Chapter 13 Haven
THIRTEEN
HAVEN
LUCY
Connor Heyward’s house looks like it was built to disappear. A normal two-story home, it sits back from the road with a curtain of trees behind it like it wants to swallow it whole.
The tires of Dallas’s truck crunches over gravel as he pulls into the drive. My nervous stomach flip-flops, and I curl into the seat, searching for the words to tell him that, wherever he’s going, I want to go with him.
I can’t, though. He says it’s a work thing, and though I’m still feeling fragile after I met Heather yesterday and Dallas insisted that there was a whole miscommunication about who she was and why she appeared at the penthouse, I want to believe him.
He’s my lifeline to survival now, and if he says that he has to go out, he has to go.
I offered to stay at the penthouse, but he’s worried about me. He wants to make sure I’m safe and protected, and that means he decided to bring me to the home of one of his close friends that I should remember, but I… I don’t.
I wish I did, but when he told me Connor’s name, there wasn’t even the slightest twinge of recognition. Same thing with the house. I’ve never seen it before, and I really, really don’t want to go inside there.
Dallas turns off the engine and just sits there for a second, hands on the wheel, jaw working like he’s biting back words.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s just one night. I can handle being alone for one night.”
He looks at me, and I hate how quickly my body reacts. Like his gaze is a hand, and the way his eyes rove over my face, I swear I can feel the heat of his skin on me.
After a moment, he exhales. “Fuck me, Luce, but if I don’t know you’re safe, I can’t do what I have to do. You get me?”
I guess. “If you say so. But it’s not like I’m going to have another accident.” I quirk my lips, going for a teasing smile. “The Fortress is too well protected. I won’t jump, and it’s not like someone is going to break in and push me or something.”
Even as I say that, a shiver runs down my spine.
Last night, I had a dream that I was standing at an unfamiliar window.
A silhouette of a man reached around me, sliding it open, claiming he needed air.
I didn’t doubt him, but I should have because, suddenly, he was shoving me with such force that I was tumbling, falling, crashing—
I reach out with a shaky hand, my fingers landing on his thigh. “I can stay home. We don’t have to bother your friend. Or, even better, I can come with you. You won’t have to worry about me if I’m there, and I won’t be any trouble. Promise.”
Dallas’s head falls back against the headrest. “I want to. Shit… I want to keep you with me always. I learned my lesson, Dandelion. I said no more separation and I mean it. But this… this is work. I have to take care of it. You’ll be better off here.”
Maybe he’s right. And, in a way, I’m glad that he’s decided that it’s time for him to reacquaint me with some of the other people that are important to him.
I haven’t met anyone other than Adrian, though I’ve heard so much about his wife, Loni, who actually works with Adrian in the Fortress.
Then there’s Sebastien—or Bas, as Dallas calls him—who owns the Reynolds Garage where Dallas works.
He’s married, too, to a woman named Annaliese.
And then there’s Dallas’s buddy, Connor.
He’s the one who offered to keep my company, alongside his wife, Haven.
Only there’s something going on here. Dallas spent the last couple of weeks insisting I stay in the penthouse.
Now that he needs to do this emergency overnight work trip, I thought he’d convince his friend to stay with me at home.
Nope. Connor’s wife hates leaving their home more than Dallas hates the idea of me leaving the penthouse and, well, here we are.
Turning slightly, he takes the hand I kept on his thigh. His palm is warm, rough, and scarred with that strange mark of his. The pressure is steady, though, and more grounding than I would’ve expected.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” he tells me. “But if something happens and you want me to come back here, I will. If you want me to pick you up and take you home to the Fortress, I will. If you want me to—”
“Dallas,” I whisper.
He goes still.
I swallow. My throat feels too tight for the words, but I force them out anyway. “I’m being childish. If you trust your friend and his wife, then that’s enough for me. I’m sure I’ve met them before—”
“Connor, yes. Haven… they’ve only been together for two years.”
I frown. “But we were only estranged for less than that.” That’s what he told me. “And we never met?”
Another exhale. “No. Haven… there was some trouble before she got with Connor. Like you, she has some trauma. Connor is very protective of her.”
“No wonder you’re such good friends. You seem to have that in common, at least.”
Dallas’s lips twitch. “Yeah. You can say that. And I’m hoping that you and Haven will get along.”
Because we have being broken in common, I guess.
When I don’t say anything—or try to convince him again to let me go with him—he squeezes my hand once more, then releases it and climbs out of the truck.
Chilly air rushes in when he goes around to my side and opens my door before helping me out onto the gravel driveway. It’s late August, but the night is crisp and damp, the smell of wet leaves clinging to everything after the last few days of rain.
He touches my lower back when we walk up the steps. He knocks once, then opens the door without waiting for anyone to answer.
It’s warm inside. Clean, but lived-in. There’s a coat draped over the back of a chair, a pair of boots by the door, and the faint smell of coffee and something spiced in the air. Cinnamon, maybe. I like it.
A woman stands in the hallway.
She’s pretty in a way that doesn’t feel intentional. Medium brown hair that falls past her shoulders, pale skin, big eyes that look like they’ve seen too much. She wears an oversized sweater and leggings, her bare feet on the hardwood floor.
And, as though her husband warned her about me, she’s staring at me like she’s trying to decide what kind of broken I am.
Dallas shifts slightly beside me, his body angling in front of mine protectively. As if I could be afraid of this woman…
“Hello, Haven.”
Her gaze darts to him, then back to me. There’s no smile. No ‘hello’ in return. Just an open stare and the sense that she’s about to flee.
A second later, a man comes walking out of another doorway; the kitchen, I’d bet.
He’s a couple of inches shorter than Dallas, with a stocky build that fills out the pale blue polo shirt stretched over his chest. I get a flash of the matching scar on his palm on his hand as he gives a cheery wave before I’m distracted by the brand on his inner forearm.
Unless I’m imagining it, that’s the letter ‘H’ either burned into his skin or carved with a knife.
H.
Haven…
“Haven, sweetheart, you know Dallas.” He holds out his arm and she dashes over to him, ducking against his side. “This is his Lucy. You remember. Adrian called and asked if we were up for company.”
She nods.
“Right. She’s going to stay here tonight. Use your old bed in the basement if Dallas won’t be back until the morning. Is that okay with you?”
As I kind of hide behind Dallas, Haven turns those big eyes on me. For a moment, she stares at me, unblinking, before she nods again.
Connor drops a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”
Girl, I think. Despite how she seems to use her oversized clothing to conceal herself, I look at Haven and think she has to be my age. Twenty-nine, thirty… somewhere near there. And, yet, Connor treats her like she’s so much younger.
No, I correct. He treats her like he’s prepared to watch her shatter at any moment.
I give her a tentative wave. “Hi.”
Haven mimics the wave.
Connor rubs her shoulder. “This is my wife, Haven. She doesn’t talk much.”
Haven’s eyes cut to him. It’s quick, but sharp enough that Connor goes quiet like he’s been trained, and I realize that she might not be as fragile as I thought.
At the very least, she’s here because she wants to be, and Connor and Dallas have something else in common: he worships the ground she walks on.
I give the married couple a crooked grin. “That’s okay. After my accident, I don’t have much to say either.”
Haven’s expression changes just enough to be noticeable. She doesn’t say a word, but in the way her features shift, I get the feeling that she’s just welcomed me into her home.
Connor shifts his weight. “I’ll—uh—”
Haven looks at him again. This time, it’s unmistakable. She doesn’t have to say a word to get her message across and, as Connor removes his arm from its place slung over her shoulder, this one is clear: I’ve got this.
Connor exhales like he wants to argue, though he doesn’t. Instead, he mutters something under his breath before jerking his chin in a goodbye nod to Dallas, then disappearing into the back of the house, leaving the three of us standing there in the quiet.
Dallas’s hand finds my elbow.
“You good?” he asks.
Surprisingly, I think I am.
He leans in slightly, voice low enough that Haven can’t hear. “You have your phone in the overnight bag we packed?” I nod again. He squeezes my elbow. “Good. I’ll call you before I pick you up.”
In answer, I go up on my tip-toes and press my lips to the edge of his jaw.
Dallas’s attention goes to Haven. “If she needs anything—”
Haven’s eyes narrow, just a fraction, like she’s insulted by the implication that she can’t handle me.
Dallas pauses. Then he says, very carefully, “Keep her safe the way that Connor does you.”
Haven doesn’t say a word. She definitely doesn’t agree. She does, however, hold Dallas’s gaze for a long moment, and I guess that’s enough before my husband turns back to me.
He cups my face, and I can’t help but lean into it.
“I’ll be back,” he says again, like he needs me to believe it.
“I know,” I whisper.