Chapter 13 Wyatt
Wyatt
I wake first.
Sadie is asleep against my chest, one palm splayed over my chest above my heart, which she’s somehow managed to claim in less than two weeks.
I woke her in the night with my mouth between her thighs, licking and teasing her to another orgasm. Then she wrapped her fingers around my cock, slow and sure, and worked me until I broke apart in her hands.
She’s wrecked me. And remade me into something better.
I drink her in as she sleeps. She looks different.
Not younger—that’s what people say when they don’t understand how living to survive works.
She looks unguarded. The crease between her brows is gone.
Her mouth is soft. My shirt is bunched at her shoulder because she stole it at some point in the night, and I let her.
I’d let her take anything from me and call it a blessing.
I don’t move for a while. I just look and let all my hard edges unclench around this impossible, extraordinary woman.
I trace the air an inch above Sadie’s hair, not touching. If I touch, she might wake, and I want her to have this—ten more minutes where the world holds its breath and she doesn’t have to.
Ten turns to five when she does the small, instinctive flinch of someone whose body remembers danger. I speak before whatever memory is disturbing her peace can take hold.
“Morning,” I murmur. “You’re at the cabin. With me. Safe.”
She melts back into me, tipping her head back enough to see me. Sleep-warm eyes. A smile that makes my heart beat faster.
“Hi,” she says, voice rough with sleep. “You’re still here.”
“Planning a long campaign.” My mouth twitches. “Don’t think I’ll be leaving.”
Her smile blooms. “Okay.”
“How are you feeling?” The words “after last night” hang unspoken.
She flushes as she wriggles. “Sore, but worth it.”
I roll so she’s beneath me, my body pressed along the length of hers. “Loved last night with you. Loved hearing you moan as you came all over my mouth and my cock.”
Her cheeks blaze. “What can I say? My man is good with his mouth.” Her gaze flicks between us as I harden against her stomach. “And his… weapon was fully loaded.”
That earns her a grin. “You’re lucky I come with excellent aim,” I murmur, brushing my nose along the line of her throat. “And precision targeting.”
Her laugh hitches into a sigh, soft and warm beneath me.
I kiss the hollow beneath her jaw, more lingering than greedy. I’m not in a rush. Not today, not with her. I want to memorize her voice, still soft with sleep, the way her body curves instinctively toward mine like we were always meant to fit.
“I like waking up with you,” she whispers.
My chest tightens. “Yeah?”
Sadie nods. “It’s not just the sex… though, that’s…” She blushes and squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s the safety. The warmth. I didn’t know I could have both.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “You get both. Always.”
She opens her eyes then, lashes heavy, and I see a flicker of unease.
I brace my forearm beside her head. “What is it?” I ask softly.
She swallows, her fingers curling lightly against my shoulder like she’s steadying herself. “Who’s Rebecca?”
I lift off her immediately—not away, but enough to see her clearly. “How do you know that name?”
Her expression isn’t angry. Or jealous. It’s… careful. “You said it last night in your sleep. I tried to wake you. You were—” She stops, biting her lip. “You sounded scared, Wyatt.”
The guilt hits hard.
For a moment, I almost shut down. The old instinct rises—seal the doors, lock the windows, keep everything inside. But that’s how men become their own cages. And she deserves more than the scraps I’ve been offering the world.
I shift to sit against the headboard, pulling her gently up to sit straddling my lap. Her thighs bracket my hips, warm and soft. Her hands settle on my chest, fingers splayed wide like she's steadying herself—or steadying me.
I take a breath that feels heavier than any I’ve taken in years. “Rebecca was my sister.”
“Was?” Grief blooms in Sadie’s eyes, the kind you feel for someone you’ve never met.
“She was eight years younger than me. Our parents died when she was ten. And I…” My throat threatens to close, but I force the words out. “I did my best to raise her. I wasn’t perfect, but she was my responsibility. My kid sister.”
Sadie’s palm lifts to my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw. The touch is soft, grounding.
“What happened?”
The memory is a blade I’ve carried so long it feels like part of my ribs.
“I was deployed. Middle of an op. Full blackout. No comms, no updates, nothing. When we finally made it back to base, the CO called me in.” I exhale slowly.
“That office has seen a lot of broken men. That day, it got another one.”
Sadie leans in closer, her forehead touching mine like she’s bracing us both.
“Rebecca was out with friends. Late. Wrong part of town. There was an accident. Hit-and-run. They said she died instantly.” I shake my head. “Christ, she was only twenty. She died alone. And I wasn’t there.”
My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I thought I could shove the grief down. Work through it. But grief makes you stupid. Sloppy. You start second-guessing everything or stop thinking altogether. On my next mission, I lost focus for a second. I was clearing a house, and I missed a corner.”
I tap my side lightly. “Got two bullets for it. Tank and Tex dragged my ass out before the rest of the building lit up. Should’ve never happened.”
Sadie’s breath hitches.
“It wasn’t the bullet that wrecked me,” I murmur. “It was knowing I hadn’t just failed her. I’d also failed the men who counted on me.”
Sadie cups my face in both hands with a fierceness that clogs my throat with emotion.
“Wyatt,” she breathes, voice trembling with conviction, “you didn’t fail anyone.”
“Yes, I did.” The words rip out of me, raw and jagged. “I should’ve been there for Rebecca. I promised I would be. And I broke that promise the day I enlisted.”
She shakes her head slowly, firmly. “No. You gave her a life. You gave her years of being loved. You gave her everything you could in a world that took so much from you both. And you almost gave your life trying to process your grief.”
I shut my eyes. Her thumbs sweep along my cheekbones in soft, grounding strokes.
“She wasn’t alone, Wyatt,” she continues, her voice steady and strong. “She had you. In every memory. In every lesson. In every moment she felt safe. Love doesn’t disappear just because you’re not in the room.”
Her words shatter something in me.
I let out a breath that feels like an exorcism as a tear eases down my cheek.
Sadie leans in, kissing away the tear, the corner of my mouth, the tip of my nose. Each kiss is slow and devoted. Each one tells me she’s not going anywhere.
“I’m sorry you lost her,” she whispers against my skin. “But I’m here now. I’m here, Wyatt. And I’m not afraid of your ghosts.”
I wrap my arms around her, hauling her to my chest, and burying my face in her neck.
Her hands stroke through my hair in slow, soothing passes as if she knows exactly how to quiet the parts of me that have been too loud for too many years.
I breathe her in, letting her warmth melt the last of the ice gripping my ribs.
For a long moment, we don’t move. We just hold each other while the world steadies around us.
When I finally pull back, she’s still watching me with those soft, impossible eyes, like she’s memorizing every fracture I showed her and decided none of them scare her off.
“You’re going to ruin me,” I murmur.
“Only fair, since you’ve ruined me.” Her smile is tender as she asks softly, “How can I help? What do you need?”
I brush her hair back from her face, tracing her cheekbone with my thumb. “Just this. You,” I say, echoing her words from last night.
Leaning in, I kiss her slowly, trying to convey all the things I don’t have words for.
Her fingers curl at the back of my neck, pulling me closer—
—and her stomach lets out a growl.
I pull back an inch, blink, then huff a laugh against her mouth. “Jesus, Dove. Was that your stomach or a bear trying to break into my cabin?”
Her mortified groan is immediate. “Oh, my god. Stop. Ignore it. My digestive system has terrible timing.”
“Hush.” I tap her hip. “I’m feeding you before you pass out on me. Again.”
Her affronted gasp is adorable. “I did not pass out—”
I smirk. “You definitely did. Orgasm overload.” I sit up, scooping her with me because I’m not ready to let go of her warmth. “Good news is, we have some biscuits left over from the batch you made. Emotional support carbs.”
She lifts her head, still blushing, still beautiful. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose, “are starving. C’mon, Dove. Let me take care of you.”
The soft, glowing smile she gives me is brighter than the sunrise hitting the snow outside.