, then nodded. “Sure.”

We stepped outside into the cool evening. The parking lot lights cast soft yellow circles across the ground.

Connor leaned back against the side of the building. “What’s up?”

I hesitated briefly. “You mentioned something at the bar the other night.”

Connor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I mentioned several things.”

“The mate thing.”

The humor in his eyes softened. “Oh.”

I rested my hands on my hips and looked out toward the road. “You said it sounded like she might be my fated mate.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Connor folded his arms loosely. “Most shifters grow up learning about it. Pack culture, traditions, all that.”

I exhaled slowly. “Can you explain it to me? Refresh my memory?”

Connor looked out across the parking lot. “A fated mate is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes two people meet and something in the bond between them… recognizes the other.”

“Recognizes?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged slightly. “You feel pulled toward them. Protective. Focused. Your instincts get louder around them.”

My jaw clenched.

Connor watched me carefully. “You start thinking about them constantly. Their safety matters more than anything. Their happiness matters more than anything.”

My stomach twisted.

Connor continued. “The connection can be intense. Sometimes overwhelming.”

“That sounds accurate.”

“Yeah.”

I looked down at the ground. “How would someone know for sure?”

Connor gave a short laugh. “If you’re asking the question…” He tilted his head slightly. “You probably already know.”

Silence settled between us.

I thought about Zoey.

The way my entire body reacted when she walked into a room.

The way every instinct in me tracked her movement, her safety, her comfort.

The way the idea of losing her had felt unbearable.

Connor spoke again. “There’s another part to it.”

I looked back at him. “What?”

He hesitated slightly before continuing. “If both people choose it, the bond can be completed.”

“How?”

Connor held my gaze. “With a claiming bite.”

The words hung between us.

“You bite her,” he said quietly. “During. It seals the connection. Locks it into place.”

“And then?”

“You feel it click.” The intensity in his tone left no room for misunderstanding. “You’ll know.”

I looked out toward the dark road again. The idea settled heavily in my mind.

“I would never push that on her,” I said.

Connor nodded immediately. “You shouldn’t.”

“I want her to choose everything freely.”

“That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “She deserves to know what I think is happening.”

Connor gave a small shrug. “Then you should tell her.”

“I will.”

Connor pushed away from the wall and pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked the screen and held it out to me. “Put your number in. I’ll text you.”

I did.

“If you ever have questions,” he said, “call me. Text me. We can grab a drink or something.”

“Thank you.”

Connor smiled. “Welcome back to shifter culture.”

I shook his hand, then headed back to my truck. Zoey was leaning against the front bumper, arms folded loosely across her chest.

The streetlight behind her made her blue hair glow.

I stopped in my tracks because she looked…

Stunning. Effortlessly beautiful.

Her very presence made the rest of the world go quiet.

When she saw me, she straightened and pushed away from the truck. “Well? Did you survive group therapy?”

I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms, my lips finding hers. Her hands slid up around my shoulders immediately, and the kiss deepened.

When we pulled apart, she studied my face carefully. “I take it that it went well.”

“It helped.”

“Good.”

We climbed into the truck.

When Zoey had buckled her seatbelt, she angled her body toward me. “So, did you make a new friend?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “I knew it.”

“I talked to Connor for a bit afterward.”

“Excellent.” She leaned back comfortably in her seat. “I cannot wait to hear about therapy,” she said. “Share whatever you want to share.”

I started the engine. “I learned a lot tonight.”

“Good.”

“And Connor explained something to me.”

Zoey frowned at me. “What?”

“Something called a fated mate bond.”

Her expression shifted slightly. “That sounds intense.”

“It is.” I explained it carefully, told her about the instincts, the connection, the possibility of sealing the bond if both people chose it.

Zoey listened without interrupting, staring out the windshield. “Is that why we have this insane attraction and chemistry?” she asked when I stopped talking.

“No.”

She looked over at me.

“That’s all you.”

She laughed softly. “Good.”

I studied her carefully. “You’re not freaked out?”

Zoey shrugged slightly. “No.”

“That surprises me.”

She turned fully toward me now. “I trust you.”

The words landed with quiet certainty.

“We would make every decision together,” she said. “Nothing gets rushed.”

“Of course.”

“And honestly,” she added thoughtfully, “the fact that you immediately said you wouldn’t push anything kind of confirms that I’m not scared.”

I sat there, watching her beautiful face. “You’re taking this very calmly.”

Zoey smiled slightly. “That’s weird for me.” Then she reached across the center console and took my hand. “But it feels right.”

Chapter 26

Zoey

Five Months Later

My living room had been overtaken by a board game that involved an alarming number of tiny wooden sheep.

I sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the game board while Bobbi leaned forward on her elbows, studying the situation with the concentration of a general planning a campaign.

Liam occupied the couch behind me.

Markie occupied Liam. Specifically, Markie had settled onto Liam’s shoulder with the full authority of someone who believed that was his natural place in the world.

Every few minutes, the bird leaned down and inspected the board, then offered commentary.

“BAD MOVE.”

Bobbi ignored him. “I’m thinking,” she said.

“You’ve been thinking for a long time,” I said.

“I’m strategizing.”

“You moved one sheep.”

“That sheep was important.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Liam. He didn’t say a word, but he studied the board with interest. His knee rested against my back, the contact so warm, steady, and familiar now that I barely noticed it unless I thought about it.

Which I was trying not to do.

Because tonight I had something to say to him.

And every time I remembered that fact, my stomach flipped uncomfortably.

Bobbi reached forward and moved another wooden piece. “There.”

“BAD MOVE,” Markie screeched.

Bobbi rolled her eyes at him. “You are not helping.”

“HELP.”

“You are judging.”

“JUDGE.”

Liam lightly scratched under Markie’s beak. “He’s giving constructive criticism.”

The bird puffed slightly with satisfaction.

Bobbi turned to Liam. “You’re on her team.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not supposed to help the other team.”

“I’m not helping.”

Markie leaned forward again. “BAD MOVE.”

Bobbi squinted at him. “You are clearly helping.”

Liam shrugged. “I can’t control him.”

“You absolutely can.”

“I cannot.”

Markie bobbed his head. “BAD DOG.”

Bobbi turned to me. “Why does he say that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Was Liam the bad dog?”

“Yes.”

Bobbi considered that, then she nodded. “That tracks.”

Liam laughed softly, the sound settling comfortably into the room. It always did that now.

Five months ago, I had still been cataloging every small interaction with him. Every touch. Every look. Now he was simply part of the room. Part of the routine.

That was highly suspicious.

Bobbi moved another sheep. I leaned forward and moved three. Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

Bobbi stared at the board with narrowed eyes. “Okay.” She leaned back slightly. “I see what you’re doing.”

Markie leaned down again. “BAD MOVE.”

Bobbi glared at him. “You’re biased.”

Liam scratched the side of Markie’s neck, and the bird leaned into it happily. The sight warmed my chest before I could stop it. Markie adored him.

Completely.

And Bobbi adored him too.

That had been obvious from the very first time Liam had patiently explained the rules of a card game to her for nearly twenty minutes while she interrupted every sentence with a question. He never rushed her. Never corrected her sharply. Never treated her as something inconvenient.

Bobbi suddenly turned around and looked at him. “Are you going to marry Zoey?”

My head snapped up. “What?”

Liam paused mid-scratch.

Markie tilted his head. “MARRY.”

Bobbi waited patiently.

Liam looked at me.

I looked at the board. “I’m focusing on sheep,” I said. “We are playing a game.”

“That was not an answer,” Bobbi said. “You didn’t say no.”

“Bobbi,” I hissed.

She turned back toward Liam. “Would you?”

Liam cleared his throat. “I care about Zoey very much.”

Bobbi narrowed her gaze. “That was also not an answer.”

Markie leaned forward. “MARRY.”

“Traitor,” I muttered.

Bobbi glanced at me and grinned. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you move pieces when it’s not your turn.”

I looked down. One of the sheep had somehow migrated halfway across the board. “That seems unrelated.”

Bobbi studied me carefully. “You’re jumpy.”

“I’m not jumpy.”

“You are. Why?”

“Because you’re interrogating us about marriage during a sheep game.”

She shrugged. “That’s normal.”

“That is not normal.”

She tilted her head. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Are you hiding something?”

“No.”

“Are you pregnant?”

Fuck me.

“Absolutely not.”

Markie leaned down. “BABY.”

I closed my eyes. “This bird is a menace.”

Bobbi ignored the bird and kept studying my face. “You’re definitely nervous.”

“I’m extremely calm.”

“You’re blinking a lot.”

“That is a biological necessity.”

She leaned closer to examine me. Liam laughed softly behind us. I turned and glared at him and the bird.

“We are playing a board game.”

Bobbi pointed at the board. “You just sacrificed four sheep.”

I looked down again. Apparently, I had. “That was tactical.”

“It was reckless.”

Markie nodded. “BAD MOVE.”

I leaned back and rubbed my forehead. Bobby flashed me a satisfied grin. She knew something was coming. Unfortunately, she was correct.

The door closed behind Bobbi and her mother, and the apartment settled into a quiet that felt almost startling after the chaos of game night.

Markie shuffled along the top of his enclosure and muttered to himself. “BAD MOVE.” He tucked his head under a wing.

Liam bent to gather the last of the game pieces from the rug. “I think she was winning.”

“She absolutely was.”

“You did sacrifice four sheep.”

I smiled despite myself. “That was tragic.”

He carried the box to the coffee table and began stacking the pieces neatly inside. His movements were calm and efficient. Familiar.

When he stood again, he moved into the kitchen without needing to ask where anything went. Plates into the sink. Cups rinsed. Dishwater running.

He had been doing that for months now.

Just stepping into the rhythm of my life as though he had always belonged there.

I leaned against the doorway and watched him.

His sleeves were pushed up slightly. His shoulders moved steadily while he rinsed a plate and set it into the rack.

Comfortable.

Safe.

The thought moved through me slowly and quietly like it had for a while now.

I loved him.

The thought coursed through me with a strange, calm certainty.

Five months ago, I would have panicked. I would have tried to dismantle it. Question it. Build a list of reasons why it was dangerous to love this man.

Now I just stood there, watching him wash dishes.

If I was being honest with myself, I would marry that man tonight.

Deeply suspicious behavior for someone with my history.

But the last five months had changed things.

Therapy had changed things.

Healing had changed things.

And Liam had changed things.

We were both still imperfect. Still figuring things out and working through habits that had taken years to build.

But we were growing.

Together.

Even my relationship with my mother had started to soften, which I would have bet money against six months ago. Liam was helping me enforce the boundaries that made the relationship with my mom even possible. He helped me regulate my nervous system just by being near. I’d never had that before.

Liam reached for another plate.

That was when I finally decided to stop thinking. I crossed the kitchen quietly.

When he made to put the plate in the rack, I took it from him and set it down on the counter instead, then I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Dishes can wait,” I murmured.

He didn’t move for a beat, then he leaned down and kissed me.

Slow.

Deep.

The kind of kiss that made the entire room fade out around us.

I slid my hands up to his shoulder as his arms tightened around me.

I loved feeling him against me. The warmth of him. The solid presence of him.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

The words escaped before I could overthink them.

“I love you, Liam.”

He pulled back slightly and looked down at me. His expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. He looked almost stunned. Then something even deeper moved through his face.

He cupped my cheek. “I love you too.”

His voice carried a weight I had never heard before.

“I’ve loved you for a long time.”

My throat tightened.

“More than anything,” he added.

Emotion surged through me.

He lifted me off the floor, and I wrapped my legs around his waist without even thinking about it. The living room blurred around us as our mouths found each other again. When we reached my bedroom, I pulled back slightly and pressed my forehead against his.

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

His fingers dug into my back. “What?”

“I know this might sound rushed.”

He waited quietly.

“But it’s not. I promise it’s not.” I took a breath. “I’ve talked to my therapist about it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

My heart was racing now, but the certainty remained. “I want you to claim me. Tonight.”

Every muscle in his body locked.

“I need it,” I continued softly. “I love you so much. I want to be yours forever.” I slid my hands up to his face. “I know that sounds intense, but I’m not scared. Not even a little.”

Emotion filled my chest so strongly it almost hurt.

“I already know,” I said quietly. “If you need time to think about it, I understand. But I don’t.”

He was staring down at me. Completely still.

Then something in his expression broke open, and a tear slipped quietly down his cheek.

“I don’t need time,” he said, his voice rough. He brushed the tear away quickly, then kissed my cheek, my forehead, my temple.

Only then did I realize tears were sliding down my cheeks.

He rested his forehead against mine. “Zoey, I have loved you with everything I am.” His arms tightened around me. “You changed my life. You made me brave enough to walk into rooms I avoided for years. You trusted me when I didn’t trust myself. I would spend every day of my life protecting what we have.”

His hand slid gently into my hair.

“You are my home.”

Emotion surged through me again.

Then his mouth found mine once more.

The kiss deepened slowly as he set me down on the bed. Our kisses turned sharper, hungrier, like the words we had just said had broken something open in both of us and neither of us wanted to put it back.

His hand slid up under my shirt, rougher against my skin, and my entire body answered at once. His mouth moved to my neck.

I shivered.

Every part of me felt awake.

He paused there for half a second, forehead resting against my shoulder like he was trying to hold on to one last piece of control. Then his hand tightened at my waist, and he kissed his way back up, slower this time, like he wanted to feel every reaction I gave him and keep all of it.

I slid my hands into his hair and pulled him back to me.

“Liam.”

The way his name came out changed something in him.

His head lifted. His face was open now in a way that almost undid me. Want. Love. The effort it was taking him not to rush me. The fact that he still would not move faster than I wanted, even now, even like this.

That tenderness made it all worse.

Better.

I reached for him again, needing him closer, and he came without hesitation, settling over me with a care that only made the heat between us harder to bear.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, we lost our clothing.

His hands moved over me with growing certainty. My back arched as he made a low sound against my skin that sent a sharp pulse through me.

I wanted all of him.

His mouth found my neck again, my breasts.

When he flicked his tongue over my nipple, I gasped. He groaned softly against my skin and moved over me, as desperate as I was. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

“Please.”

The word came out softer than I intended, but he heard everything in it—the want, the need, the love.

He pressed his forehead against mine again, like he needed one last second to steady himself before giving me what I was asking for. His hand slid into my hair as his other gripped my waist.

Every touch said he was paying attention. Every second said he knew exactly what this meant to me.

I had never felt safer wanting someone this much.

His hand came up to my face. “Tell me.”

I swallowed. “I’m here. I want this. I want you.”

The look that crossed his face nearly wrecked me.

Then he kissed me again, and this time there was no distance left in it. Only hunger. Only love. Only the hard, steady certainty of being wanted by someone who knew exactly how much I mattered.

I let myself have it.

I let myself pull him closer.

I let myself stop thinking.

By the time he thrust into me, I was shaking with need, shaking with the force of wanting and being wanted back with equal intensity.

I arched my back and moaned in sheer relief. He felt so damn good inside me.

Liam kept murmuring my name against my skin like it meant something sacred. I kept answering him because I had nothing left to hide.

His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Every thrust made me gasp as pleasure washed over me in waves. He took my hand, lacing our fingers together as my orgasm crashed over me.

Trembling from the force of it, I cried out and clenched around him. He stayed with me through it, his mouth at my throat, my shoulder, my cheek, saying my name over and over with an aching reverence that made everything feel bigger.

I touched his face. “Come here,” I said softly.

I let go of his hand and pushed gently at his shoulder until he understood. He went without resistance, rolling onto his back and bringing me with him in one smooth movement, his hands sliding to my waist to steady me as I rose over him.

His face changed when I settled there, a possessive streak flaring in his eyes.

I sat up slowly, giving him time to look at me, letting myself look at him. His hands stayed on my hips, firm and warm, but he didn’t move. He was letting me choose the pace now. Letting me take what I wanted from him the way he had just given me everything.

I put my hands on his chest and moved, keeping my eyes locked on his.

The sound he made was low and immediate. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat working hard.

His hands roamed up my stomach and to my breasts, squeezing lightly before they made their way back down and gripped my ass.

His gaze came back to me, heavy and direct, and I felt it everywhere. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Zoey,” he said, his voice rough and wrecked.

I leaned down and kissed him.

He answered with the same hungry devotion. The care with which he attended made me feel almost unbearably tender.

It also made me want to ruin what was left of his control.

I kissed his jaw, his mouth, his temples. My fingers slid into his hair and held there while I moved over him again, slower this time, watching what it did to him.

He opened his eyes fully then.

The look on his face nearly destroyed me.

Love. Want. Pride. Something possessive and helpless all at once.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

I shook my head once, already overwhelmed, and he gave a short, helpless laugh that was almost a groan when I rolled my hips again.

I grinned, loving that I could make him feel this way.

His hands slid up my back, then down again. Then, with a low sound that seemed to have been pulled out of him against his will, he pushed himself upright beneath me and braced his back against the headboard, bringing me with him so I was still wrapped around him.

The change in position brought us chest to chest, mouth to mouth. It let me feel the full strength of him while I moved in his lap.

His mouth found my chest when I leaned forward, his lips against my breast, his forehead pressing there briefly, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss me or just stay close enough to feel that I was real.

I cupped his face and made him look at me. “I love you,” I said as another orgasm built inside me.

His hands came up to hold me more fully, one spread wide at my back, the other at the side of my face, and for one suspended second we just looked at each other while my body kept moving with helpless urgency over his.

“Again,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “I love you.”

He shut his eyes for a second. “Mine,” he said, not harsh, not demanding. Full of awe. Full of feeling. “My girl. My heart. All of you.”

The words hit me so hard I nearly folded over him.

I kissed him and kept moving, faster now, desperate and aching and completely past the point of pretending I was in control of any of this.

He met me there at last.

Not taking over.

Joining me.

His hips lifted to meet mine with the same care and hunger that had been building in him all night, and the change in pace tore another cry from me. His name fell out of my mouth again and again. His hands held me exactly where I needed them, his mouth moving over whatever part of me he could reach, kissing, praising, half losing his mind under me and trying to give me everything anyway.

The pressure built fast. I clutched at his shoulders, and he knew immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

That was all it took.

The second orgasm hit harder than the first, dragging a helpless sound out of me as I came apart. He held me through it, one hand spread over my back, the other gripping my hip, his own control finally giving way as he followed me over the edge with my name breaking from him in a way I would remember for the rest of my life.

His arm tightened around my back. His other hand slid into my hair, steadying me, and when he tipped his forehead to mine again, his whole body felt different. More focused. More intent. Like every instinct in him had narrowed to this one moment.

“Zoey,” he said, rough now. “Look at me.”

I did.

His chest rose hard under my hands.

“If I do this, it will be real. Permanent. You’ll feel it.”

My pulse jumped.

I knew what he meant.

He kept his gaze locked on mine, giving me all the space in the world to stop him.

“I want it,” I whispered.

His hand tightened once at the back of my neck. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The word came out without hesitation.

Something in his face broke open completely after that. Love. Relief. Hunger. Devotion so intense it made my throat ache.

He kissed me deeply. Slowly. Like he wanted me to feel the choice in it.

Then his mouth moved to my throat.

He paused there, every part of him held taut.

And when he finally claimed me, the sensation tore through me so suddenly and so completely that I lost all sense of where my body ended and his began.

Pleasure hit first. Fierce and bright and impossible to contain. Then something warmer flooded in behind it, deeper and more complete than anything I had ever felt. It was him. Not just touch. Not just heat. Him, pouring through me in a way that made every nerve in my body light up at once.

My cry broke loose without warning.

The room vanished.

Everything vanished except the overwhelming rush of being wanted, chosen, held, known.

I came apart in his arms with a force that felt almost unreal, shaking so hard I could barely hold onto him. He did it for me, both arms around me now, keeping me close, mouth still at my throat, his body braced around mine as wave after wave moved through me.

“That’s it,” he said against my skin, wrecked and reverent at once. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

I could barely breathe.

Barely think.

All I could do was cling to him and feel.

His control finally gave way completely, and he came with my name breaking from him like a confession, like a prayer, like something he had been holding in his body for far too long.

I stayed wrapped around him, trembling, my face against his neck, his arms locked around me so tightly it felt like he was afraid to let even an inch of space return between us.

His mouth found my forehead, then my temple, then the place just beside my mouth.

“You okay?” he asked softly, though he sounded half gone himself.

I laughed shakily, stunned, and happier than I knew what to do with. “No. I think you just rewired my entire body.”

His laugh was muffled against my skin. “Good,” he said, pulling me even closer.

Epilogue

Liam

The cabin felt different with Zoey’s things in it.

It finally felt like a home.

Her books had taken over one wall in the living room and looked like a rainbow. Apparently, color was a system, and I had been overruled. Her mug with the chipped handle lived beside the sink. Markie’s travel perch sat by the window, currently unoccupied because he had spent the last twenty minutes screaming at Bobbi when she arrived, then demanded to be included on her walk to the main lodge. Zoey’s coat hung beside mine by the door. Her boots were lined up crooked. I had fixed them twice.

The place finally looked lived in.

It looked like ours.

I locked the back door, checked it once, then looked over and caught her watching me with that expression she used when she was deciding whether to tease me, or let me have my peace.

“You know, everyone coming to my birthday dinner would probably understand if a murderer somehow fought through your extremely thorough security measures,” she said.

“I don’t like to leave variables unchecked.”

“You don’t like to leave anything unchecked.”

“That’s also true.”

Her lips curved. She stepped closer and fixed my scarf where it had shifted under my coat collar, fingers quick and certain. She had gotten comfortable touching me in small, thoughtless ways over the last few months—straightening my shirt or tugging me by the sleeve. I especially liked it when she trailed her hand over my back when she passed. Every time it happened, something in me still lit up.

It hadn’t worn off.

Nothing about her had worn off.

“We really didn’t need a party,” she said.

I took her hand and opened the porch door for her. “We did.”

“We didn’t.”

“We absolutely did.”

She stepped out onto the front porch with me and pulled the door shut. The late afternoon had gone gold around the edges. The trees ringing Pine Hollow were half turned now. Leaves covered the ground in layers of copper, rust, and yellow. The lake beyond the main lodge was dark. Nearby, somebody had a woodstove going. The cold had sharpened over the last week, enough that Zoey had started stealing my heavier sweaters and saying they were temporarily borrowed.

Ahead of us, the path to the main building cut through the trees in a line I could walk blindfolded.

I tightened my hand around hers as we started down the path.

“You’re suspiciously cheerful,” she said.

“It’s your birthday.”

“That doesn’t explain why you look like you won the lottery.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you look pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Because you forced a birthday gathering on a woman who specifically said she didn’t require one?”

“I didn’t force anything. I organized.”

“Somehow, that makes it more sinister.”

I grinned.

“There it is,” she said. “That face. You’re unbearable.”

I leaned down and kissed her forehead, just because she was right there and I wanted to.

“No,” I said. “I’m right.”

She made a sound under her breath that meant she disagreed but was too cold to fight about it properly. “Birthdays weren’t really a big thing for me,” she said softly.

I looked at her.

She kept her attention on the path ahead. Leaves crunched under our boots.

“They always turned weird,” she said. “Or bad. My mom had a gift for making them about whatever crisis was happening with her that week. Or she’d promise things and then forget. Or there would be some dramatic emotional spiral and I’d spend half the day managing it.” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “By the time I got older, I mostly stopped trying. It felt easier to act like I didn’t care.”

The words landed hard inside me. Not because I hadn’t understood pieces of that already, but because I could hear the version of her that had learned to lower expectations before they could be taken from her.

I slowed our pace and brought her hand to my mouth. “That’s over.”

She glanced up at me.

“Birthdays will be different from now on,” I said. “No surprises that aren’t good ones. No emotional hostage situations. No one forgetting what the day is. You get fed properly. You get celebrated properly. That’s the arrangement.”

Her expression changed in that way it did when something reached deeper than she had prepared for. Softer around the edges. More vulnerable than she liked to leave visible for long.

“You say things like that very casually for someone restructuring my nervous system.”

“I’m very efficient.”

She huffed a laugh.

We came around the bend where the main building appeared through the trees. Pine Hollow sat warm and lit against the falling evening. The porch glowed. Music drifted faintly through the open door. Someone inside shouted, followed by laughter.

Zoey’s shoulders shifted, tension and anticipation both there.

I brushed my thumb over her knuckles. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said. Then, because she was Zoey, “Annoyingly.”

“That’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is for you.”

She looked at me and some of the nerves in her expression gave way to fond exasperation.

I loved that look more than I had language for.

I’d had people here before her. Nora. Pete. Even Mr. Harlan, who had somehow become a regular part of my life through the usual route of repeated irritation and eventual loyalty. They were mine in the way that mattered. Chosen. Relationships built over time.

But standing there with Zoey’s hand in mine, heading toward a room full of people who would cheer when they saw her, I felt the shape of it more fully than I ever had.

My pack.

Not the old kind, the one that had been ruled by fear or rank or silence.

Mine because I loved them. Mine because they stayed. Mine because she was walking into the center of it with me.

I had never felt so whole.

We stepped onto the porch and through the open door.

The main room lit up immediately.

“Hey!”

The shout came from three directions at once.

Zoey stopped short as everyone turned toward us and broke into cheers.

Nora was behind the bar, grinning like she had personally arranged the sunset. Pete raised both hands in triumph from the dartboard area. Mei clapped once, sharp and satisfied. Cris, Jamie, Morgan, and Alex were gathered around one of the long tables with drinks in hand, and all four of them looked delighted by Zoey’s discomfort. Mr. Harlan sat in an armchair near the fireplace with a mug and the expression of a man who would deny enjoying any of this if asked directly. Bobbi was crouched on the floor near the hearth with Markie.

Markie was wearing a tiny felt birthday hat balanced at a precarious angle.

Bobbi had a second hat in her lap and was apparently trying to convince him there should be more glitter involved.

Zoey slowly turned her head, looking from face to face.

The cheering got louder.

“Oh, absolutely not,” she said.

Morgan nearly folded over laughing. “That face means she loves it.”

“I do not,” Zoey said.

“You do,” Jamie called.

Alex lifted her glass. “You look hot and offended. It’s very on brand.”

Pete pointed dramatically toward the bar. “Birthday woman. I made you something.”

“That sentence has never once ended well,” Zoey said.

“It’s a cocktail,” he said. “Have some faith.”

“She doesn’t have that,” Cris said. “It’s one of her more charming defects.”

Bobbi spotted us at last and jumped up so fast Markie nearly lost his hat.

“Zoey!” she shouted. “Markie already had half a pretzel and one tiny crisis, but I handled it.”

“DOG,” Markie screeched when he saw me, which had everyone laughing.

Bobbi ran over and wrapped herself around Zoey’s side with the unselfconscious force of a child who had decided affection was happening. Zoey caught herself against me with her free hand, then automatically rested that same hand at the top of Bobbi’s back.

It was one of my favorite things about her. Care lived inside her even when she acted like it didn’t.

“Happy birthday,” Bobbi said.

“Thank you.”

“I told everyone you hate attention.”

“Doesn’t seem like your warning worked.”

“It was helpful context.”

Markie climbed onto the back of the nearest chair, puffed up his chest, and yelled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASS.”

Pete slapped the bar and laughed. He probably enjoyed Markie more than any of us.

Mr. Harlan shook his head and grinned into his mug. “Bird’s got timing.”

“Bird has range,” Pete said.

I took Zoey’s coat from her while Bobbi kept hold of her arm and towed her farther inside. She let it happen because she was outnumbered and because, whether she admitted it or not, she was already smiling.

I hung the coat and joined her near the dartboard.

Pete set a glass in front of her with theatrical seriousness. “This is called The Emergency Contact.”

Zoey stared at him.

He looked pleased. “Dark cherry. Bourbon. Orange. A little smoky. Mildly threatening.”

“That is excellent branding,” Alex said.

Zoey picked up the drink and eyed it. “This feels targeted.”

“Celebratory,” Pete corrected.

“Same thing,” she said, then took a sip.

Everyone watched her.

Her eyes closed for one second.

“There it is,” Pete said. “That’s the face.”

She opened them again and pointed at him. “Do not get smug. I don’t want to encourage you.”

“It’s good,” Nora said to the room. “He’s been polishing the concept for two weeks. Based it off a traditional old-fashioned.”

I stepped up behind Zoey and rested my hand at her waist. She leaned back into me.

Darts started again two minutes later. Apparently, nothing brought people together like the chance to insult each other competitively. Bobbi demanded to keep score even though her math was openly biased. Markie shouted “DOG” every time I threw. Pete declared that he was leaving if I won. Zoey stood with her birthday drink in one hand, fully on form now, and every time she laughed, I felt the same warm pull through my chest that hadn’t let up since I first met her.

At one point, she tilted her head back against my shoulder and said, quietly enough that no one else heard, “This is a lot.”

I slid my arm around her middle. “Yes,” I said.

She turned slightly, just enough to look at me.

“But,” I added, “you’re doing great.”

Her mouth twitched. “That is a ridiculous thing to say to someone who is doing nothing but standing here.”

“Yes,” I said. “And yet.”

She looked at me seriously, then. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

I kissed her forehead.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her cardigan.

I felt her go still for half a second before she pulled it out.

Her expression changed the moment she saw the screen. Just a tiny pause in her whole body that told me exactly who it was before I ever saw the name.

Mom.

Zoey looked at the phone for a second like she was deciding whether this birthday was allowed to remain peaceful. Then she opened the message.

I stayed quiet and kept my arm around her.

Her eyes moved once across the screen.

Then again, slower.

Surprise came over her first, then caution. Then a strange softness I didn’t know how to read.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

She let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, if laughter had edges.

“My mother got a job,” she said.

I looked at her.

“She says it pays well.” Zoey’s gaze dropped back to the phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen. “She thanked me for all my support over the years. And that she can take it from here.”

For a second, the noise in the room seemed to pull back around us.

Zoey read the message one more time. Her face did something small and complicated. Relief, maybe. Grief. Suspicion. Hope. I didn’t try to sort it for her.

I kissed her temple. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It is.”

Her mouth curved, but only a little.

“I know.”

She stared at the screen for one more beat, then typed something quickly and locked her phone.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Congratulations,” she said. “And thank you.”

I nodded.

That seemed right.

She looked around us.

Bobbi trying to steal Jamie’s darts.

Nora taking away Pete’s lighter before he could overcommit to the smoky garnish demonstration.

Mr. Harlan pretending not to laugh while Markie screamed “WEAK FORM!” at everyone in turn.

Her friends from the beginning of all this, loud and alive and still here.

She looked at all of it.

And when she looked back at me again, something in her face had gone open and quiet in a way I would always answer if she offered it.

“You were right,” she said.

“I know.”

“I hate that.”

I brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “No, you don’t.”

She took another sip of her drink and settled more firmly against me while everyone kept moving around us.

Outside, the leaves kept falling.

Inside, her party went on without crisis, without damage, without anyone asking her to hold the whole thing together.

She didn’t have to manage a single part of it.

She only had to be there.

And when she reached back and found my hand without even looking for it, I thought that maybe this was my favorite version of forever.

About the Author

Roxie Ray is passionate about crafting unforgettable Paranormal and Alien Romance. She weaves steamy, heart-pounding stories filled with captivating characters, sizzling chemistry, and plots that keep you hooked from start to finish. Pouring her love for the genre into every page, aiming to deliver the perfect blend of heat and storytelling magic.

Stay updated on the latest releases and dive into the worlds she creates by visiting specialfictionbooks.com

MORE BY ROXIE RAY

STANDALONE BOOKS

Cursed Bonds

Reclaimed

The Alpha and The Baker

The Cuddle Clause

Have a Bear-y Little Christmas

Love in the Lesson Plan

Swipe Right on Fate

Cursed with Benefits

My Guide Dog is a Wolf Shifter

Accidentally Accurate

My Emergency Contact is a Wolf Shifter

WOLF SHIFTERS

Breaking Pack Rules

Book 1: The Teacher’s Forbidden Protector

Book 2: Claiming the Wolf Daddy

Book 3: Destined for the Wolf Daddy

Fated to Royalty

Book 1: The Alpha’s Fated Encounter

Book 2: Fated to Her Alpha Protector

Book 3: Fated to The Alpha Defender

Rejected Riders

Falling for the Enemy Alpha

Forbidden Biker Wolf

Royals of Presley Acres

Book 1: The Wolf Prince

Book 2: The Wolf Prince’s Fate

Book 3: The Wolf Prince’s Mate

The Healer and The Wolf

Part One

Part Two

DRAGON SHIFTERS

Black Claw Dragons

Her Dragon Daddy

Her Dragon Protector

Her Dragon Lover

Her Dragon Hero

Her Dragon Destiny

Her Dragon Rebel

Bluewater Coast Dragons

The Dragon’s Tattoo

The Dragon’s Chance

The Dragon’s Second Chance

Dragon Rebels

Her Dragon Daddy Boss

Claimed by the Dragon

Dragon Daddy Protector

ALIENS

Intergalactic Exchange Program

Maid for an Alien Prince

Nurse for an Alien Warrior

Teacher for an Alien Doctor

Assistant for an Alien Ruler

Actress for an Alien Prince

Nanny for an Alien Commander

Queen for an Alien Bodyguard

Servant for an Alien Leader

Lunarian Warriors

Abducted by the Warrior Prince

Rescued by the Warrior Lord

Saved by the Warrior Hero

Her Healing Warrior

Her Secret Champion

Her Fearless Warrior

Her Fated King

Warriors of Valkred

Her Alien Warrior Prince

Stolen by the Cursed Alien

The Warrior’s Bride

Thoherian Barbarians

O’Rin the Protector

N’ashtar the Alien Prince

BUNDLES

Black Claw Dragons

Bluewater Coast Dragons

Married to the Devil

Secret Shifters Next Door

Lunarian Warriors

Intergalactic Exchange Program

Warriors of Valkred

Undeniably his Mate

A Gentle Kind of Magic

Entangled by Fate

CO-AUTHOR

WITH LINDSEY DEVIN

Baton Rouge Vampire

Taken by the Vampire King

Stolen by the Vampire King

Made by the Vampire King

Baton Rouge Vampire (Bundled)

Vampires of Baton Rouge

Ruthless Prince

Ruthless Enforcer

Ruthless Warrior

Ruthless Royalty

Vampires of Baton Rouge (Bundled)

Nobody Told Me Dragons use Libraries

WITH VIOLA KING

Moon Valley Shifters

Book 1: Denying My Crescent Alpha

Book 2: Finding His Crescent Fate

Book 3: Marked by Her Crescent Alpha

Book 4: Protected by Her Crescent Alpha

WITH SKYE WILSON

Queen of the Pack

Married to the Devil

Book 1: Lucifer’s Bride

Book 2: Lucifer’s Queen

Book 3: Lucifer’s Fate

WITH SADIE SEARS

The Alpha’s Second Chance Mate

Trigger Warnings

Please take care of yourself and step away if anything within becomes overwhelming. This paranormal romantic comedy contains discussions and depictions of:

- Explicit sexual content between consenting adults (two on-page scenes)

- Alcohol consumption and recreational drinking (opening chapters; played for comedy but not minimized)

- Brief hospitalization and medical setting (concussion, sprained ankle; non-life-threatening)

- Loss of consciousness (heroine; depicted on-page)

- Emotionally enmeshed and financially manipulative parent relationship (heroine’s mother; depicted on-page including financial coercion)

- Childhood parentification (heroine; recounted)

- Avoidant attachment and emotional self-isolation (heroine; central to her arc, resolved on-page)

- Compulsive checking and counting behaviors (hero; depicted as a coping mechanism, not pathologized)

- Controlling family dynamic and pack-enforced compliance (hero’s backstory; recounted)

- Physical discipline and resulting scarring (hero; received from his alpha father for refusing to punish a subordinate; recounted, scars referenced on-page)

- Break-in and intruder at heroine’s apartment (non-violent; resolved quickly)

- Fated mate bond and claiming bite (fully consensual; disclosed by hero to heroine before any action is taken; both characters discuss and agree)

- Therapy depicted positively and matter-of-factly (both main characters attend; a child character also attends and discusses it openly)

- Grief-adjacent emotional shutdown and self-reliance as a trauma response

Special Fiction Books proudly publishes cliterature—meticulously crafted, outlined, written, edited, and beta-read by real humans (and maybe the occasional cryptid). Fueled by a passion for morally grey characters, swoon-worthy paranormal heroes, and stories with just the right amount of spice, we bring to life the tales that demand to be told.

As long as AI can’t brew the perfect coffee and deliver it while we’re lost in a book, we’ll keep doing what we do best—delivering unforgettable stories straight from the human (and slightly mythical) heart.