Chapter 9 Kayley
NINE
KAYLEY
The walk from Gavin’s cabin back to the main compound is short, but it feels… big.
Not because of the snow—though it’s still coming down in soft, steady flakes that make everything look like a postcard. Not because of the cold—because I’m warm for once, wrapped in a thick coat and one of Gavin’s flannels underneath like a secret.
It feels big because I’m walking beside him.
And because last night happened.
Because this morning happened.
Because I keep glancing at him like my brain is trying to make sure he’s still real.
Gavin walks like he always has purpose. Even when he’s just moving across a property full of cabins and pine trees, he carries himself like a man who knows exactly where the threats are hiding—and exactly how to kill them if they show their face.
But then he looks down at Aidan in my arms, and his expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.
It’s so confusing.
How can someone look like danger and safety at the same time?
We step into the main lodge, and warmth wraps around me immediately. The fire is going. Coffee is brewing. It smells like home and bacon and that specific kind of clean that comes from men who live by routines and don’t leave messes behind unless they’re tactical.
“Morning,” Chase calls from the kitchen like he owns it, one hip leaned against the counter.
He’s holding a mug that says WORLD’S BEST UNCLE in bold letters, which is hilarious because he looks like the type of man who’d wrestle a bear for fun.
Rhett is at the table with Wyatt, both of them bent over a laptop like they’re planning a heist. Boyd is sitting in a chair that looks like it might actually break under the force of his shoulders, silently sharpening something that absolutely does not need sharpening at nine in the morning.
Eli—Elias, technically, but everyone calls him Eli—looks up from the med bag he’s arranging and smiles gently the way actual angels probably do.
“Bring the little guy over here,” Eli says. “Let’s make sure we’re still headed in the right direction.”
I step closer, bouncing Aidan lightly while Eli checks him over with calm hands and a focused expression. His temperature is normal. His breathing is clear. He listens to his chest, checks his ears, and then gives me a small nod.
“He’s doing well,” Eli says. “A little tired, but that’s normal after a fever. Keep fluids up. If he spikes again, we’ll run a fuller workup.”
The relief that hits me is so sharp I almost sway.
Gavin’s hand finds the small of my back, steadying me without making a big deal out of it. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, like he knows my body still forgets how to relax.
I glance up at him and nod, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I’m okay,” I whisper back. And I mean it. Which is… new.
Chase leans in, peering at Aidan like he’s inspecting a tiny recruit. “Kid’s got grit. He screamed at Gavin at three a.m. and lived to tell the tale.”
I blink. “He woke you up too?”
Chase smirks. “Whole mountain heard him. Pretty sure a moose filed a noise complaint.” He laughs. “Not really, Gavin told us in the group chat.”
I laugh—an actual laugh, the kind that bursts out of me before I can stop it—and it feels like my lungs are stretching in a way they haven’t in weeks. “Don’t blame him,” I say, shifting Aidan higher on my hip. “The baby’s had a rough couple of days.”
Boyd’s mouth twitches—barely, but it’s there. “So have you.”
That’s it. That’s all he says.
But something about the way he says it—like it’s a statement of fact, like he sees me, like he’s acknowledging what I survived without pity—makes my throat tighten again.
“Okay,” I manage, forcing lightness back into my voice. “So what’s the etiquette here? Do I have to pass some kind of initiation? Do you make me chop wood while blindfolded?”
Rhett finally looks up. “We used to.”
My eyes widen.
Chase laughs. “He’s kidding. Mostly.”
Gavin clears his throat, giving them a look that makes every man in the room straighten like he snapped a silent command. “You’re not scaring her,” he says, voice low.
It should annoy me—him stepping in like that, like I need protecting from jokes.
Instead… it warms me.
Because it’s not controlling.
It’s caring.
And the terrifying thing is… I like it.
Eli finishes and steps back. “He’s good, Kayley. You did everything right.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say softly.
Gavin’s hand presses a little firmer at my back. “You got him here.”
My heart stutters.
Before I can reply, the front door opens, and a rush of cold air sweeps in along with a woman bundled in a winter coat. She stomps snow from her boots and waves at the room like she’s been here her whole life.
She’s beautiful in a way that feels warm and lived-in. Soft hair tucked into a beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with the kind of happiness that comes from being loved.
And in her arms is a baby.
A baby with a pink hat, chubby cheeks, and the same wide-eyed expression as Aidan.
“Harper,” Gavin says, and something in his voice shifts.
Not romantic. Not longing.
More like… respect.
Like she’s family too.
“Morning,” she sings out, and then her gaze lands on me. Her eyes soften instantly. “You must be Kayley.”
I blink. “Hi. Yes. That’s me.”
Harper steps closer carefully, bouncing the baby on her hip. “I’m Harper. Rafe’s wife.”
I glance toward the back of the lodge, where Rafe is emerging from the hallway. The way his face changes when he sees Harper makes my chest ache again.
This place is full of men who look like they could break the world in half…
…and they all look at the people they love like the world is already saved.
“This is Poppi,” Harper says, adjusting the baby’s little hat. “She’s my niece. Rafe and I… we’re raising her.”
My stomach twists in a complicated way I can’t name.
Because I get it.
I get what it means to suddenly become someone’s whole world. To step into a role you never planned for, because love demanded you do it.
Poppi reaches a tiny hand toward Aidan, and he stares at her like he’s never seen another baby before.
Harper laughs softly. “Oh, look at that. They’re the same age, right?”
I nod. “Six months?”
Harper nods. “Well then,” she says, like she’s decided something important, “we should absolutely do the baby blanket thing.”
“The baby blanket thing?” I repeat.
Chase points toward a woven basket in the corner. “There’s always a baby blanket thing now.”
Wyatt mutters without looking up, “Blame Harper. She turned us into a daycare.”
Harper grins. “You love it.”
“Do I?” Wyatt asks dryly.
“Yes,” Harper says with complete confidence, and I can’t help it—I smile.
Because this is… normal.
We set a thick quilt on the floor near the fire, and Harper gently lowers Poppi onto it. I kneel and do the same with Aidan, my movements careful, reverent, like this is a fragile moment I don’t want to break.
The babies stare at each other.
Then Poppi reaches out and grabs Aidan’s sock.
Aidan blinks like he’s offended, then kicks once—hard.
Poppi squeals.
Aidan squeals back.
It’s like they’re speaking a language I don’t understand, but it’s adorable.
Harper lowers herself onto the floor beside them, smiling like this is her favorite thing in the world. I sit too, hugging my knees, watching Aidan’s tiny fingers explore the blanket while Poppi tries to eat hers.
“You look like you needed this,” Harper says softly, not looking at me—just speaking like she’s offering the words gently, leaving them there for me to pick up or ignore.
I swallow. “I didn’t realize how much.”
Harper glances at me then, eyes kind. “It’s okay to feel safe here.”
My throat tightens.
Because I want to. God, I want to so badly.
The men move around us in the background. Eli refills coffee. Boyd tosses another log on the fire. Chase pretends he’s not staring at the babies like they’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
Rhett walks past and pauses just long enough to adjust Poppi’s blanket so her little feet aren’t in the draft. Thorne kneels for a quick kiss to both baby’s foreheads.
And something inside me shifts again.
This is found family.
This is what Sophie would’ve wanted for Aidan—people who aren’t just “nice,” but steady. People who would show up at three in the morning. People who would hold the baby without flinching.
People who don’t leave.
Harper nudges my shoulder lightly. “So. How are you holding up? Really.”
I stare down at Aidan, at the way his hands pat the blanket like he’s claiming it, like he’s already decided this is his space.
My voice comes out quiet. “I don’t know how to have a life now. Sophie was… everything. She was the plan. And now the plan is gone.”
Harper’s expression softens. “When Poppi came to us, I felt that way too. Like the ground disappeared. Like every day was just… surviving.”
I look at her, surprised.
“And then,” Harper continues, “one day you wake up and realize you’re not just surviving anymore. You’re living. And you don’t feel guilty for smiling.”
My eyes burn and I blink hard. “I smiled yesterday.”
Harper smiles back. “See? Baby steps.”
I laugh softly, wiping at my cheek like it’s just an itch and not emotion trying to wreck me. My gaze flicks upward—straight into Gavin’s.
He’s standing near the edge of the room, watching us. Watching me.
And the look on his face is so intense it makes my breath catch.
Not just protective.
Not just attracted.
Something deeper.
Something that scares me, because it mirrors what’s happening inside my chest.
Like he can see me here—on the floor, next to Harper, watching the babies—and he’s imagining it too.
A future.
A life.
A home.
My heart stutters.
I look away fast, because if I let myself stare too long, I might start believing in things I’ve never believed in before.
Like happy endings.
Like safety.
Like love.
Aidan grabs Poppi’s sock now, and Poppi squeals again, kicking her legs wildly like she’s starting a tiny wrestling match.
Chase leans down from behind me. “We should probably place bets.”
Harper shoots him a look. “No betting on babies.”
Chase sighs dramatically. “This place used to be fun.”
“Your idea of fun is harassing Rhett,” Wyatt calls.
“That’s everyone’s idea of fun,” Chase fires back.
Even Rhett’s mouth twitches again.
And I laugh. I really laugh. Because for the first time in what feels like forever, I can picture it.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Not flinching every time a car door shuts outside.
I can picture waking up here.
Making breakfast in this lodge.
Watching Aidan crawl across these floors while the men argue over coffee and Harper makes faces at Poppi.
I can picture a life where the promise I made to Sophie doesn’t feel like a death sentence.
It feels like… a beginning.
I glance down at Aidan again, at the way his eyes are bright now, curious, alive.
And I whisper in my head, Sophie… I think I found it. I think I found where we’re supposed to be.
Gavin’s shadow falls across the blanket, and when I look up, he’s closer now—close enough that I can feel him without him touching me. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, my voice a little unsteady. “Yeah.”
His eyes search mine. “You look different.”
“How?”
I glance around at the babies, Harper, the men… the warmth. The laughter. I swallow. “Like I can breathe.”
Gavin’s gaze softens, and for a second, he looks like a man who wants to say something dangerous. Instead, he just holds my eyes.
And something passes between us that feels like a vow.
Unspoken. Heavy.
Real.