Can’t Stay Here – Autumn
Can’t Stay Here
Autumn
I cross the parking lot slowly, gravel crunching under my boots. One of Ryder’s men adjusts his earpiece, the other scans the shadows near the porch. I pretend not to notice—pretend this feels normal now.
My Airbnb looms ahead, still and dark.
The front steps creak beneath my weight, louder than they should. I pause at the keypad, half-expecting the code to blink red after so much time.
It flashes green.
The door opens with a click I don’t remember being that loud.
Inside, the air is stale and still.
My footsteps fade into silence as I move into the foyer, scanning the open floor plan.
My shoes are still lined up neatly by the door—exactly how I left them.
But the blanket on the couch is too neatly folded. The kitchen light hums. A spoon rests beside the sink, wet.
And the bathroom door, which I know I closed, hangs wide open.
Something’s off.
I can’t name it, but I feel it under my skin. Like the house is holding its breath.
Maybe the landlord came to check on the place. My car hasn’t been here in days, and I’m behind on the stay.
Still, I move slower than usual. Quieter.
I collect what I came for: a duffel from the coat closet, half-stuffed with clothes I actually like wearing; my favorite violin from the wall hook—I want to show it to Adeline; and a thin stack of notes I kept on Ryder.
Original research, old addresses, fragmented timelines from when I was still trying to make sense of him.
Maybe I’ll add them to Kylie’s binder. Maybe I’ll throw them away.
I zip the bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head back outside.
The sky is washed in pale gold, and distant traffic hums as a soft backdrop.
I’m halfway across the parking lot, just steps from the car, when?—
Boom! Boom! BOOM!
A violent thunderclap explodes behind me, sharper than anything I’ve ever heard, followed instantly by a surge of blistering heat and pressure.
The ground bucks, my body lifts, and for one weightless moment I’m suspended—before the pavement crashes up to meet me.
Air leaves my lungs in a single gasp. Pain slices through my ribs. Gravel digs into my hands.
A shrill, metallic ringing drills into my ears like a siren that won’t stop.
I try to lift my head, but the world spins.
Smoke curls in front of me, thick and chemical, already burning my throat.
I roll onto my side, blinking against the haze. Gunfire rattles—short bursts, close. People shouting. Tires screeching.
My limbs won’t move fast enough. My thoughts won’t come.
But one echo cuts through the noise:
“I’ll see you again at your funeral.”
Kylie’s voice pierces through the panic, louder than the blast.
She said it with anger, but I hear it now like a prophecy.
A pair of arms close around me, lifting me off the asphalt like I weigh nothing.
I’m pulled into someone’s chest, then shoved into the backseat of a car.
“ Down ,” a voice barks. “Stay down!”
The door slams shut. Tires peel out, screeching against the asphalt as the car launches into motion.
I taste smoke in the back of my throat, sharp and acrid. I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm the thundering in my ears.
But it’s no use.
I can still feel him—the weight of his hands on my hips, the heat of his mouth at my throat, the pull of him in every hallway shadow we ever slipped into.
There haven’t been enough kisses yet, not enough nights tangled in his sheets, not enough stolen moments where his voice dipped low and promised nothing but desire.
I try to breathe through the smoke, through the ringing, through the panic, but all I can think about is how easily I could’ve died without ever knowing what it means to be fully his.
And how that’s a huge fucking problem…
I thought I could handle this, that all the layers of protection made it bearable.
I believed that Ryder—his world, his rules, his presence—was something I could survive.
But this isn’t just about danger anymore…
And no matter how much I want to believe there’s a version of him that can keep me safe, there’s no version of me that can keep living like this.
End of Episode 22