Chapter 7
Ashley
Two days later, I'm sitting in the break room at the police station when the call comes through.
Ross steps out to take it, and I watch through the glass as his expression shifts from neutral to satisfied. When he comes back in, there's something settled in the set of his shoulders.
"The temporary protection order's been approved," he says. "Brandon's been served."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "So that's it?"
"That's it." He sits down across from me. "He comes near you, he goes to jail. Simple as that."
Simple. Nothing about the last three days has felt simple, but maybe that's the point. Ross made it simple by refusing to let it be complicated.
I stare down at my coffee. It's gone cold.
"I've been thinking," I say quietly.
Ross waits, patient as always.
"I don't want to leave," I admit. The words come easier than I expected. "Not today. Not next week. I don't know what comes next, but I know I don't want to keep running."
His hand closes over mine on the table. "Then don't."
I look up at him. "What if Brandon comes back? What if—"
"Then we deal with it," he says. "Together."
Together. The word settles something in my chest.
"I don't need you to save me," I say, because it feels important to make that clear.
"I know." His thumb traces across my knuckles. "You saved yourself when you got in that car and drove away. I'm just here to make sure you don't have to do it alone anymore."
My throat tightens.
"I want to be here," I continue. "With you. In this town. I want to stop looking over my shoulder and start looking forward."
Ross leans in slightly. "What does that look like?"
"I don't know yet." I manage a small smile. "Maybe I find a job. Maybe I find an apartment. Maybe I figure out who I am when I'm not running or hiding."
"You can stay with me," he says. "While you figure it out."
I raise an eyebrow. "We've known each other three days."
"I know." His eyes are steady, unflinching. "And I'm an all-in kind of guy. With my job. With you."
There it is again. That certainty that should feel overwhelming but doesn't.
"You're sure?" I ask.
"I'm sure." He squeezes my hand. "Stay. Take your time. Find your footing. I'm not going anywhere."
Something in me that's been wound tight for months finally loosens.
"Okay," I say. "I'll stay."
The smile that crosses his face is quiet but real.
He pulls me up and into his arms, and I let myself lean into him. Not because I can't stand on my own, but because I don't have to anymore.
"Thank you," I murmur against his chest.
"For what?"
"For pulling me over on that mountain road."
He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Best traffic stop of my career."
I pull back just enough to look up at him. "I'm serious, Ross. You changed everything."
His expression softens. "So did you."
He kisses me then, slow and deliberate, and it feels like a promise.
When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
"You're not in trouble," he says quietly. "You're not alone. And you're not running anymore."
I smile. "No. I'm not."
For the first time since I left everything behind, the road ahead doesn't feel like something I need to outrun.
It feels like something I'm ready to face.
And I'm not facing it alone.