Chapter Five
Willow sat quietly in the passenger seat of Jay Bird’s SUV, watching the streets of Virginia Beach pass outside the window while trying to wrap her mind around the fact that, for the first time in nearly three weeks, she wasn’t trying to figure out where she and Lily were going to sleep that night.
The realization should have been comforting, but instead it settled over her in a strange way. It was like it was almost too easy, like she was waiting for something to go wrong.
Willow glanced over her shoulder toward the back seat.
Lily was strapped securely into a brand-new car seat, her head tilted slightly to one side as she fought a losing battle with sleep. Ellie was tucked beneath one arm, the stuffed elephant’s trunk smashed against Lily’s cheek while her other hand hung loosely at her side.
Willow’s gaze lingered on the car seat Jay Bird had bought. When he had arrived at the hospital later to pick them up, Willow had been shocked to see there had been a brand-new car seat installed in the back of his SUV.
When she had asked him about it, he had shrugged as though buying car seats for random toddlers who attached themselves to him was something he did every day.
She needed one. That had been his entire explanation.
Willow looked toward the driver’s seat.
Jay Bird had one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, his eyes moving between the road ahead and the mirrors with an awareness that seemed almost instinctive.
He was still difficult for her to read. Large, undeniably handsome, quiet to the point of brooding, and intimidating enough that three weeks ago Willow would’ve changed sidewalks if she had seen him approaching her.
Yet everything she’d witnessed since waking in the hospital had completely contradicted that first impression, especially when it came to Lily, because he was incredibly gentle with her.
Willow had watched a man built like he could lift a refrigerator without assistance patiently sit through Peppa Pig, help Lily put shoes on the wrong feet twice before convincing her to switch them, and listen with complete seriousness while a two-year-old explained why Ellie couldn’t possibly sleep without a blanket.
There was a softness beneath all that hard exterior.
Willow wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to notice it, but she had.
Maybe it was because she’d spent the last three years learning to read people the way others read weather—carefully, constantly, always alert for the smallest change.
With Chen, even the slightest shift in expression or tone could mean the difference between knowing when to disappear and accidentally walking straight into his anger.
Jay Bird wasn’t Chen. She knew that, but old habits didn’t just disappear because someone told her she was safe.
Her gaze drifted back to the window. The last couple of days had been exhausting in an entirely different way.
The doctors ended up keeping her one more day in the hospital just for precautionary reasons.
Riley, thank god had stayed by her side. Earlier in the day, Willow had finally given formal statements to both the Virginia Beach police and the FBI, detailing her ordeal over the last three years. She had even forced herself to describe everything she endured during her time in captivity.
There had been moments during the interviews when Willow had needed to stop because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and other moments when she had found herself staring at the floor as though she were back in Chen’s house instead of sitting in a hospital room surrounded by people trying to help her.
Riley had never rushed her, and neither had the agents. They let her take her time, pausing whenever she needed it, never pushing for more than she could give.
A soft snore came from behind them, and Jay Bird’s gaze flicked toward the rearview mirror.
“She out?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“She was fighting it when we got her in the seat.”
Willow smiled. “She’s stubborn.”
“Wonder where she gets that.”
Willow slowly turned her head. “Was that aimed at me?”
“I didn’t say a name,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
A laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it, surprising even herself. She was starting to get a feel for his humor now—subtle, easy to miss at first, like it crept up on you when you weren’t paying attention.
A few minutes later, Jay Bird slowed the SUV and turned toward a large gated entrance.
Willow sat up straighter and looked around. Tall brick columns stood on either side of the road, and beyond the gate she could see large properties spread out beneath trees.
Jay Bird reached toward a small remote clipped near the visor and pressed a button.
The gate slowly opened.
Willow glanced at him. “You live in a gated neighborhood?”
“Yep.” He said it as casually as if she had asked whether he owned a toaster.
They drove through, and Willow watched the houses pass. Plenty of space separated each property, which she liked immediately. Some houses were partially hidden behind trees, while others sat farther back from the road with expansive lawns.
Jay Bird eventually turned onto a long driveway near the end of the street.
The house at the end of the driveway was nothing like what she had imagined when he’d casually mentioned having a spare bedroom.
Built from sand-colored brick with darker trim around the windows and front entrance, it looked calm and solid from the road—almost modest at first glance.
But as they drew closer, Willow realized it was far from small.
A second-floor section rose toward the back, revealing itself like a quiet surprise, and the more she looked, the more the scale of it settled in. It was big.
“You neglected to mention you live in a small resort.”
Jay Bird glanced at her. “It’s a house.”
“This is not just a house.”
He stopped in front of the garage and put the vehicle in park. “Pretty sure that’s what the paperwork called it.”
Several exterior lights illuminated the driveway, entryway, and sides of the house. From a security standpoint, she immediately appreciated how easy it was to see the property.
From a decorating standpoint, Willow bit the inside of her cheek because the place had absolutely no personality.
There were no flowerbeds or carefully tended gardens, just a few basic shrubs that looked like they’d been planted because they were required, not because anyone cared.
No planters sat by the steps, no bright flowers softened the edges of the porch, and nothing hung to break up the plainness of it all.
It was just grass stretching out against brick and concrete, lit up by an almost excessive number of lights that made everything feel more functional than welcoming.
Willow looked at Jay Bird again. Actually, it fit him perfectly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, looking away.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re judging my house.”
“No, I’m not.” Willow tried not to smile. “It’s just very…”
“Very what?”
She looked toward the bare front yard. “Efficient.”
Jay Bird barked out a laugh. “That’s not a compliment.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t nice.” Willow gestured toward the property. “It’s beautiful. It just looks like landscaping showed up one day and you threatened it.”
He stared at her for a second before the corner of his mouth finally lifted into a small, almost reluctant smile.
“Flowers aren’t really my thing.”
“I gathered.”
But Willow could already picture it—hydrangeas lining the side of the house, maybe a few flowering shrubs softening the porch, and large planters near the entry to bring in a bit of color.
Nothing overly fussy, just enough to take the edge off all that brick.
The yard had so much potential, and she found herself imagining what it could look like if it were ever allowed to feel a little more alive.
She immediately stopped herself. This wasn’t her house, just a temporary place to stay, nothing more.
Jay Bird turned off the engine. “I’ll grab the groceries. You get Lily.”
Willow looked toward the bags filling the cargo area.
“I can carry some.”
“I’ve got them.”
There was no annoyance in his voice—only a quiet, steady certainty that left no room for argument.
Willow let out a small breath and decided this probably wasn’t a battle worth picking, especially not after the earlier grocery situation had already turned into enough of a point of tension on its own.
On the way home from the hospital, Jay Bird had asked what she and Lily liked to eat. Willow had expected them to stop at a grocery store, but apparently he had noticed her immediate tension at the thought of walking through a crowded store.
He hadn’t commented at all. Instead, he’d just pulled up an app on his phone and quietly asked her what they needed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
They placed the order right there from the SUV and picked everything up without ever stepping inside the store.
And when she had tried to pay, he had refused, like the idea didn’t even make sense to him.
He would probably find the fifty-dollar bill she had shoved into his center cup holder eventually.
Willow wasn’t sure how much longer Chen’s remaining money would last. She had about seven hundred dollars left. She couldn’t afford to waste a cent, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to let Jay Bird support them. She was not going to act like a charity case.
Willow climbed from the SUV and opened the rear door.
“Hey, bug. We’re here.”
Lily blinked sleepily at her. “Home?”
The word caught Willow off guard, but she didn’t answer.
Lily rubbed one eye with her fist as Willow unbuckled her and lifted her from the car seat.
“Ellie.”
“I’ve got Ellie.”
Willow hooked the stuffed elephant under one arm before settling Lily against her hip.
Her daughter immediately slumped against her shoulder, already half-asleep. A moment later, she stirred just enough to lift her head and glance toward Jay Bird, who was still in the back of the SUV gathering grocery bags.
“Jay home?”
Willow smiled. “Yes. This is Jay’s house.”