Guarding What’s Mine (Men of Maddox Security #3)

Chapter 20

Aubree

I wake up to the soft golden light creeping through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust motes floating around the bedroom. It’s been about three days since Boone and I arrived at this off-the-grid cabin, and somehow, I’ve managed to settle into a pattern of existence that feels both strangely peaceful and unbearably suffocating at the same time.

The first morning, I barely slept, terrified of every creak and rustle in the woods. I spent half the night replaying the threats in my mind, thinking of how everything in my life had been turned upside down. But Boone insisted that a routine would help, that structure can stave off the anxiety. In some ways, he’s right. Every day has been almost identical. It’s a little after six in the morning, and I already know how most of the day will unfold.

I push back the covers, slide out of bed, and stretch. The small cabin bedroom is modest—just a narrow closet, a dresser, and a bed. I can hear Boone in the living room; he’s a morning person, or at least, he’s up at dawn out of habit. I shuffle into the adjoining bathroom, do a quick wash, tie my hair back in a loose ponytail, and change into some leggings and a hoodie. The air in the cabin has a permanent chill to it this early, and the old wooden floors don’t help.

When I emerge into the living area, Boone is perched by the window, sipping a mug of coffee. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. The rays of sunlight catch the angles of his face, highlighting that strong jaw and the subtle thickness of his beard. Even though he’s only been here a few days, the cabin life already looks good on him. Then again, I suspect Boone could adapt to almost any environment. There’s a contained energy in him that reminds me of a coiled spring.

He glances over as I step in. “Morning,” he says in that deep voice.

“Morning,” I reply, stifling a yawn.

I gather what I need for coffee, mindful of how limited our supplies are. We haven’t exactly ventured out much. Aside from the small run Boone did to a grocery store two towns over, we’ve been living off a combination of what was already stocked here—canned goods and some dry staples—and the fresh ingredients he managed to grab. Yesterday, I taught him how to cook a simple pasta dish. It was adorable how focused he became, like he was on a secret mission. I’d have teased him more if I wasn’t so grateful for the distraction.

He stands when he sees me fiddling with the coffee maker. “I got it,” he says, coming over to take the kettle from my hands.

I let him step in, thankful of the way he takes care of me. Boone keeps everything in the cabin meticulously organized. He calls it ‘operational efficiency.’ I guess when your job is security, the concept of leaving anything to chance doesn’t exist.

We don’t talk much as we finish our coffee. Mornings are quiet—our unspoken agreement to let each other wake up before diving into heavier topics like who might be trying to kill me. Or how we’re going to keep my pizza shop afloat when I’m here in the middle of nowhere.

Eventually, he sets his mug down with a soft thud. “Ready for the jog?”

I force a small smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jogging is Boone’s idea, of course, a leftover from his military days. The first time he suggested it, I nearly laughed in his face—running hasn’t ever been my favorite activity. But he insisted it’d help me blow off steam, and to my surprise, it kind of does. There’s something about the repetitive pounding of my feet on the dirt path, the crisp morning air filling my lungs, that momentarily clears my mind.

We head outside, the grass still wet with dew. I wait while Boone locks the cabin door behind us. Then we set off at a light pace around the property. The route is basically a big loop circling the lake, passing through a patch of forest, and finally curving back to the cabin’s gravel driveway.

We run in silence, just the sound of our breaths mingling with the crunch of gravel underfoot. Sometimes, I catch myself glancing at Boone’s profile. Strong shoulders, steady stride. He’s always scanning the perimeter, even as we jog, eyes shifting left and right, searching for threats. It reminds me how seriously he takes his job—and how thoroughly he’s put distance between us on a personal level.

Over the last few days, we’ve shared the same small space, cooked together, laughed a few times, and yet…he hasn’t made another move. No more kisses, no more lingering touches. Part of me wants to blame the tension we’re under, but the truth is, I can see it in his eyes—he’s purposefully holding back. And that stings more than I care to admit.

By the time we finish our circuit, my legs are burning and I’m gasping for air. Boone hardly seems winded, which is borderline hot as hell. He offers me a bottle of water from the porch, and I take it, murmuring thanks as I gulp it down.

We head inside, and Boone immediately checks his phone, scanning for any updates from Maddox Security. Most of the time, there’s nothing new. I can tell he’s frustrated by the lack of progress—though he tries to hide it from me, I’ve learned to read him at least a little.

I linger near the kitchen counter, feeling uncertain. “I’m going to do some meal prep,” I say, my voice sounding oddly loud in the silent cabin. “We’ve still got those chicken breasts to use up.”

“Sure,” Boone replies, sounding distracted. His gaze is on the phone screen, brow furrowed.

I try not to let his distance bother me, but it does. I tell myself it’s for the best—he’s supposed to be protecting me, not falling into bed with me. But I can’t deny the ache of disappointment. There’s a gnawing sense of loneliness, like I’m stuck in limbo, waiting for my life to begin again.

By the time evening rolls around, I can’t stand being inside another moment. The weather’s lovely—clear skies, mild temperature, and a faint breeze that ruffles the tall pines surrounding the lake. An idea strikes me, and I spring into action.

I rummage through the kitchen cupboards until I find some pasta, a can of tomato sauce, and a hunk of mozzarella I’d been saving. And chicken. I’ll make a nice chicken parmigiana. Perfect. I busy myself boiling water, chopping onions, and adding spices. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the small space, lending it a cozy warmth that momentarily makes me forget all the ugliness that drove me here.

Boone looks up from where he’s checking the locks on the windows. “You cooking dinner?”

I offer him a playful smile, something I haven’t felt in a while. “Yeah. But we’re not eating in here tonight.”

He arches a brow. “We’re not?”

“Uh-uh.” I glance out the window. “I thought maybe we could, I don’t know, eat under the stars. Since it’s such a nice evening.”

His gaze flits to the window, and for a second, I catch a flash of longing in his eyes. Maybe he needs to break the cabin monotony too, but he won’t say it. He just nods. “All right. But keep it close to the cabin. I can’t protect you if we wander too far.”

“Deal,” I say quietly, turning back to stir the pasta.

I set the table just enough to gather two plates, utensils, and some napkins. I find an old quilt folded in the closet—faded blue and white squares, smelling faintly of mothballs. With a wrinkle of my nose, I spritz it with a little fabric spray I find in one of the drawers. Good enough.

The pasta sauce simmers for a while, filling the cabin with a mouthwatering aroma. I tear up the mozzarella into small bits and stir them in, letting them get all melty and gooey. My stomach rumbles in anticipation, and I can’t help but think about how this is the closest I’ve been to my old life in days—cooking for someone else, conjuring up a sense of normalcy through food.

Once everything’s ready, I load up two plates with chicken, steaming pasta, sauce, and cheese, set them on a tray along with two glasses of water (wine would be nice, but we’re fresh out), and carry it all outside. Boone follows me, carrying the folded quilt over his arm.

We pick a spot in the yard not too far from the cabin, a patch of soft grass under a wide expanse of sky. The sun is setting, painting the horizon in bright pinks and blood oranges, and the first stars are just beginning to glimmer. Boone spreads the quilt out, and I place the tray in the center.

He takes one last look around, like he’s scouting for threats. Then he sits down beside me, crossing his long legs. Even in the dimming light, I can see the weariness etched into his features—shadows under his eyes, a tightness around his mouth. Yet, when he looks at me, there’s a warmth too, a kindness I crave more than I want to admit.

“Smells good,” he says, picking up his fork.

“Thanks,” I reply, a small bubble of pride swelling in my chest. “It’s nothing fancy, just something quick I used to make at the shop. But I used to put pepperoni on it to make it pizza-esque.”

He laughs softly, and for a moment, I bask in the sound of his quiet laughter. We start eating, and I’m amazed at how just being outdoors, under the open sky, makes everything feel lighter. The lake is a dark mirror reflecting the twilight, and a gentle breeze rustles the pines.

We eat in companionable silence for a while, until the stars fully emerge overhead—tiny pinpricks of light in a vast indigo canvas. I can’t help but tilt my head back and gaze at them. The hush of the night is mesmerizing, and for a few seconds, I almost forget the danger that brought us here.

Boone sets his plate aside. “You grew up around here, didn’t you?” he asks softly.

“Sort of,” I say, drawing my legs up under me. “I was born in Nashville. My mom moved us to Saint Pierce for a while so she could be closer to my grandparents. But I always loved Tennessee. Couldn’t stay away for long. Plus, I was obsessed with pizza from, like, middle school onward, so I guess it was destiny to open my own place.”

He smiles in the faint light. “Obsessed with pizza, huh?”

“Completely.” A little chuckle escapes me. “You have no idea. In high school, my friends used to call me ‘Brie-cheese.’ Like Aubree, Bree, and well…”

He arches an eyebrow. “Brie-cheese?”

I groan, but I can’t help smiling at the memory. “Yeah. They said it was because I would literally put cheese on anything—sandwiches, salads, even scrambled eggs. Mozzarella was my favorite, but I wasn’t picky. If it was cheese, I wanted it.”

Boone rubs his chin, the scratch of his beard just audible. “So wait, how exactly did that translate to them calling you Brie-cheese?”

“I guess because whenever we ordered pizza, I’d always demand extra cheese,” I explain, rolling my eyes at my younger self. “It became a running joke. At some point, one of them said, ‘We don’t even need to ask what Aubree wants—just slap on the extra cheese. Brie-cheese. And it stuck.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that warms me from the inside. “All right, Brie-cheese, that’s pretty adorable.”

I bump his shoulder lightly with mine. “Hey, don’t get any ideas. I outgrew that nickname.”

He laughs softly. “I’ll keep that in mind. And also, thank you for doing this,” he says, gesturing to the quilt, the plates. “I needed it.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Me too. I’ve been going stir-crazy. There’s only so many games of cards I can play before I start feeling like a prisoner.”

He nods, a hint of regret clouding his expression. “I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you we’ll be out of here soon, but…”

“It’s okay,” I cut in. “I get it. We’re waiting on leads from Dean and the rest. I just…” I trail off, not sure how to articulate the frustration lodged in my chest.

He clears his throat. “We are. And trust me, they’re working around the clock. Dean sent me a text earlier. Said they’ve narrowed down a few suspects. Doesn’t mean they have proof, but they’re getting closer.”

My heart picks up at that. “So maybe in a few more days we’ll have answers?”

“Maybe,” he says, noncommittal but not discouraging. “We can hope.”

We both turn our eyes back to the night sky. My shoulders relax a little, comforted by the idea that maybe the end of this nightmare is in sight. Though I can’t deny a small pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Boone behind when it’s over. Or maybe he’ll be the one to vanish from my life, duty done. The idea sends an unexpected jolt of loneliness through me.

I shove the feeling down and force a smile instead. “Hey,” I say, nodding at the darkness around us. “You sure no bears are going to come snatch us up?”

He barks a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure. But if they do, I’ll wrestle them. No big deal.”

I grin, imagining him wrestling a bear. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

He shakes his head, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. In the dim light, he looks softer somehow, not quite so guarded. My heart flutters in a way that catches me off guard. It’s been days since he so much as brushed my hand without business in mind. I’d almost convinced myself that night at the cabin was a fluke. A moment of weakness on his part.

A breeze rustles the trees, carrying a faint whisper of pine needles. The temperature drops a notch, and I shiver. Boone notices immediately and slides his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. The warmth of his body is instant, and my eyes drift shut for a moment, relishing the contact.

My heart starts pounding at the memory of him. It’s so easy to imagine letting myself sink back into those feelings—except I know Boone’s made a conscious choice to keep distance. I feel it in the way he holds me, protective yet cautious.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

He hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t let go. And for a little while, we just sit there, side by side, watching the sky. Our half-eaten plates rest on the quilt, and I’m sure the pasta’s gone cold by now, but I don’t care. This moment feels almost dreamlike.

I’m not sure how much time passes before he shifts, easing me upright. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

I don’t want this moment to end. I blink up at him, my heart roaring in my ears and whisper, “Please kiss me.”