Chapter 4
Ashley
I only manage a couple of hours of sleep before waking in a cold sweat.
It’s not just the fear of Brandon tracking me down that’s keeping me awake. It’s Officer Ross Kavanaugh too… for entirely different reasons.
I turn onto my side and stare at the motel clock.
1:17 AM.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
My phone lights up with a new message, and my whole body goes tense before I even touch it.
Unknown number.
This is Ross Kavanaugh. Just checking in. You okay?
That's all it says.
Simple and direct. Like him.
I type back before I can overthink it.
I'm okay. Just can't sleep.
Three dots appear immediately.
I can meet you in the lobby.
My breath catches.
You sure? I don’t want to interfere with your work.
His answer is immediate.
I’m off duty. Be there in ten minutes.
He doesn't make it sound like a big deal. Like it's the most normal thing in the world for a mountain cop to come sit with a woman he pulled over earlier because she's restless and alone.
I stare at the message until the screen dims.
Then I swing my legs off the bed and stand. I comb my hair, brush my teeth, and swipe on some lip gloss.
I check the peephole, even though I know no one's out there. I unlock the door, step into the hallway, and lock it again behind me.
The lobby is dim and quiet, lit mostly by the TV behind the front desk that's playing something with low laughter. The clerk looks up and gives me a wary nod.
I don't blame him. Sane people are asleep at this hour.
I take a seat in the worn chair by the window and tuck my hands under my thighs to keep them from shaking.
A moment later, the bell above the door jingles softly.
Officer Kavanaugh walks in. He's still in uniform. His jacket is unzipped, and the cold has brushed color into his cheeks. He spots me and walks over without hesitation, a smile spreading across his face.
"Hi, Ashley," he says, voice low.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous. “Hi, Ross.”
He sits in the chair across from mine, knees angled toward me, posture relaxed but alert. Even here, off duty, the protectiveness doesn’t slip.
"I shouldn't have bothered you," I blurt out, then wince. "I mean, thank you, but you probably have a million things to do, and I’m sure you’re tired after work."
His face stretches into a grin. "I texted you," he points out.
That shouldn't make me feel warm and gooey inside, but it does. “Oh. Right.”
"Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you scared?” His voice is quiet.
Partly. But also hot and bothered by thoughts of you. “Yes.”
His gaze holds mine. Steady. Unflinching. "Of what?" he asks.
I look down at my hands. "Of being found."
Silence stretches between us, quiet enough that I can hear the heater click on somewhere behind the desk.
Ross shifts forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice drops even lower.
"Who's looking for you, Ashley?"
My heart pounds hard against my ribs. I hate this part. The part where I speak it out loud and make it real.
"My ex," I say.
His jaw tightens.
“We were engaged, but I ended things.”
Ross says nothing, but something changes in the air. Like the temperature drops a degree.
After a moment he asks, “Why did you end things?”
I press my lips together. "Because I realized I was trapped. And once I realized that I couldn't pretend I didn't know."
Ross's gaze moves over my face, taking in every detail like he's building a picture. Like he's deciding where the bruises might be even if none are visible.
"Did he hurt you?" he asks.
"No," I say quickly. Then I hesitate. "Not like that."
His expression doesn't soften.
"How, then?"
"There was verbal abuse, and he went into rages, breaking things. The threat of physical violence was always there.” I take a shaky breath. “He controlled everything. What I wore. Where I went. Who I talked to. He called it taking care of me."
Ross's hands curl into fists on his knees, then relax again. Controlled. Measured. But I can see it.
Anger.
Not at me. For me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, even though I don't know why I'm apologizing. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's not your problem."
Ross leans back slightly, eyes never leaving mine.
"It is my problem if someone's stalking you in my county," he says. "And it's my problem if you're not safe."
My eyes sting. "I don't even know if he's here. I just... I know him. He doesn't let go."
Ross nods once. "Okay."
That's it. One word. But it feels like a promise.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Do you have his name?"
I freeze.
Saying it feels like summoning him.
I give it anyway. "Brandon Mitchell."
Ross types it in, calm and efficient, like he's collecting evidence.
"Do you have a photo?" he asks.
"I do," I say, voice small. I take my phone out and pull up the last picture I have, then pass it across.
Ross looks at it for two seconds. Maybe three. “Mind if I text it to myself? In case the police department needs it?”
I shake my head.
He sends the text and then he hands my phone back.
"What exactly did he say when you left? Did he threaten to follow you?”
"He said if I tried to leave, I'd regret it. He said no one would take me seriously without him. I feel like he’s lurking in the shadows of the parking lot, ready to pounce.” I wring my hands. “Maybe he’s right. I am weak.”
Ross's eyes lift to mine, hard and sure. “No. He’s wrong.”
The certainty in his voice makes my eyes burn.
I blink fast. "You don't even know me."
His gaze drops to my mouth for the briefest moment before returning to my eyes.
"I know enough," he says.
My breath catches.
This is the line. The one I shouldn't cross.
I just met him. I don't know where this goes. I don't know if it's real or if it's just the adrenaline of fear and relief.
But when Ross stands, his body filling the space between us, my instincts don't scream run.
They whisper go.
"Come on," he says.
"Where?"
"We're going outside," he replies, “to get some air. And I want you to see the lot. See your car. With me by your side, so you know you’re safe."
I stand, legs unsteady and follow him through the lobby doors.
Cold air hits my skin, sharp and clean. The parking lot is quiet. My car sits under the motel light, just where I left it. Ross scans the shadows with practiced ease.
"No one’s here,” he confirms.
I nod, but my body still holds tension, like it's waiting for the moment something jumps out.
Ross turns to me, close enough that I can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough that I can smell his cologne once again.
"You're shaking," he says.
"I'm fine," I lie.
His hand lifts slowly, giving me time to step back.
I don't.
His fingers brush my cheek, gentle, and the touch makes my whole body go still. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I lick my lips. “Why do you care?”
"I don’t know,” he says, gazing at me intently, “but I do.”
Ross's expression shifts, something dark and protective settling into place. Not reckless. Not out of control. Determined.
He lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss is careful, at first, like he's giving me time to back away. When I don't, when I lean into him instead, the control in his body tightens and then breaks just enough to make my knees weak.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb resting under my ear.
I grip the front of his jacket and tug him closer.
Ross pulls back just far enough to look down at me. "Are you sure this is what you want?”
"Yes," I breathe.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and the world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the hard line of his body against mine.
His hand drifts to my waist, then down to cup my ass.
I should stop.
I should remember my plan.
Keep moving. Keep running. Don't attach yourself to anyone.
But I'm so tired of being alone.
Ross's mouth leaves mine, trailing down my jaw, and I gasp as his lips brush the sensitive skin just below my ear.
"You don’t have to be alone tonight," he murmurs.
My eyes sting again, and I hate it. I hate how close tears are, even now, even when desire is threading through me like a wire.
"Let’s go inside," he says softly. "Back to your room. I don’t expect anything. I can just hold you, if you want. Or even just guard the door. But let me make you feel safe and protected, so you can get a good night’s sleep.”
I nod, fingers still curled in his jacket. "Okay."
We walk back inside, and the clerk looks up, then looks away quickly.
Ross keeps one hand at my back as we cross the lobby and head down the hall. At my door, I fumble with the key, fingers still shaky from the cold—or maybe from his proximity.
Ross's hand closes over mine, steadying it. His fingers are warm against my skin, calloused and rough.
The key turns. The door opens.
I should say goodnight. Send him away. Get some sleep like a rational person.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Do you want to come in? Just for a minute?"
Ross hesitates, and I can see the war in his expression. The professional side battling the personal.
"Just to warm up," I add quickly. "It's freezing out there."
That tips the scale. He nods once. "Okay. For a minute."
He follows me inside, and suddenly the room feels smaller than it did before. More intimate. The lamp casts warm shadows, and the heater hums softly in the background.
I turn to face him, and we're standing closer than we should be. Close enough that I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes have gone dark.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For checking the parking lot. For making me feel safe."
"You don't have to thank me," he says, voice low.
"I want to."
The air between us is charged, electric. Neither of us moves.
Ross's jaw tightens. "Ashley..."
"Yes?"
He takes a half-step closer, and my breath catches. His hand lifts to my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone the way it did outside.
But this time there's no cold air between us. No professional distance to maintain.
This time when his eyes drop to my mouth, there's nowhere to hide.
"I should go," he says, but he doesn't move.
"I don't want you to," I whisper.
His control fractures. I can see it in his face—the moment the restraint breaks.
He closes the distance and kisses me.