Chapter 24
RIOT
I’m staring at a screen so long I’m seeing static behind my eyelids.
Jace is scrolling through last night’s footage from the porch camera; Ash keeps skipping back and forth through a motion alert that turned out to be a possum.
We’re crowding around Micah’s laptop, everyone on edge but trying not to show it.
“How is it possible we’ve got six cameras around this damn house and not a single one’s caught anything?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
Micah sighs, clicking between feeds. “Either our stalker’s a ghost, or someone keeps finding the blind spots.”
Jace grunts, annoyed. “Or it’s an inside job. Someone who knows how to avoid being seen.”
Ash snorts. “Like one of us is creeping around taking pictures? Don’t be stupid.”
Jace flicks him off, but nobody laughs. The tension’s too thick. I run my hands through my hair, glancing at the digital clock—still nothing.
“Could be tech, too,” Micah says, voice lower. “Signal jamming, camera loops, hacking—hell, they could swap out memory cards if they’re good enough.”
I hate that—hate how helpless it makes me feel. I keep picturing Sawyer’s face when she looked at those photos, the way she went pale and quiet and small. The kind of small that means she’s folding into herself to keep from falling apart.
I shove back from the table, restless. “Cameras aren’t catching shit, and none of you think it’s weird?”
Ash glances over, brow raised. “You think someone’s in the house, Riot?”
“No.” I chew my lip, shaking my head. “But I don’t like not having answers. Whoever this is—they’re smarter than we thought.”
Jace scrolls forward again, frame by frame, like he can force something to appear if he stares hard enough. “Yeah, well, next time they try, I’ll be waiting. Got a bat with their name on it.”
Micah leans back, eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ll catch them. They’re not as invisible as they think. Everybody slips up eventually.”
I want to believe him. But outside, the air feels fresh, electric. Like the universe just shifted when I wasn’t looking.
For a split second, I wonder where Jasper and Sawyer are. Something about the silence on the porch makes my skin crawl.
But I keep watching the footage, searching for a ghost in the static—hoping like hell the next time something happens, I’ll be ready.
I can’t sit still any longer. Not with all that static in my chest and the house so damn quiet, like everyone’s holding their breath.
Jasper is nowhere to be found, which is no surprise, but I’m looking for Sawyer.
I check the rooms one by one, pausing outside the master bathroom when I hear water sloshing and the faintest sigh.
I knock softly. “Sawyer?”
Her voice drifts through the cracked door, tired but not unfriendly. “It’s open.”
I step inside and there she is—curled up in Jasper’s giant tub, knees hugged to her chest, chin resting on the rim, hair wet and wild around her face. Steam curls in the air, blurring the sharp lines of the world outside.
I drop to the floor beside her, back against the warm tile. She lets her arm fall over the edge, and I catch it, thumb tracing little circles along her wrist, grounding both of us.
“Figured you might want company,” I say, voice quiet. “But if you don’t, I’ll go. No hard feelings.”
She shakes her head, lips twitching in a ghost of a smile. “Stay. Please.”
We sit in silence for a minute. The only sounds are the faint hum of the water heater and the occasional splash as she shifts. I want to fill the space with words, jokes, anything—but I don’t want to crowd her.
“What’s on your mind?” I finally ask. “Besides… all of it.”
She lets out a shaky breath, eyes staring into the water. “Feels like I can’t relax. If I let myself stop worrying, something terrible will happen.”
I nod, rubbing her arm a little firmer. “Makes sense. Anyone would feel that way after what you’ve been through. But you’re not alone, Sawyer.”
She looks at me then, really looks, and there’s so much exhaustion in her gaze it hurts. “You guys keep saying that, but I still feel like the world could come crashing down any second. What if I’m not strong enough? What if I mess everything up?”
I squeeze her hand, leaning in. “You’re stronger than you think. And even if you weren’t—we’d still be here. I’d still be here. I mean it, Sawyer. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Anything.”
Her lips tremble, but she manages a genuine smile. “Even if I keep dragging drama everywhere I go?”
I grin, trying to lighten it just a little. “I thrive on drama, Hellcat. Keeps life interesting. But seriously—you’re not a burden. You’re you.”
She sighs, shoulders sinking deeper into the water. “Thank you, Riot. I needed to hear that.”
I squeeze her arm one more time, then rest my head on the edge of the tub next to hers. “You ever want to talk, vent, scream, or just have someone sit with you while you soak—I’m your guy.”
She closes her eyes, letting the warmth of the water and the steadiness of my presence soak into her bones.
And I swear to myself, right then, that I won’t let anything hurt her. Ever.
SAWYER
I stare at the ripples in the water, listening to Riot breathe beside me. For a long time, I’m not sure I can make the words come out. They’re heavy. Old. Things I packed away in the dark corners of my mind, hoping they’d stay buried. But he doesn’t know, and he should know the darkest parts of me.
Riot sits there, silent and patient, thumb tracing slow circles on my arm like he has all the time in the world.
“Can I tell you something?” My voice comes out quiet, a little shaky.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Anything, Hellcat.”
I close my eyes. “I never talk about this. Not really. However, you should know why I react the way I do to certain things—the reasons behind my trauma.”
Riot shifts a little closer, voice gentle. “Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere.”
I draw a shaky breath. “I grew up in chaos: big family, lots of noise, not enough love to go around. My mom left when I was a kid. My dad did his best. Then he started dating my stepmom. She and her daughter moved in—it was great, and at some point things got weird. Then my parents began having issues, and that continued on and off for years until they split for the last time. Growing up watching everything that happened and watching them split and come back together caused a lot of trauma and trust issues. I watched them stay together after there was cheating involved, and I ended up doing the same thing in my relationships. I grew up thinking that was normal. That, that’s what love is. ”
Riot’s fingers squeeze mine, just enough to remind me he’s still here.
“I’ve had depression for as long as I can remember.
Anxiety, too. Sometimes I think I was born with it.
But then there’s the stuff I’ve never told anyone—” My voice hitches.
“My last boyfriend. Blake. I thought he loved me. I thought maybe if we tried hard enough, we could be what the other needed. We split and got back together multiple times in the 2 years we had been together.”
Riot’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t interrupt. He listens, steady as a stone.
“The problems started small. He’d call me crazy, jealous, dramatic.
It made me feel like everything was my fault when we fought or if he got caught cheating.
Then it got worse—he’d tell me nobody else would ever want me, that I’m broken, too much.
One night, we were fighting, and he raised his fist.” My hand shakes, but Riot holds it steady.
“For a second, I thought he was going to hit me. I was frozen. But at the last second, he punched the closet door right behind my head instead. Put a hole through it. I never slept easily next to him after that.”
Riot’s voice is raw. “Sawyer—”
I push through, needing to get it all out.
“And I stayed. I stayed every time. He’s hurt me in other ways too.
The worst was one night, when I was so drunk I could barely move.
I ended up blacking out. When I came to, I realized that he had forced himself on me, anally.
I begged him to stop. I cried and begged, but I was so drunk I couldn’t move.
I blacked out and came to twice after that.
He had me over the bed, the sink, and the bathtub.
I don’t even know how I got there, and each time I begged for him to stop.
I was hurting so badly. He just told me to shut up and stop crying.
That I’d asked for it, and I told no one because he made me believe they wouldn’t believe me even if I did. ”
The tears come silently and hot, sliding down my cheeks and vanishing in the bathwater.
Riot reaches for my hand with both of his, pulling me close, his voice fierce and shaking. “You didn’t deserve any of that. None of it. If I could go back and wreck every single one of those fuckers, I would. I swear to God, Sawyer, I’d burn the world for you.”
I let out a broken laugh, wiping my face. “That’s the thing, Riot. I’ve always felt like damage—like maybe all I’ll ever be is what other people left behind.”
He looks me dead in the eye, voice steady as a vow. “You aren’t damaged. You aren’t broken. You’re the strongest fucking person I know. And I mean it—you ever need someone to lean on, to fight for you, to believe in you when you can’t—I’m right here.”
I don’t trust myself to speak. I squeeze his hand, letting the warmth settle into all the cracks I thought would never heal.
For the first time in forever, I let someone see it all—the mess, the scars, the truth. And Riot doesn’t flinch. He stays.
I squeeze Riot’s hand, and for a long minute, all the words in the world just drain away. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s heavy and kind, wrapping me up and letting me breathe. For once, I don’t feel like I have to fill the space with apologies.