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

Chapter 26

Aubree

I can barely sleep at all. Between the fear and anger swirling in my head—someone broke into my shop, the shop I poured my entire heart into—and the guilt that I can’t do anything but hide away, my mind won’t shut down long enough to rest. Boone holds me while I toss and turn, and eventually, I drift into a fitful doze on his chest, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Morning arrives all too soon. A slice of sunlight slips through the curtains, and I open my eyes with a dull ache in my temples. I blink, momentarily disoriented by the rustic cabin walls before remembering exactly where I am and why. Then it all crashes back: the break-in at Slice Slice Baby, the possibility that it’s connected to whoever’s threatening me, and the helpless feeling gnawing at my stomach.

Boone’s already awake. I can tell by the way he shifts his arm, careful not to jostle me. My cheek’s pressed to his shoulder, and for a moment, I pretend like I’m still asleep, soaking up the comfort of having him near. But the weight in my chest is too heavy to ignore for long.

“Morning,” Boone says softly, his voice a gentle rumble.

I manage a weak smile, pushing myself upright. “Morning,” I reply, brushing hair away from my face. I look at him, and for a second, I see the concern etched in his features, that same guarded look he gets whenever he’s about to tell me I can’t do something.

It’s enough to snap my fragile calm. I swing my legs off the bed and stand, arms crossed, suddenly restless. “I hate this,” I mutter, pacing the small bedroom. “Just… waiting. Doing nothing while my shop gets trashed or robbed, or who knows what.”

Boone rises to a seated position, the mattress creaking beneath his weight. “I know,” he says gently, raking a hand through his short hair. “I hate it too.”

I let out a shaky sigh. “Then what are we doing here? Why can’t we just go back, talk to the cops, figure it out ourselves?”

“Because it’s too big a risk,” he reminds me, his tone patient. “Until we know who’s behind this, charging back in could expose you. Expose us.”

I open my mouth to argue but close it again, biting back the frustration. He’s right. Deep down, I know he is. If I just waltzed back into town, I could be walking into a trap. But that logic doesn’t make me feel any less powerless.

He stands, crosses the small distance, and places his hands on my shoulders. “I know you’re angry,” he says quietly. “I’m angry too. But let Dean and his team do their jobs.”

My anger softens at the concern in his eyes, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I just… it’s my life, you know? Everything I’ve worked for feels like it’s going up in flames.”

He nods, thumbs gently stroking the tops of my arms. “We’ll salvage it,” he promises. “But for now, come on.” He tilts his head toward the open door. “Let’s do something to keep our minds busy today. I can’t stand seeing you so torn up.”

I can’t help it; a tiny grin tugs at my lips. “Okay,” I say, exhaling. “What do you have in mind?”

About an hour later, we’re standing on the edge of the lake, the morning sun sparkling across the water’s surface. The cabin is tucked just behind a line of tall pines, the gentle breeze rustling their branches. Boone and I walk down a short dirt path that leads to a little sandy area—a makeshift shoreline, I guess. My feet sink into the soft ground, a welcome change from the rough, anxiety-laden floor of the cabin.

“You ever swim this early?” Boone asks, stripping off his T-shirt. I glance over and catch a glimpse of his muscled torso, the defined lines of his shoulders, and my cheeks warm. Even after everything we’ve shared—kisses, confessions—his body still makes my stomach flutter.

“Not usually,” I say, clearing my throat and averting my gaze in a playful attempt at nonchalance. “But I guess there’s a first time for everything.” With a shrug, I peel off my own T-shirt to reveal a bikini top I found buried in the cabin’s random storage closet. It’s not the best fit, but it’ll do.

Boone’s gaze flicks to me, and I catch the slight hitch in his breath before he tears his eyes away, focusing instead on the water. “Yeah,” he manages, “there is.”

I wade in first, the chilly lake water lapping at my ankles. A shiver ripples up my spine, but it’s refreshing compared to the sweltering swirl of my thoughts. Boone steps in next to me, and we inch forward until the water’s around our waists.

He whistles softly. “That’s cold.”

I can’t help but grin. “Big tough ex-military man can’t handle a little cold?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Watch it, or I’ll dunk you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” My tone is mock-serious, but there’s a spark of challenge in my eyes.

“Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. Suddenly, his hands grasp my waist, and before I can protest, he lifts me up and gently throws me into the deeper water. I shriek as I go under, the icy shock stealing my breath.

When I resurface, spluttering, I find him grinning like a mischievous kid. “You jerk!” I exclaim, wiping droplets from my face.

He swims closer, a contrite smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, sweetheart. But you dared me.”

“You are so going to pay for that.” I lunge, hooking an arm around his neck, and we both sink into the water, laughing as we splash around. The buoyancy and cold shock wash away the tension that’s been clinging to me like a second skin. For a few blissful moments, it’s just us—a couple of people playing in a lake, with no threats or break-ins or bad guys to worry about.

Eventually, we settle into a rhythm of gentle swimming, drifting away from the shore. The lake isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that we can’t see the far side clearly. Tall pines ring the perimeter, and I realize it’s kind of beautiful out here—like our own secluded paradise.

I’m treading water next to Boone, watching him tilt his head back to let the sun warm his face. There’s a bead of water trailing down his cheek, and I have the sudden urge to lean in and kiss it away. So I do. I slip closer, cupping the side of his face, pressing my lips to that spot just above his jaw. He stills, eyes opening, and the intensity in his gaze makes my heart flip.

“Hi,” he murmurs, voice low and husky.

“Hi,” I echo, feeling heat rush through me despite the cold water.

He skims a hand across my waist, pulling me closer until I can feel the steady thump of his heart against my chest. “You’re freezing,” he comments, though his fingertips are warm against my skin.

“So warm me up.” My challenge comes out breathy, half daring him, half pleading.

His laugh is soft as he dips his head and captures my mouth in a gentle kiss. My eyes drift shut, and I melt into him. The water cradles us, and for a moment, it feels like there’s nothing else in the world but his mouth on mine, his arms wrapped around me.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue past my parted lips, and I answer with a small moan. It’s a slow, unhurried dance, our bodies buoyed by the lake’s gentle current. Eventually, we break apart to catch our breath, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in the space between us.

“I could get used to this,” he admits softly, running his hands up and down my sides.

My chest tightens with a familiar mix of hope and fear. I want to believe that once this is over, we’ll find a way to keep this closeness, this odd paradise we’ve built in hiding. But a part of me can’t quite trust it. Not yet.

“Me too,” I whisper, my lips ghosting over his cheek. “But for now, I’ll settle for a fun day in the water.”

“Deal,” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth.

We spend the next few hours like kids on summer break—splashing, racing each other across the lake, diving for rocks on the lakebed (Boone wins that little competition, no surprise there). I even manage to climb onto his back and demand a piggyback ride through the shallow part, laughing so hard I nearly choke on the water.

We pause occasionally, drifting, letting the sun dry our arms and shoulders while the rest of us stays submerged. Boone cracks jokes about how this is probably the first time he’s gotten to have fun in a body of water that wasn’t crawling with potential threats or camouflage gear. I tease him that if he’s so used to dangerous waters, maybe I should stage a surprise attack, and he narrows his eyes at me like he’s considering the possibility.

It’s the most carefree I’ve felt in weeks. The tension in my neck and shoulders unwinds, replaced by a soft glow that I can only describe as peace—at least for a little while. My troubles aren’t gone, but they’re overshadowed by the simple pleasure of sunshine and Boone’s warm presence beside me.

Eventually, my stomach growls, and Boone laughs, patting his own abdomen. “We need food,” he declares, water droplets glistening on his chest. “I feel like I could eat a whole pizza.”

I grin. “Pizza, huh? You’re talking to the right girl, but I don’t think we have the supplies for a second pizza extravaganza. How about a couple of sandwiches back at the cabin?”

He pretends to think, tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm, you are the pizza guru, but I guess sandwiches will do… for now.”

We wade back to shore, my limbs heavy from the exertion of swimming. The midday sun beats down, drying our skin as we trudge up the short path to the cabin. Boone grabs two towels from the porch, handing one to me. I wrap it around my shoulders, grateful for the warmth.

Inside, we rummage through the fridge, pulling out cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and whatever condiments we can find. The cabin’s still quiet, the faint hum of the wind in the trees seeping through the windows.

Boone sets the bread on the counter. “So, I’m thinking a triple-decker.”

I roll my eyes. “You and your enormous appetite. Go for it. I’ll have a normal, two-slice sandwich, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, grinning. He glances at me, his gaze lingering on my damp hair and the beads of lake water still glistening on my arms. “You look… happy.”

I tilt my head, smiling despite myself. “I guess I am. You gave me a day of normalcy. Or as close to normal as we can get.”

He gives a shrug, carefully layering turkey and cheese onto his bread. “I just hate seeing you stressed out. You deserve a break from all the chaos.”

A warmth blossoms in my chest at his sincerity. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I needed it.”

After we finish assembling our sandwiches, we settle at the small table near the window. The sunlight filters through, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. We eat quietly at first, hunger taking precedence. I savor every bite, the crisp lettuce and tangy mustard reminding me of simpler days.

Halfway through our meal, Boone’s phone vibrates on the table, and my heart leaps into my throat. But when he checks it, he shakes his head. “Spam text,” he mutters, laying the phone face down again.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m dreading the next call,” I admit, picking at my crust. “Every ring feels like it could be more bad news.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. “Maybe it’ll be good news next time.”

The gentle pressure of his palm is reassuring, and I turn my hand over to intertwine our fingers. “God, I hope so,” I whisper.

We finish eating, clean up the plates, and then Boone suggests we might do some reading or play cards to pass the afternoon. But I can’t resist throwing a smirk his way. “Last time we played cards, you destroyed me. How about we read for a bit first, Mr. Poker Face.”

He chuckles. “Fine by me.”

The rest of the day unfolds in a pleasant blur—reading in companionable silence on the porch, occasionally commenting on a line from our respective books, or pointing out a squirrel bounding through the underbrush. It’s almost laughable how peaceful it is, given the chaos swirling in the outside world. But I hold onto it like a lifeline, like if I can etch these moments into my memory, I’ll have something good to replay when the nightmares come creeping in.

When the sun begins to dip, painting the sky in lavender and gold, Boone stands and stretches, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin. “I’ll start dinner,” he offers. “Unless you have another grand pizza plan up your sleeve.”

I laugh softly, closing my book. “I think you can handle it tonight,” I say. “We have that leftover chicken and some veggies, right?”

“Right,” he confirms, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my forehead. “You rest, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

I watch him disappear into the cabin, a swirl of gratitude and affection in my chest. It’s strange to realize how close I’ve grown to him in such a short time. Stranger still to feel my heart flutter every time he calls me sweetheart or gives me that lazy half-smile.

Eventually, I stand and follow him inside, offering to chop vegetables while he sears the chicken. We chat about nothing in particular—favorite childhood TV shows, embarrassing high school moments (he had few; I had many), and a million other small details that people share when they’re learning each other’s corners.

It doesn’t escape me that, for a day at least, I haven’t been consumed by fear. I haven’t cried once about the shop or railed about Charles. Boone gave me space to simply be, to remember that I’m more than just a victim or a target. He’s seen me at my worst, yet still looks at me like I’m something precious he wants to protect.

As the sun sets, we eat our chicken and veggies by the dim light of the lantern and the soft glow from the fireplace. It’s delicious in a homey, simple way—nourishing in more ways than one.

After dinner, I help wash dishes, and then we collapse on the couch, too comfortable to move much. I catch Boone stifling a yawn. “Tired?” I tease, nudging his side.

“It’s been a busy day of victory laps in the lake,” he shoots back, smirking. “And piggyback rides.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at the memory. “A day well spent.”

He turns toward me, draping an arm along the back of the couch. “You feeling okay?” The question is soft, but loaded. He’s asking about more than my physical state.

I draw in a breath, letting my gaze drop to our joined hands. “I am,” I say honestly. “Better than I have in a while. Thank you… for all of this. For letting me escape my own head, even if it’s just for a day.”

His hand tightens on mine. “I’d give you a lifetime of these days if I could.”

My eyes mist at the sincerity in his tone, but I force a smile to mask the sudden rush of emotion. “One day at a time, right?”

He nods, and then leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I melt against him, letting the warmth and safety of his presence anchor me. And for one precious day, I let the nightmares and uncertainty stay locked outside, reminding myself that tomorrow—whatever it brings—will come soon enough. But for now, we have each other, and that’s more than enough to keep the darkness at bay.