Chapter 5 Kayley
FIVE
KAYLEY
I’ve told myself the story so many times that parts of it feel worn smooth, like a stone I keep rubbing between my fingers just to remind myself it’s real.
But saying it out loud?
That’s different.
That makes it breathe.
Gavin walks beside me down the hall toward one of the smaller rooms off the main lodge, his shoulder just close enough that I’m aware of the heat coming off him. He’s carrying Aidan again, like it’s second nature, like this is a normal afternoon instead of the aftermath of everything falling apart.
Aidan’s awake now, calm and alert, his dark eyes tracking the lights on the ceiling as if this is all mildly interesting instead of terrifying.
God, I love him.
Gavin pushes the door open and steps aside, letting me enter first. It’s quieter in here. Softer. A couch, a couple of chairs, a small table. A space meant for conversations that don’t belong in the open.
He sets Aidan down gently in the bassinet, checking the monitor and smoothing the blanket like he’s done this a hundred times.
My chest tightens.
I sit on the edge of the couch and lace my fingers together, staring at my hands because if I look at Gavin too long, I might lose my nerve.
“I made her a promise,” I say finally.
Gavin looks up, instantly focused. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush me. Just waits.
“Sophie,” I continue. “She knew something was wrong. I didn’t at first. I thought she was exhausted. New mom, night shifts, no support system. But it got worse. She started jumping at noises. Locking her doors three times. Calling me at three in the morning just to make sure I answered.”
Gavin lowers himself into the chair across from me, forearms resting on his thighs. His eyes never leave my face.
“She told me if anything ever happened to her—anything at all—I had to take Aidan and disappear. No questions. No delays. Just… run.”
My voice wobbles, and I hate that. I swallow and push on.
“I laughed it off. God, I hate myself for that now. I told her she was being dramatic. That nothing bad was going to happen. That people don’t just… come after babies.”
Gavin’s jaw tightens.
“She said someone wanted him,” I whisper. “Not her. Him.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
“What kind of threats?” Gavin asks gently.
“Texts at first. Unknown numbers. Short messages. Stuff like You don’t get to keep what isn’t yours and This ends when the mistake is gone.
” My stomach twists remembering it. “She blocked them. They came from new numbers. Then there were phone calls. No one ever spoke. Just breathing. Sometimes silence.”
My hands start to shake, and I press them into my thighs.
“Then things got physical. Her tires were slashed twice. Someone tried to get into her apartment while she was at work. The doorframe was damaged, but nothing was taken. It was like… a warning.”
Gavin exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
“She went to the police?” he asks.
“Yes. Hanover Falls PD. Twice.” My laugh is brittle. “They treated her like she was hysterical. Wrote a report. Told her stress can make people imagine patterns that aren’t there. One of them actually suggested therapy.”
Gavin’s eyes darken.
“They never followed up. Never called. Never checked security footage. Nothing.” I shake my head. “After the second visit, Sophie stopped going. She said it was pointless. That if the cops weren’t helping, it meant either they couldn’t… or they wouldn’t.”
“And you?” Gavin asks.
“I didn’t know how bad it was until the end.” My voice cracks. “The night before she died, she showed up at my place with Aidan in the middle of a snowstorm. She looked… wrecked. Like she hadn’t slept in days. She begged me, Gavin. Begged me.”
My eyes burn.
“She grabbed my hands and made me swear. She said, ‘If anything happens to me, you run. You don’t wait. You don’t call anyone. You don’t trust anyone. You keep him safe.’”
I close my eyes, and for a second, I can see her so clearly it hurts.
“She died the next night.”
The room feels too small suddenly.
Gavin stands, pacing once, twice, then stopping like he’s afraid he’ll say the wrong thing if he keeps moving. “You think it wasn’t an accident,” he says quietly.
“I know it wasn’t.” My voice is steadier now, fueled by certainty instead of fear. “They said she lost control of the car. Single-vehicle collision. No witnesses. No surveillance footage. And I believed it for about an hour.”
Gavin looks at me sharply. “What changed?”
“I found her phone.”
That stops him cold.
“It was in her diaper bag,” I say. “Dead. Like someone drained it on purpose. I charged it. The last text was from an unknown number. It just said: You should have given him to us.”
Gavin swears under his breath.
“That’s when I took Aidan and left,” I say. “I didn’t even go back to my apartment. I grabbed clothes, diapers, and ran. I thought if I stayed moving, they couldn’t find us.”
“And they still did,” Gavin says.
I nod. “Someone followed me out of Hanover Falls. I saw the same truck twice. Once at a gas station. Once on the highway. That’s when I headed for Timber Creek instead of the interstate.”
Gavin doesn’t hesitate. “You did the right thing.”
“Did I?” I ask softly. “Because I don’t even know why they want him.”
The door opens quietly, and Sheriff Silas James steps in. He takes one look at Gavin’s face and I know this isn’t good news.
“Hanover Falls,” Gavin says.
Silas nods slowly. “That was my first thought too.”
“You think the cops are in on it?” I ask, my stomach sinking.
Silas rubs his jaw. “I think if someone powerful enough wanted your sister quiet, local law enforcement would be the easiest pressure point. Or the easiest blind spot.”
Gavin and Silas exchange a look that tells me this isn’t speculation.
This is experience.
Silas tips his head. “I’ll dig. Quietly. Badge numbers. Internal complaints. Anything that doesn’t add up.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He gives me a small nod before stepping back out, closing the door behind him.
When he’s gone, the fear creeps back in, cold and sharp.
“What if they’re already here?” I ask. “What if coming to you put everyone in danger?”
Gavin crosses the room in three strides and crouches in front of me, his presence solid and grounding. “Listen to me,” he says. “If someone comes here, they don’t walk away. Not without being seen. Not without being stopped.” His hand settles over mine, warm and steady. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Something inside me gives. I lean forward before I can stop myself, pressing my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in. Woodsmoke. Clean soap. Safety. “I’m scared,” I admit. “All the time.”
“I know,” he says softly. His hand comes up, resting against my back. “But you’re not running blind anymore. You found us for a reason.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “You really think you can protect us?”
His eyes don’t waver. “I know I can.”
And the terrifying thing?
I believe him.
Because when Gavin looks at me, he doesn’t see a problem or a liability or a mess to clean up.
He sees something worth fighting for.
And for the first time since Sophie made me promise, the weight of that vow doesn’t feel like it’s crushing me anymore.
It feels shared.