CHAPTER FOUR
JAMES
My dad’s voice still lingers in my head like a ghost. “Stay away from cities,” he used to say, over and over again. Back then, I’d just roll my eyes and tune him out. But now, with Sarah in my life, those words are the law.
We always pick the safety of the woods over cities run by gangs, but when supplies get low, small towns become a necessary evil.
Today’s one of those days—low on food, low on options, and no choice but to take a risk.
The town’s welcome arch barely holds itself up, sagging above a short brick bridge like it finally quit trying.
A few signs of life catch my eye as we move down the main street: a dead bonfire, slapped-together barricades, windows smashed to hell. If I hadn’t spent almost twenty years walking through this same shit, I’d swear we were stepping into one of those old zombie movies I used to watch.
I chuckle at a faded billboard still bragging about a “forever-lasting” smartphone. Funny how it promised forever back then, and now smartphones aren’t even a thing anymore.
But in a place like this, smiles don’t last. Everything I see could be a threat. Everyone too.
Sarah, though, lives by an entirely different creed.
I’m always a few steps ahead of her, scanning alleys, checking every blind spot.
If something feels off, I call out, ready to stop her from walking into trouble.
But she never fucking listens to me, brushing off all my warnings.
And every time, I’m torn between being impressed by how fearless she is and pissed off at her stubbornness. Probably a bit of both.
Sarah’s a magnet for trouble. And no, she’s not out there looking for it—at least, I don’t think she is. But for some reason I can’t explain, trouble seems irresistibly drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
I mean, who am I to judge? I wasn’t much different from her before my dad died. If anything, I was even more reckless.
There’s a lot about my past I’ve never told Sarah. The darker parts. I don’t know if I ever will, but sometimes, I think she already knows. Every now and then, I catch her staring at my scars, as if she’s trying to piece together the violent story behind each one.
Yeah, we’ve had to scramble out of hideouts before and dive into new ones more times than I can count.
And over the last year, I’ve thrown a few punches to keep us safe.
But when it comes to the real horrors out there, the kind that keep you up at night, Sarah doesn’t have a clue.
Michael doesn’t either, but he gets it a little more than she does.
Tonight, we’re camping out in an old library on a dead-end street. I chose it on purpose. I want to do something special for her. Last week in the cabin, she said she’d rather read than play cards. No surprise there.
That’s the thing about Sarah. Books aren’t just a way to kill time for her. Most people these days see books as firewood, good for roasting marshmallows and not much else. But not her. Books are her thing.
First thing in the morning, while I’m still half-asleep, she’s already got one in her hands, nose buried in a page. And every time she tries to cook, whatever she’s making ends up burned ’cause she’s too busy reading to notice.
Michael and I push open the heavy library doors, and it’s clear right away that nobody’s been in here for years.
Moonlight slips through the busted roof, casting shadows that make the place feel haunted.
The rugs are threadbare, cobwebs cling to what’s left of the chandeliers, and some of the shelves look like they can’t even hold the books anymore.
Once I’m sure we’re alone in the building, my eyes find Sarah. She wants to see everything, explore everything. She sees beauty where most people just see rotting wood and peeling paint. And I can’t get enough of this girl.
Sarah’s one of those people who’s easy to make happy. Maybe it’s ’cause she grew up sheltered on her dad’s ranch, or maybe she’s just built that way. Either way, I’m not complaining.
But I don’t let my guard down. The world’s not safe—not for anyone—but especially not for people like Sarah. She still trusts when she shouldn’t. And that makes her an easy target, which is exactly why I’ll put myself between her and anyone who tries to hurt her.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, just watching her. She finds an old globe buried under a pile of junk, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree. She always gets that look whenever she discovers something new, something she’s never seen before. And I could watch her like this for hours.
She wanders deeper into the library, and I trail after her. We stop in front of a shelf full of romance novels. All of them are dusty and worn-out, their covers so faded you can barely read the titles.
Sarah crosses her arms, tilts her head, and scratches her chin deep in thought as she studies them.
And I already know what she’s plotting. She’s doing the math, figuring out how many of these books she can sneak into my backpack without me noticing until the damn thing feels like I’m carrying bricks.
She catches my eye, walks over, and kisses me, grinning so wide she can barely hold it in. “Thank you for my present.”
“What present?”
“This!” She grabs three books at once and hugs them.
I laugh and pull her into a hug, books and all. “Next stop, chocolate.”
Ever since Sarah came into my life, it’s been nonstop action, like hanging out with someone who’s permanently over-caffeinated. Life with her is fun, wild, and exhausting in the best way. I’ve lost so much already, but there’s no way I’m losing her. Not ever.
About an hour later, I rip a few pages from some old math textbook no one ever wanted to read and use them to start a fire in this beat-up metal drum we found.
The cold fades fast. We heat up a couple cans of mushroom soup over the flames, and for a second, just a quick one, it almost feels like we’re back at the ranch.
Funny how something as simple as soup can make a place feel safe, even when it’s not.
But safety’s not just about walls and locks.
It’s about who you’re with. And no matter where we crash—abandoned buildings, lakesides, rocky hills—Sarah always makes it feel like home.
She pushes our sleeping bags together, spreads out blankets everywhere, and sets the kettle over the fire, making sure Michael and I have our coffee while she makes her chamomile tea, her favorite.
Michael’s at the window behind me, watching the shadows in the street.
The way he’s gripping his machete tells me he’s ready for whatever decides to come our way.
You don’t trust easy these days, but Michael’s the one person I never question.
I trust him with my life, and I know he trusts me with his, too.
I’m sitting by the fire, hands stuffed in my jacket pockets to warm up, when my fingers brush against something cold. I pull it out and look at my dad’s old pocket watch. It’s quiet now, no ticking, just still and heavy in my hand.
I turn it over slow, tracing the engraved letters on the back: H-I-L-L. Our name.
Every letter brings back something about my dad.
Time’s a weird thing. You don’t realize how much the old man’s words meant until it’s too late. He used to give me all these lessons about life, most of which I shrugged off, thinking I knew better. Now, I’d give anything to hear his voice one more time. To have one more second with him.
Sarah slides between my legs and leans back against my chest, like she’s done a hundred times before. If anyone ever asks me if there’s anything good left in this godforsaken world, I’ll point straight at her.
My fingers find one of her braids, playing with it while I try to quiet the noise in my head. Life’s thrown its fair share of darkness at me, made me do things just to stay alive. But Sarah makes me want to be better.
I don’t always get it right, but I try.
I slip my father’s watch back into my pocket. My eyes stay locked on her heart-shaped face, on those bright green eyes that always undo me. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
My heart pounds faster and every point of contact with her feels electric, feeding this need for her, beat for fucking beat.
She gives me a teasing smile. “If your heart keeps pounding like this, it might explode.”
My face heats up, and I press my lips together. She’s got me figured out, no question.
“I told you I’d find more books for you,” I whisper in her ear, “but I should’ve added a bed to that list for tonight.”
“James, my favorite place to sleep isn’t a bed. It’s right here, with you. I don’t need a bed. All I need is you.”
Fuck, her words make me want to taste every single part of her.
“But,” she sighs, “I do wish we had tents again. Then I could kiss you all night without my brother butting in, you know?”
Oh, I do know.
“I can make that happen,” I say, amused. “What color do you want the tents?”
“Yellow, like a sunflower.”
I grin. “Done.”
She tilts her head, playing innocent, but her expression is anything but. “So, while you’re busy with that, can I check out the town shops tomorrow?”
I chuckle. Should’ve known she had something else up her sleeve.
“What are you after this time?” I ask.
“I’m thinking of getting you a gift. Maybe some clothes.”
“For me? But I’ve got plenty of clothes.”
She shakes her head, that smile of hers turning wicked. “It’s not something for you to wear.”
My pulse jumps.
Fucking. Hot. Woman.
“Any favorite color?” she asks.
I close the distance between us and let her breathe in that pine scent that always clings to my clothes. “Your eyes.”
“Green?”
“Right on target.”
“Any other details I should keep in mind?”
“Lace, baby. Always lace.”
Her cheeks flush that gorgeous pink I’m addicted to. Watching her blush might be my favorite pastime.
I lean back, my fingers tracing slow lines along her neck. The calm in her breathing tells me she feels safe with me.
“James, tell me a secret.”