Chapter 8 Oliver
OLIVER
The rhythmic thwack of the axe against the splitting stump isn’t enough.
My breath plumes in the freezing air, white ghosts escaping my lungs only to be snatched away by the wind.
Two in the morning, and the silence of the broken storm screams in my ears.
I didn't come out here for the wood. An hour ago, I reached for a rifle that wasn't there, the taste of dry dust and cordite clogging my throat.
The ghost of the blonde veteran stared at me from the shadows of the bedroom again.
Then I heard Avery shift. The sound of her breath anchored me to the present.
I don't need a medic. I need to ensure the ghosts don't get her too.
I grab the heavy tool bag. If I can't fix the past, I'll armor-plate her future.
I’ve been out here for a while. Shoulders burn. Hands are raw inside my gloves. But the noise in my head hasn't stopped.
Until the snow melts.
That’s what I told her. I looked Avery in the eye, saw her flinch as if I'd slapped her, and told her to leave. Told her I was too much. Too broken. Too dangerous.
Now, standing knee-deep in snow with an axe in my hand, I feel like a coward.
I’m the Vanguard. I hold the line. I protect the pack. But I can’t figure out how to protect the one thing that’s made me feel human in a decade without pushing her away.
I bury the axe head deep into the stump with a grunt. I leave it there, the handle vibrating.
I need her to stay. And I know exactly what kind of target that paints on her back. The Outsiders I dealt with yesterday were mapping, not hiking. They look for weaknesses in the Gunnar line. They found a rotting cabin with a flimsy door and a girl who thinks a vintage toolkit can fix the world.
Sending her back there leaves her vulnerable.
The thought hits harder than rifle recoil. It twists in my gut, hot and acidic.
I can’t keep her prisoner. I can’t let her go back to a ruin either.
I look toward the ridge line, down into the valley where her shack sits in darkness.
I check the cabin window. A soft orange glow flickers from the hearth—she kept the fire going. Safe. Warm. Probably awake, wondering why the man who claimed her body yesterday is trying to freeze himself to death outside.
I turn away from the door.
I head for the shed. Bypassing the splitting maul, I grab the heavy canvas bag of tools—the real ones.
Cordless drills, impact driver, a box of four-inch exterior screws, lag bolts, steel reinforcement plates.
I throw a bundle of pressure-treated 4x4s onto my shoulder—leftovers from the deck repair.
They weigh a ton, digging into the scar tissue on my trap. The pain grounds me.
I begin the trek down the ridge.
Drifts stand waist-deep, crusted over with ice that crunches loudly under my boots. I move like a tank, head down, momentum carrying me forward. A weapon of war repurposed for construction.
When I reach her clearing, the moon finally breaks through. Her cabin looks pathetic in the harsh light. The porch railing I fixed temporarily holds, but the rest of the structure leans. The front door is a joke—thin wood, a loose frame. A solid kick would shatter the jamb.
Scouts saw this. An easy entry point.
Rage flares, warming my blood better than whiskey.
I drop the lumber in the snow and set the tool bag on the rotting deck. No plan needed. I see structural failures like I see tactical weaknesses.
I start with the railing.
I work in silence. Prying out rotted spindles, the wood wet and spongy in my grip. It crumbles like cake. Measure by eye. Cut with the battery-powered circular saw. The motor whines, tearing through the night.
Vertical supports first. I sink long screws into the joists until the heads bury themselves in the wood. I test it with my weight, leaning my full two hundred and fifty pounds against the new post. It holds.
Good.
Next, the door.
The critical failure point. I strip the molding off the frame. Shoddy construction, gaps filled with old insulation chewed by mice. I curse softly, the sound lost to the wind.
I cut new framing lumber. Reinforce the jambs with steel plates, screwing them directly into the studs. I install a heavy-duty deadbolt from my supplies, boring the hole with precision. When I’m done, this door won’t just lock; it will hold against a battering ram.
My hands stiffen, cold seeping through my gloves. I don't stop. Patch the drafty gaps in the siding. Secure the loose shutter banging against the wall.
Mindless, rhythmic work. Measure. Cut. Drill. Drive.
With every screw, I nail down my resolve. I’m not fixing this so she can live here alone. I’m fixing it because it belongs to her, and anything of hers is under my protection. She wanted a home. She wanted to stop being disposable.
I step back, wiping sweat from my forehead. Porch straight. Railing solid. Door a fortress.
It’s not pretty. I’m a combat engineer, not a finish carpenter. Built for survival, not aesthetics. But it will stand.
The sky turns pale grey in the east. Dawn approaches.
I gather my tools, muscles trembling with fatigue. No sleep in twenty-four hours. Ankle throbbing where I slipped on a hidden rock. Hands covered in sawdust and grease.
I look at the cabin one last time. A stronghold.
I trudge back up the mountain.
The climb punishes my legs. Adrenaline fades, leaving bone-deep exhaustion. But my mind is clear for the first time since I found those dog tags in her hand.
Smoke curls aggressively from my chimney. She’s awake.
I stomp snow off my boots on the porch, shaking sawdust from my jacket. I take a breath of crisp air, steeling myself. Words aren't my strong suit. I speak in logistics and perimeter checks.
But for her, I have to try.
I push the door open.
Warmth hits first—smell of coffee and burning pine. Avery stands in the middle of the living room. She wears my flannel shirt again, sleeves rolled up, hair a messy, dark halo. She looks tired, eyes red-rimmed.
She spins around. Her body sags.
"Oliver," she breathes out. "I woke up and you were gone. The axe was in the stump, but you weren't..."
She trails off, taking in my appearance. Covered in wood chips, eyes dark, looming in the doorway like a bear dragged through a sawmill.
"I didn't leave," I say. Voice rough from cold and disuse.
I drop the tool bag near the door with a clatter. Walk past her to the kitchen sink. Turn on the tap. Scrub until the grease is gone, even as the hot water stings.
Her eyes bore into my back. Waiting. Scared. She thinks I went out there to patrol. Maybe to find a way to get rid of her.
I dry my hands on a towel and turn.
"Where did you go?" she asks quietly. Arms wrapped around herself.
I reach into my pocket. Fingers close around cold metal.
"Down the ridge."
Her face falls. "Oh. Checking the road? Is it clear?"
"No." I step into her space. Need to smell the vanilla and rain clinging to her skin. "Not the road. I was at your place."
Brows knit. "My place? Why?"
"Railing is fixed. All of it. 4x4 pressure-treated posts, lags into the joists. You could park a truck on it."
Her lips part. No sound.
"Reinforced the door frame," I continue, stepping until my boots touch her socks. "Steel strike plates. Three-inch screws. New deadbolt. Patched the siding on the north wall."
"Oliver..." Her voice wobbles.
"It’s safe now. A fortress. No one gets in unless you let them."
Tears well in her bright blue eyes. "You fixed my house? In the middle of the night?"
"Couldn't sleep." I grunt. "Don't like loose ends."
"Loose ends," she repeats. A small smile touches her lips. "Is that what I am?"
"No."
The word comes out sharp. I cup her face. Skin soft and warm against my calloused palms. I rub my thumb over her cheekbone, catching a stray tear.
"You said you never had a home. Said you were tired of being temporary. I made sure that place will stand for a hundred years, Avery. It’s yours. Solid."
I pull the key to the new deadbolt from my pocket. Press it into her hand. Her fingers curl around the brass.
"Thank you," she whispers. "I... I don't know what to say. You did all that so I’d have somewhere to go?"
"I did it so you’d be safe. Wolves in these woods, Little Bird. Can’t be everywhere at once."
She nods, staring at the key. She thinks this is it. The goodbye.
"But."
I reach into my other pocket.
I pull out the single silver key on a leather fob. The spare to my cabin. Never given to anyone—not Logan, not my brothers. My sanctuary. My solitude.
I take her hand, the one clutching her house key. Pry her fingers open. Drop my key into her palm right next to hers.
Her eyes snap to mine. Shocked.
"Oliver?"
"That key opens your door," I point to the brass one. "Your safe house. Your independence. Whatever you need it to be."
I close her fingers over both keys, engulfing her fist.
"But this one. This one is your home."
Breath hitches. "You... you want me to stay?"
"I told you I was broken. Told you I was dangerous. I am. Not a soft man, Avery. Don't know how to do the gentle thing. I see threats in the shadows and sleep with a knife under the mattress."
I lean down, forehead against hers. She trembles.
"But when I was down there, fixing that porch... all I could think about was that I didn't want you behind that door. I wanted you behind mine."
"You pushed me away yesterday," she whispers. No heat, only vulnerability.
"I was scared." Words taste like ash. "Thought if you saw the war in my head, you’d run. Thought I was doing you a favor."
"You’re an idiot," she whispers, a wet laugh bubbling up.
"I know." I slide hands to her waist, pulling her flush. "But I’m a useful idiot. I can fix things."
She looks at the keys, then me. Fear gone. Replaced by something fierce. Steady.
"I don't need you to be soft, Oliver. I’ve had soft. Soft leaves when things get hard. Soft makes promises it can’t keep." She presses her hand over my heart. "I need solid. I need the man who fixes my porch in a blizzard because he wants me to be safe."
The knot in my chest loosens.
"I’m not letting you go, Avery," I growl. "Keep that key. Come and go as you please. But you sleep here. With me."
"Is that an order, Vanguard?" Her eyes dance.
"A negotiation. I protect you. You keep the ghosts away."
She rises on tiptoes. Presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. A seal. A contract signed in breath and warmth.
"Deal."
I exhale a long, shuddering breath. Pull her into a hug that lifts her off the floor. Bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. It drowns out sawdust and old fear.
Outside, wind rattles the windowpanes. Inside, the fire burns warm. Coffee smells hot. For the first time in a long time, the cabin doesn't feel like a bunker.
It feels like a home.
"You look exhausted," she murmurs against my shoulder. Fingers card through hair at my nape.
"I’m fine." A lie.
"You’re swaying. Put me down. You need sleep."
I lower her but keep my arm around her waist. "Shower first."
"Go." She pushes me gently toward the bathroom. "I’ll make breakfast. Real breakfast, not whatever MRE ration you planned on."
I pause at the bathroom door. She clutches the keys, thumb tracing the leather fob. She looks small in my living room, but fills the space in a way nothing else ever has.
"Avery."
She looks up.
"Lock the door behind me."
She rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Yes, sir."
I watch her throw the heavy bolt. The thud of the lock sliding home echoes.
Safety.
I turn on the shower, the propane-fed heater kicking in with a low, muffled thump. Pipes groan before a steaming spray hits the tile. I strip off my filthy clothes, letting the sawdust fall where it may, and step under the scalding water to beat the tension out of my shoulders.
I close my eyes. No desert. No ambush.
I see a porch railing, straight and true. A silver key in a soft hand.
I wash the dirt away. I’m not clean—never will be—but I’m not alone anymore. And let anyone try—I'll burn down everything before I lose her.
When I step out, wrapped in a towel, bacon and eggs scent the air. Avery is at the stove, humming off-key. Wearing my socks.
She turns, spatula in hand. "Better?"
"Better."
She points to the table. "Sit. Eat. Then sleep."
I sit. Eat. When I’m done, I don't go to the couch. I walk to the bedroom. Hold out my hand.
"Come here."
She takes it. I pull her into the room, into the bed that still smells like sex and us. I lay down, pulling her with me, tucking her back against my chest. Wrap my arm around her.
"Sleep," I command. Eyes heavy.
"Bossy," she mumbles, snuggling deeper.
I rest my chin on her head. The storm can rage all it wants.
I have everything I need right here.