Chapter 17 #2
“You are under arrest,” Diaz said. “You have the right to remain silent.”
Colby heard her finish the rights, the words familiar and oddly comforting.
“Colby, get off him,” she said when she was done. “Let me have him.”
He pushed to his feet, using a stud for leverage. His ribs burned. His cheek throbbed. His leg complained. He ignored all of it and looked toward the trailer.
Sabrina stood in the open doorway, one hand on the frame, his phone clutched in the other. His T-shirt hung off one shoulder now, ponytail slightly crooked. Even at this distance, he saw her shaking.
Their eyes locked.
“Colby.”
His name this time sounded like a plea, not a warning.
He took a step toward her.
“Careful,” Diaz said quietly, nodding to the dark streak on the ground. “We need that for samples.”
He stepped around the worst of it and kept going.
Sabrina didn't wait for him to reach the trailer. She came down the metal steps fast, feet silent on the dirt, and met him halfway between the frame and the path.
She hit his chest with enough force to rock him. He wrapped his arms around her without thinking, pulling her in tight as she buried her face in his shirt.
Her whole body shook.
“I told you to stay inside,” he murmured into her hair.
“I did,” she said, voice muffled. “Until I saw Diaz’s lights. Then the rules changed.”
He let out a rough laugh. “Hard to argue with that.”
She pulled back just enough to look at his face. Her gaze caught on his cheekbone.
“You're hurt,” she whispered. Her fingers hovered near the swelling, not quite touching. “He hit you.”
“He did,” Colby said. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“You would say that if your arm was hanging off,” she said.
“I wouldn't bleed on your boots on purpose,” he said. “I respect footwear too much.”
A shaky sound escaped her that might have been a laugh. “Don't joke about this.”
“I'm not,” he said. “He came here to finish what he started. He wasn't doing that on my watch.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt. “You ran at him.”
“Someone had to slow him down,” he said. “Diaz is good, but she is not psychic. She needed time.”
Sabrina said. “My hands were shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. She kept telling me to stay put. I couldn't breathe until I saw the headlights.”
“I heard you,” he breathed. “You yelled my name. That does things to a man’s motivation.”
A genuine laugh snuck out, wet at the edges. “You're ridiculous.”
“You're ridiculous,” he said.
Her expression crumpled and re-formed in one breath. “When he knocked you down, I thought…”
“Hey,” he cut in gently. “I'm here. I'm upright. He's the one in cuffs.”
Her gaze flicked past him to where Diaz was walking the man toward the patrol car, reading him his rights again as she guided him up the slight rise to the road.
“That's him,” Sabrina said. Her voice sounded thin. “The person who tried to erase my life.”
“Looks that way,” Colby said.
Her fingers tightened again. “I wanted it to be some awful accident. A freak thing. But it wasn't. He stood out here and poured gas on the place that is supposed to be my home.”
“And you're still here,” Colby said. “He didn't get what he wanted.”
She swallowed. “What if he has friends?”
“Then we deal with them one at a time,” he said. “Tonight, Diaz has him. That's one less threat.”
She searched his face, like she could read truth in bruises. “I could have lost you.”
“But you didn't,” he said. “You got Diaz here, stayed put, and did exactly what we talked about.”
“I yelled your name,” she said.
“And you didn't run into the middle of the fight,” he said. “That last bit matters a lot.”
Her mouth tipped. “I wanted to.”
“I know,” he said. “You're not exactly the sit-on-the-sidelines type.”
She let out a breath that shook. “I spent years standing in the middle of other people’s crises. Broken toilets. Missed flights. Anniversary dinners gone sideways. I always had a fix. Tonight I had to stand in a doorway while you were out there, and I couldn’t fix anything.”
“You fixed the part no one else could,” he said. “You kept your head. Diaz needed you to stay there, and you did. That counts.”
Boot steps approached. Diaz stopped a few feet away, giving them visual room but not too much.
“You two in one piece?” she asked.
Sabrina kept one hand on his shirt and twisted to look at her. “Define one piece.”
Diaz’s gaze flicked from Sabrina’s feet to Colby’s face. “Alive, mostly intact, not planning on tackling anyone else tonight.”
“Then yes,” Sabrina said.
Diaz nodded. “Paramedics are on their way to check Lover Boy’s face whether he likes it or not.” Her tone softened a fraction. “You did good.”
“I stood in a trailer and tried not to throw up,” Sabrina said.
“You called fast,” Diaz said. “That gave me a shot at getting here before this turned into a bonfire. You probably saved your cabin tonight.”
Sabrina’s grip tightened. “Will he tell you why?”
“He'll tell somebody,” Diaz said. “Whether it's us or a judge is up to him. But between the gas, the lighter, Norman House, and tonight, I am confident he won't be seeing the outside of a cell for a good long while.”
“Is it tied to Seaside?” Sabrina asked.
Diaz’s expression shifted, the way it did when she knew more than she could say in one sentence. “We'll talk through that in detail tomorrow,” she said. “Right now, you two need to go home, get warm, and let me lock this place down. I'll have an officer sit at the end of the road until we're done.”
Sabrina hesitated. “I don't want to leave it.”
“You're not leaving it,” Diaz said. “You are letting us process it. There is a difference. I'll call when we have it cleared. Tonight, your job is to keep breathing and not fall over.”
Sabrina opened her mouth to argue. Her knees chose that moment to wobble.
Colby tightened his arm around her. “She's not wrong.”
Diaz pointed toward his truck. “Inside. Now. That's an order.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” he said.
He guided Sabrina toward the truck parked near the trailer, his hand firm at her back. She moved like a person who had just stepped off a spinning ride and was still testing the ground.
At the passenger door, she paused and looked back.
The framed cabin stood in the field, backlit now by the flash of emergency lights and the sweep of headlights. Officers moved carefully, placing flags near the spilled fuel, taking photos.
“It should feel ruined,” she said quietly. “It doesn't.”
“What does it feel like?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Defended.”
He felt a lump form in his throat. “Good. That's what we're going for.”
Back at his cottage, the normalcy hit him hardest.
The lamp on the end table. The stack of mail by the door. The faint hum of the fridge.
Colby locked the deadbolt and turned to find Sabrina still standing in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself, as if she wasn't quite sure she was allowed to relax.
“Come here,” he said.
She crossed to the couch on autopilot and sat. He detoured through the kitchen, ran cold water over a clean dish towel, and wrung it out.
When he returned, she was hunched forward, her elbows on her knees, and her hands hanging between them. Her gaze stayed fixed on some point on the floor.
He held out the cloth. “For my face.”
She blinked up at him. “You want me to…”
“Do the honors,” he said. “I would say I can't reach, but that would be a lie. I just like your hands better than mine.”
Something in her expression loosened. “Sit.”
He dropped onto the couch beside her. Their knees brushed. She turned, angled toward him, and raised the towel.
She touched it to his cheek as gently as if she expected him to shatter.
He hissed. “That feels amazing.”
“Liar,” she murmured. “You have a full-on fist print.”
“Adds character,” he said.
“You had plenty of character before,” she said. “You didn't need his help.”
He watched her work. The little furrow between her brows, and the way her hands steadied now that she had something to do.
“You scared me,” she whispered. “I knew this might happen. Diaz told us. We talked about it. I thought I was ready. I wasn't.”
He covered her wrist with his fingers, grounding them both. “I was scared too,” he said.
Her gaze jumped to his. “You were?”
“Yes,” he said. “Running at a man with a gas can in the dark isn't my idea of a fun night. But the alternative was letting him light up your cabin while we sat in that trailer. That wasn't an option.”
Her throat worked. “You keep saying your cabin. It's our cabin.”
He grinned. “Our cabin. Our land. Our life. He came after that. He doesn't get to win.”
Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back, stubborn.
“When you went down,” she said, “I heard you make this sound. I thought… I thought I was about to watch him take you the way he took everything else. The inn. My rooms. My sign. My stupid chalkboard with daily specials. I couldn't breathe.”
He slid his hand from her wrist to the back of her neck and pulled her in until their foreheads touched. “I'm here,” he said. “I'm not a building. I'm harder to knock down.”
A wet laugh slipped out. “But I've just realized, none of that matters as much as you. I loved Norman House. I think I mostly loved it because my grandparents loved it. But I'd let it all burn again if it meant keeping you.”
His lips touched hers softly. He tilted his head and settled in for a long, soft kiss that said everything he couldn't say. He didn't have the words for what she'd just told him.
She drew in a shaky breath.
He kissed her lightly once more, then pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “This story doesn't end the same way Norman House ended. The cabin didn't. You're strong, Sabrina. Together, we're stronger.”
She pulled back enough to look at him fully. Her eyes searched his face, every bruise and line, the darkness of his beard.
“Were you afraid I'd run?” she asked. “After seeing how calculated it all was. After hearing Diaz talk about money and contracts. Did you think I'd decide it was too much and just walk away?”
“No,” he said, without hesitation.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because I've watched you,” he said. “You've stood in the ashes, in the field, in front of Diaz and told her you're not selling. You don't run, Sabrina. You reroute. You take fear and turn it into plans.”
“You make me sound braver than I feel,” she said.
“You are,” he said. “And selfishly, I'm glad your version of brave includes staying here. With me.”
Her hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck. “You think I could walk away after tonight?” she asked. “After watching you throw yourself between that man and my future? After hearing you tell Diaz ‘we’ every time you talk about this land?”
He swallowed. “I didn't realize I was doing that.”
“I did,” she said. “It is the only reason I stayed in the trailer and didn't run straight at both of you.”
“Please don't ever do that,” he said.
“I won't,” she said. “I promise. But I need you to hear something.”
“Okay,” he said.
“When you ran out that door, it wasn't just my partner in building going after him,” she said. “It was the man I love. The man who made space for me in his bed and his kitchen and his life without making me feel like an intrusion. If I had lost you out there…”
He went very still.
“Sabrina,” he said slowly. “Say that again.”
She held his gaze, eyes shiny and stubborn. “I love you.”
Everything in him that had been tight since Norman House burned loosened at once.
He framed her face with both hands. “Good,” he said, voice rough. “Because I love you too. Somewhere between you mocking my spreadsheets and you learning how to use a saw, I was done for. It's only gotten worse.”
A damp laugh broke out of her. “That's a terrible declaration.”
“I'm not great at speeches,” he said. “I'm steady. I show up. I build things. I'm in this. With you. All the way. Fires. developers. Gas cans. Whatever comes next.”
She leaned into his hands. “You realize you just proposed long-term emotional chaos,” she said.
“I've seen your plan sheets,” he said. “I think we'll be all right.”
She kissed him then. There was nothing tentative in it. No apology. Just a clear, steady answer to a question that had been hanging between them for days.
He kissed her back with the same quiet conviction he'd brought to the frame earlier. No rush. No pressure. Just a promise.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his again.
“I thought the fire took everything,” she whispered. “Tonight I realized it didn't. It took walls and sheets and a name on a sign. It didn't take the part of me that knows what home feels like. I found that again. With you. With that land. With this plan. In this cabin.”
He closed his eyes for a second and let that sink in.
“You keep talking like that,” he said, “and I am going to ask you something big without a ring handy.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “One crisis at a time, biker guy.”
“Deal,” he said.
Outside, the night moved on. Somewhere out on Norman land, red and blue lights flashed. Evidence flags went into the dirt. Reports began.
Inside the cottage, on a couch that had seen a lot of late-night plans and not enough sleep, Colby wrapped his arms around Sabrina and held on.
For the first time since Norman House burned, the tight coil in his chest eased.
The arsonist was in custody. The cabin frame still stood. The woman he loved was here, solid and warm under his hands, her heartbeat steady against his side.
Relief washed through him, sharp and overwhelming. Underneath it sat something steadier.
A bone-deep certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it the same way they'd faced tonight.
Together.