Chapter 6 Gavin
SIX
GAVIN
There’s something off in the air tonight.
Especially when you’ve got something—someone—worth protecting.
Kayley’s tucked into the corner of my couch again, legs folded, Aidan asleep in the bassinet between us. She’s reading one of the books I keep on the shelf, though the way she keeps sneaking glances at me over the top makes it pretty clear she’s not following the plot.
I’m not reading either.
I’ve got eyes on the monitor on the side table, the perimeter feed glowing in dim grayscale.
The system’s top-of-the-line—courtesy of Rafe’s paranoia and Rhett’s wiring obsession.
Full motion detection, heat signatures, AI-enhanced tracking software.
We’ve caught everything from elk to snowshoed teenagers trying to cut through the property.
But right now?
There’s a flicker in Zone Six.
East ridge. Behind the cabins.
I tap a key and rewind the feed, narrowing in.
Movement.
Fast. Too fast to be an animal. Two-legged gait. Not enough heat to be close, but definitely human. Whoever it is, they’re staying outside the fence—but they’re circling. Testing.
Watching.
I tense.
Kayley notices immediately. “What is it?”
“Stay here.” I’m already up, grabbing the radio from the wall hook and hitting the secure channel. “Zone Six. Movement. One, maybe two. Check-in.”
Chase’s voice crackles through first. “I’m closest. On it.”
Rhett follows. “I’m behind him. Boyd’s headed for the ridge trail.”
Silas confirms he’s sweeping the southern line.
Wyatt says nothing, but I know he’s already moving.
Kayley stands, her blanket falling from her shoulders. “Gavin—”
I cross the room in two strides and cup her jaw gently. “You’re safe here. I need to know you believe that.”
“I do,” she says, voice small. “But you—”
“I’ll stay. Right here. Unless I have to move.”
She nods, but her eyes are wide, frightened. “Do you think it’s him?”
“I think someone’s curious. And we don’t like uninvited guests around here.”
Another crackle through the radio: “No contact. Tracks are erratic. Looks like someone deliberately trying to spook us and stay out of frame.”
Kayley wraps her arms around herself and steps closer. “They’re watching.”
“We’ll watch back harder,” I promise. I lower the radio, keeping it clipped to my belt as I usher her gently back toward the couch. “Come here.”
She doesn’t resist. I sit down first, and she moves into the space beside me. Close. Pressed into my side like she needs the contact.
Maybe I do too.
“I hate that I brought this here,” she whispers.
“You didn’t. You brought yourself here. You brought Aidan here. That’s the part I care about.”
She turns her face toward mine, our noses almost touching. “You don’t even know me.”
I brush her hair back, fingers threading through the dark waves. “I know you kept a promise that broke your heart. I know you ran when you could’ve frozen. I know you crossed two states and a snowstorm with nothing but a baby and a bag of hope.”
She exhales, shaky.
“And I know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the second I opened that damn gate.”
Silence stretches.
She swallows. “I keep trying to tell myself this is just adrenaline.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Maybe. But when you touch me, I feel like I can breathe again.”
That’s all it takes.
I lean in and kiss her.
Slow at first—just a brush of lips. A test. She doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, and suddenly the kiss turns deeper, fuller, as if we’ve been waiting days, not hours, to close the space between us.
My hand cups the back of her neck, anchoring her as she presses closer. Her fingers dig into my shirt, twisting in the fabric like she needs something to hold onto.
She shifts into my lap, straddling me without hesitation. The soft cotton of her sleep leggings is the only barrier between us, and it does nothing to stop the rush of heat that floods my system when she settles against me.
I grip her hips, holding her steady. We break for breath, foreheads touching.
“I should stop,” I rasp, even though I don’t want to.
“Then stop,” she whispers.
I stare at her, heart pounding. “I don’t want to.”
She kisses me again, and that’s all the answer I need.
My hands move under her borrowed T-shirt, fingers skimming warm skin, the curve of her waist. She shivers, but not from fear.
I ease her back onto the couch, following her down, hovering above her.
It’s not frantic. It’s not desperate.
It’s quiet.
It’s reverent.
Like she’s something holy and I’m trying to remember how to pray.
Her hands explore my chest, my back, gripping me tighter every time I kiss her again. Her lips are soft, urgent. Her body arches toward mine like she’s wanted this just as badly, and for just as long.
But then—
Aidan whimpers from the bassinet.
Kayley freezes.
We both still, breathing hard.
Her eyes flick to the baby. “He’s stirring.”
I brush her hair back from her cheek. “Go to him.”
She nods, breathless, and sits up, her body sliding out from beneath mine.
As she crosses the room, scooping Aidan into her arms, I watch her like she’s the first light after a long, dark war.
And maybe I didn’t plan for this.
Maybe it’s not smart. Maybe it’s not simple.
But I know two things.
Someone’s coming.
And they’re not getting past me.
Not for her.
Not for that baby.
Not for us.