CHAPTER 23
I slump in Ms. Lucy’s floral armchair, my body heavy with exhaustion. The morning was spent at the police station replays in my mind, every detail I had to recount, every bruise I had to remember, every incident I had to document. My hands still shake from gripping the pen too tight while signing the statement.
Sophie sprawls on the carpet nearby, lost in her coloring book, humming a tune. The scratch of her crayons against paper provides a strange comfort.
“Here, drink this.” Ms. Lucy presses a warm mug into my hands. The scent of chamomile wafts up, and I wrap my fingers around it gratefully.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out raspy.
She settles into the chair across from me, her green eyes studying my face with that mixture of concern and understanding. “You did good today, honey. Real good.”
I take a sip, not trusting myself to speak. The tea scalds my tongue, but I welcome the sensation. It gives me something else to focus on besides the churning in my stomach.
“Sophie, baby, come show me what you’re coloring.” Ms. Lucy calls out, and Sophie bounces up, proudly displaying her artwork.
“Look! It’s a unicorn, and I made her purple!”
“That’s beautiful, sugar.” Ms. Lucy beams at her. “You know what? I’ve got some cookies in the kitchen that need decorating. Would you like to help me with that?”
Sophie’s eyes light up. “Can I, Mommy?”
I manage a smile. “Of course, sweetie.”
Once Sophie disappears into the kitchen, Ms. Lucy leans forward. “Bailey, why don’t you head back to your place for a while? Take some time for yourself.”
“I don’t know…” I glance toward the kitchen.
“Sophie’s okay here with me. We’ve got cookies to decorate, and I’ve got some new picture books she hasn’t seen yet.” She reaches over and pats my knee. “You need some space to breathe, honey. This morning was rough.”
The lump in my throat grows bigger. “I just keep thinking about everything. About him. What if–”
“No what-ifs.” Her voice turns firm. “The police have your statement. You’ve done everything right. Now you need to take care of yourself.”
A crash from the kitchen followed by Sophie’s “Oops! Sorry, Ms. Lucy!” Breaks through the tension.
“Nothing to worry about, sugar!” Ms. Lucy calls back, then turns to me. “Though I might need to rescue my kitchen soon. Why don’t you text Gavin? He mentioned he had the afternoon off today.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Ms. Lucy…”
“Don’t you dare ‘Ms. Lucy’ me.” She waves off my protest. “And I’m making my pot roast tonight. We’ll eat around six.” She stands up, smoothing her skirt. “That gives you plenty of time to clear your head.”
Before I can argue, she’s heading toward the kitchen. “Sophie, honey, let’s see what happened to those cookies.”
I stay curled up in the floral armchair for a moment longer, the fabric soft and worn beneath me. What kind of mother leaves her child behind when the man who hurt her is still out there? When he could be anywhere, just waiting to take everything from us again? Guilt twists deep in my stomach, sharp and unforgiving.
But then Sophie glances up, beaming, her eyes light and free in a way they haven’t been in so long. And suddenly, I know. I’m not abandoning her; I’m protecting her. Giving her this moment. This chance to be safe, to feel like a normal five-year-old.
I pull out my phone, turning it over in my hands a few times, my fingers trembling just slightly. Then I open my messages. And I text Gavin.
The last text from him sits there from this morning:
“Thinking of you. Let me know if you need anything.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard. The thought of being alone with my thoughts terrifies me but being with Gavin… that’s different.
“ Hi. You free this afternoon? ” I type quickly before I can change my mind.
His response comes almost immediately: “ For you? Always. Everything okay? ”
“Rough morning. Could use some company.”
“I’ll pick you up in 15. We can go wherever you want.”
I stand up, my legs slightly steadier. “Ms. Lucy? I think I’m going to take your advice.”
She appears in the doorway, flour already dusting her hands. “Good girl. Go get some fresh air. Sophie and I have some baking to do.”
I peek into the kitchen where Sophie stands on a step stool, a streak of flour across her cheek. “Be good for Ms. Lucy, okay sweetie?
“Okay!” She climbs off her step stool and runs into my arms, wrapping me in a flour-covered hug. “I’ll save some cookies for you, mama.”
“That would be amazing, Soph.” I smile, holding her tight despite the powdery mess.
Back at the tiny house, I change into fresh clothes. A soft blue t-shirt and jeans and run a brush through my hair. The face in the mirror looks tired, but there’s something else there too. Something stronger.
Gavin’s truck pulls up right as I step outside. He hops out to open the passenger door, and the simple gesture makes me smile.
“Hey.” His voice is soft, concerned. “Where to?”
I climb in, breathing in the leather smell of his truck. “Anywhere.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know just the place.”
We drive in comfortable silence, the radio playing quietly in the background. He doesn’t push me to talk, though I know he must be curious. Instead, he just lets me be, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand.
The tension in my shoulders starts to ease as we leave town behind, trading old buildings for open fields and scattered oak trees. After about ten minutes, he turns onto a dirt road I wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out.
“Where are we going?” I ask, curiosity finally breaking through my fog.
“You’ll see.” He grins.
The road ends at what looks like an old ranch gate. He parks and comes around to my side. “Short walk from here. Trust me?”
He holds out his hand, steady and sure.
Do I trust him? Every instinct in me screams to stay guarded. To protect myself, protect Sophie. I’ve spent so long building walls that letting someone in feels dangerous. But from him all I see is quiet patience.
I take his offered hand.
“Yes.”
He leads me through the gate and up a gentle slope. As we crest the hill, my breath catches. Below us stretches a hidden valley, filled with wildflowers in every color imaginable. Blues, purples, yellows, and reds paint the ground like an impressionist masterpiece.
“Gavin…” I whisper. “This is beautiful.”
“Found it while tracking a lost cow last spring.” He tugs me toward a flat rock overlooking the space. “Thought you might like it.”
We sit side by side, our shoulders touching. A warm breeze carries the sweet scent of flowers, and somewhere nearby birds call.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.
I draw my knees up to my chest and place my arms around them. “Not really. Not yet. Is that okay?”
“More than okay.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I feel myself lean into him, letting out a shaky breath.
For a long while, we just sit there, watching clouds drift across the sky, the flowers move in the breeze. The knot in my stomach slowly unravels. Here, surrounded by wildflowers and held by someone who expects nothing from me, I can finally breathe.
“Thank you,” I murmur eventually.
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Anytime.”
“Ms. Lucy’s making pot roast tonight,” I say, turning my head to him. “Would you like to join us?”
His face lights up. “Her famous pot roast? Wouldn’t miss it.”
I close my eyes, trying to let the warmth of the sun seep into my skin, but my mind won’t settle. The morning’s events keep cycling through my thoughts. The cold metal of the police station chairs, the scratch of pen on paper, the way my voice shook as I detailed every past bruise, every threat, every moment of terror. What if Matt finds out? What if he comes looking for us? What if the police can’t-
“Hey.” Gavin’s voice breaks through my spiral. “Where’d you go?”
I open my eyes, blinking against the sunlight. “Sorry, I just…” My hands twist in my lap. “Sometimes my thoughts get stuck on repeat, you know?”
“I do know.” He shifts beside me, his arm still steady around my shoulders. “Want to hear something not many people know about me?”
I turn to look at him, grateful for the distraction. “Yes.”
“When I first started vet school, I almost quit after my first surgery.” He gazes out over the wildflowers, a small smile playing at his lips. “My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold the scalpel. Kept thinking about everything that could go wrong, how I could hurt the animal, how I wasn’t good enough.”
“What happened?”
“I threw up in the bathroom afterward. Then sat there for an hour, my mind spinning just like yours is now.” He looks at me, his eyes warm. “One of my professors found me. Instead of telling me to get it together, she shared her own story about her first surgery. Told me that sometimes our brains try to protect us by playing out every worst-case scenario.”
I lean into him. “How did you get past it?”
“She taught me this grounding technique. Want to try it?”
I nod.
“Okay, tell me five things you can see right now.”
“Um…” I scan the valley. “Lots of bluebonnets. That crooked oak tree. A ladybug. Your truck down by the gate. And…” I brush my fingers against his. “Your boots.”
“Good. Now four things you can feel.”
“The breeze. The sun. This rough rock beneath us. Your arm around me.”
“Three things you hear.”
I close my eyes. “Birds singing. That cow that just mooed. You’re breathing.”
“Two things you smell.”
“Flowers. And…” I breathe in. “Your cologne.”
“One thing you can taste.”
“The chamomile tea Ms. Lucy gave me earlier.”
“There you go.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Sometimes we just need to anchor ourselves in the present moment.”
The knot in my chest has loosened. “Your professor was smart.”
“She was. And you know what else she told me?” He turns to face me fully. “That being afraid doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. What matters is that you keep going anyway.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “Like you did with surgery?”
“Yeah. Now I can spay a cat without breaking a sweat.” He grins. “Though I still get nervous before trying new procedures. But that’s okay. It means I care about doing it right.”
Just like I care about doing right by Sophie. It’s that thought that steadies me further.
“Speaking of doing things right,” he says, checking his watch, “I should probably head home before heading to Ms. Lucy’s. Nugget’s been cooped up, and he gets pretty dramatic if he doesn’t get his potty breaks.”
I laugh, picturing his golden retriever’s puppy-dog eyes. “Dramatic how?”
“Last time I was late, he chewed a hole clean through my favorite boots and peed on the entryway runner. Dead center, like it was a message.” He shakes his head, half amused, half traumatized. “Pretty sure he was protesting me being gone too long.”
I chuckle at the mental image of Nugget’s revenge. “Poor Nugget. We should definitely stop by your place first. I’d hate to be responsible for another boot casualty.”
“You sure?” His eyes search my face. “It’ll only take ten minutes or so.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I stand, brushing off my jeans.
The drive back is lighter, like the wildflower valley took some weight off my shoulders. Gavin tells me stories about his more interesting patients this week, including a goat that ate Christmas lights and a cat that got stuck in a dryer vent.
When we pull up to his house, Nugget’s excited barking greets us before we even reach the door. The moment Gavin opens it, eighty pounds of golden fur launches at me.
“Down, boy!” Gavin commands, but I’m already scratching behind Nugget’s ears.
“Hi sweet boy,” I coo as his tail wags hard enough to knock over the umbrella stand. “Did you miss us?”
“He’s supposed to wait for permission before greeting someone.” Gavin sighs, but his smile gives away his amusement. “You’re spoiling him.”
“Maybe he just has good taste.” I surprise myself with the flirty comment.
Gavin’s eyes darken slightly, but before he can respond, Nugget runs to the back door and starts doing his potty dance.
“Alright, alright.” He slides the glass door open, and Nugget bolts into the fenced yard. “Make yourself at home. Want some water?”
“Sure.” I settle onto his leather couch, taking in the comfortable space. It’s exactly what I’d expect from him, clean but lived-in, with veterinary journals stacked neatly on the coffee table and a few framed photos on the walls. One catches my eye, a younger Gavin in graduation robes, beaming next to who must be his parents.
“Here you go.” He hands me a glass of water and sits beside me, our thighs almost touching. “Thanks for coming with me today.” He says.
“Thanks for knowing exactly what I needed.” I take a sip, then set the glass down on a coaster. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Just… know. When to push and when to let things be. When to talk and when to just sit there.” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt. “It’s like you can read my mind sometimes.”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I pay attention, I guess. To the little things. Like how you twist your clothes when you’re anxious, or how your eyes get distant when you’re stuck in your head.”
My breath catches. No one’s ever noticed those things about me before. Or if they did, they never cared enough to mention it.
“Plus,” he continues moving closer to me, his voice softer, “I really want to get it right with you, Bailey.”
The intensity in his amber eyes makes my heart skip. We’re so close now, I can see the flecks of gold in his irises. His hand finds mine.
The air between us crackles with something electric, something I haven’t felt in years. His thumb starts tracing slow, deliberate circles that send shivers up my arm. His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us. The weight of the day, the fear, the guilt, it all fades into the background. All I can think about is how close he is, how his breath hitches when I lean in, how his lips part just slightly, like he’s waiting for me to make the first move.
And I do. I tilt my head, my heart pounding in my chest, and close the distance between us. But just before our lips touch, he pulls back, his hand gently cupping my cheek.
“Bailey,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
His question catches me off guard. It’s not that I don’t want this because I do. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But the fact that he’s asking, that he’s giving me the choice, makes my chest squeeze in a way I can’t quite explain. This is different. This is mine.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I want this. I want you.”
His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of hesitation and when he finds none, he exhales softly, his breath warm against my skin. “Okay,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “But if you need to stop, just say the word. No questions asked.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
This is my choice.
My decision.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel in control.
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss so soft it’s almost tentative. But then I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens. His hands slide into my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he kisses me like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.
The guilt creeps in, though, unbidden and unwelcome. How can I want this? How can I feel this way when I’ve spent so long being afraid? My mind races, but his touch anchors me, pulling me back to the present. His lips move against mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me.
I shift, straddling his lap, and his hands settle on my hips, holding me steady. His breath hitches when I press against him, and for a moment, I feel powerful. This is my choice. My body. My life.
But then he stops, his hands stilling on my waist. “Bailey,” he says, his voice strained. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
“Yes,” I interrupt, my voice firmer this time. “I’m sure.”
He searches my face again, eyes dark with desire. When he finally nods, I feel a rush of relief. He’s not pushing me. He’s not taking. He’s giving me the space to decide, and that’s what makes this feel so different.
Suddenly he stands, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist. My arms lock behind his neck as he carries me down the hall all the while still kissing him. The room he brings us into I suspect is his bedroom smells like sandalwood and fresh laundry. He sets me down gently, the mattress dipping beneath me, his hands lingering on my hips as he steps back to grab a condom from the nightstand. I notice the way his fingers hesitate for half a heartbeat before snatching the foil packet, like he’s double-checking my consent.
When he turns back to me, I stand and reach for the hem of his shirt, sliding it over his taut skin as I pull it over his head. His chest is broad and muscular, scattered with dark hair. My palms skate down his pecs, tracing the ridge of a scar near his collarbone. His breath hitches when I brush a thumb over his nipple, and I bite my lip to hide a smile. Powerful, this. The way his eyes darken to burnt umber as he watches me explore, his throat bobbing like he’s swallowing a thousand unspoken words.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, calloused hands sliding under my t-shirt, fingertips skimming the sensitive dip above my hip bones. I lift my arms, the cool air hitting my stomach as he pulls the fabric off, and suddenly his mouth is on my neck. Hot, open kisses that scatter my thoughts. His hands map the curve of my waist, the flare of my ribs, his touch leaving trails of fire that make me squirm. When his palm cups my breast, my back arches instinctively, a whimper escaping before I can cage it.
We finish undressing each other slowly. His belt buckle clinking as I unfasten it, my jeans catching at my ankles until he kneels to help. His stubble scratches the inside of my thigh as he tugs the fabric free, and I fist his hair to stay grounded. Every revealed inch feels sacred, his gaze lingering like he’s memorizing the constellation of freckles on my shoulder, the faint stretch marks along my hips. When he shrugs out of his boxers, I let myself look, really look, at the way his erection curves upward toward his stomach, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he shifts onto the bed over me.
He pauses then, hands framing my face like I’m something fragile, his thumbs brushing my cheeks.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice cracking mid-word, and it’s the rawness that undoes me, the way his pupils blow wide even as his jaw trembles.
I kiss him instead of answering, pouring every fractured hope into the slide of our tongues. His groan vibrates through me, hands roaming from my jaw to my bottom, pulling me flush against him until I feel every desperate inch. With a low, shaky breath, he tears open the condom and rolls it on, and when he finally slides into me, it’s a slow burn. A stretch that makes my toes curl, my nails marking half-moons into his shoulders. He stills, forehead pressed to mine, sweat already gathering at his temples.
“Okay?” he grinds out, veins standing stark along his neck.
I nod, dragging my teeth over his bottom lip. “Yes,” I whisper against his mouth. “Please, Gavin. Don’t stop.”
He starts with shallow rolls of his hips, each thrust winding the coil in my stomach tighter. But when I rake my fingers down his back, whispering “more” into the shell of his ear, he really starts to move. The bed frame creaks in protest, our mingled gasps fogging the air between us. I bite his shoulder to muffle a cry, tasting salt and desperation, and he growls my name like a prayer gone feral.
The rhythm of our bodies falls into sync, our breath coming in sharp pants. I can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, a delicious ache building deep within me. His eyes are closed now, his jaw clenched as he fights for control. His biceps flex with each thrust, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back.
I reach between us, my fingers finding the sensitive spot where our bodies join. His eyes fly open, his breath catching as I start to move my hand in time with his hips.
“Bailey,” he groans, his voice ragged. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”
I smile, a mischievous glint in my eye. “I don’t want you to.”
With a growl, he grabs my wrist, stilling my hand. “Not yet. ”
Before I can ask what he means, he flips us over, his hands gripping my thighs as he pulls me onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs hooking over his as he starts to move again. The new angle sends sparks of pleasure shooting through me, making my head fall back in abandon.
Gavin takes the opportunity to trail kisses down my neck, his tongue swirling over my pulse point. His hands slide up my sides, his thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as he teases my nipples with his thumbs.
“Gavin,” I moan, my hips stuttering as I chase the feeling. “Please.”
He chuckles his breath hot against my skin. “Please what, Bailey?”
“Touch me,” I beg, my cheeks flaming even as the words spill out. “Please.”
He groans, his hips stuttering as he continues to fight for control. “Where, Bailey? Tell me where you want me to touch you.”
I bite my lip, my eyes fluttering shut as I imagine his fingers between my legs. “There,” I whisper, my voice thick with need. “Please touch me here.” And I place his hand exactly where I want him to touch me.
He doesn’t make me ask again. His fingers slide up and down, finding me more than ready for him. My hips buck at the contact, my breath catching as he starts to move his fingers in time with the thrusts of his hips on my sensitive nub.
It’s too much and not enough all at once. The pleasure builds and builds, a tidal wave threatening to crash over me. I can feel his breath hot on my neck, his own control hanging by a thread.
“Come for me, Bailey,” he pleads, his voice rough with need. “I need you to come first.”
His words are all it takes to push me over the edge. My back arches, my nails still digging into his shoulders as I cry out his name. My body pulses around him, gripping his length as he groans my name like a mantra.
“Bailey,” he pants, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. “Oh God, Bailey.”
And then he’s coming, his body shuddering as he buries himself deep, a broken sound ripping from his throat. His hands find mine, lacing our fingers together like he needs the anchor as the pleasure crashes over him.
We stay like that for several long moments, our chests heaving as we catch our breath. Finally, he pulls out of me and tugs me against his side, discarding the condom, his arm wrapping around my waist. I turn to face him instead, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.
“Bailey,” he murmurs. His hand cups my cheek. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
I press my forehead against his chest, the words sticking in my throat. I’m not good at this, at accepting kindness or affection. My default is to deflect, to laugh it off, but with Gavin, I don’t want to. I want to let myself feel it, to believe it, even if it’s just for tonight.
“No, I’m not,” I whisper. “But when you say it like that, I almost believe it.”
He lifts my chin and he kisses me again, soft and slow, like he has all the time in the world. “You will,” he says against my mouth. “One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
The knot in my chest tightens. Part of me wants to believe him, but the other part, the part that’s been beaten down for so long, is screaming that this is too good to be true.
When I don’t respond, he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching my face.
“Hey,” he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Talk to me.”
I swallow hard, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. If I can let myself be happy.”
His expression softens, and he shifts beside me, warmth radiates from his skin, grounding me.
“You deserve to be happy, Bailey,” he says, his voice firm. “You’ve been through hell, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to have this. To have me, if that’s what you want.”
My chest tightens. “It’s not that simple,” I manage to say.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he counters. “You’re allowed to take it one moment at a time. No pressure, no expectations. Just… you and me.”
He says it so easily, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. But for me, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the unknown. I’ve spent so long living in survival mode, constantly looking over my shoulder. Letting my guard down feels like a death sentence.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “I don’t know if I can trust myself to make the right choices.”
His hand tightens around mine. “You don’t have to trust yourself right now,” he says, his voice steady. “Just trust me. I’ve got you, even when you can’t carry it all yourself.”
The vulnerability in his voice surprises me. He’s laying himself bare, and suddenly, it hits me just how much he’s risking here, too. This isn’t just about me.
I nod slowly, my throat too tight to speak. He pulls me closer, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says softly, his fingers stroking my hair. “Together.”
The word lingers in the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself imagine what that might look like. A life where I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder, where I can let someone in without fear.
“Gavin,” I whisper, my voice muffled against his chest.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He kisses the top of my head, his lips warm against my skin. “Always.”
We lie there in silence for a while, then a loud bark grabs our attention.
His low chuckle reverberates through his chest, and the sound pulls a smile from me. “Poor Nugget.” I reluctantly pull away from his warmth. “I guess we should go get him.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. He sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
I scan the floor for my clothes, suddenly self-conscious. My shirt hangs off the corner of the dresser, and I snatch it up, pulling it over my head.
“Here.” Gavin hands me my underwear, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Thanks.” I slide them on quickly, followed by my jeans. The denim feels rough against my still-sensitive skin.
He dresses with efficient movements, pulling on his boxers and jeans in one fluid motion. He catches me watching and winks, making heat rush to my cheeks.
“See something you like?” he teases, tugging his t-shirt over his head.
“Maybe.” I try to be casual, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
He crosses the room in a few strides, tilting my chin up for a quick kiss. “Good because, same.”
Another bark, more insistent this time, breaks the moment.
“We’re coming, Nugget,” he calls out, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway.
Walking into the living room we see Nugget pressing his nose against the glass door, clearly done with his bathroom break.
Gavin turns back to me as he opens the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. “Just… processing.”
He steps toward me, concern etching lines between his brows. “Regrets?”
“No,” I answer quickly, surprising myself with how true it feels. “No regrets.”