Chapter 14
Micah studied the trap.
The device sat in a shallow depression between two thick roots, partially hidden by fallen leaves. Off to one side, scattered in a deliberate pattern, were the remnants of bait—seeds and some dried corn.
He scanned the ground and saw boot prints—two sets, one heavier than the other. They came in from deeper in the woods and led back out the same way. But a few of the prints veered toward the fence, toward the section of pickets closest to the back gate.
Micah pulled out his phone and took photos of the snare, the boot prints, and the remnants of bait.
He turned to Caleb. “Anything else like this out here that you know of?”
Caleb’s expression hardened as he stared at the ground. “Not that I’ve seen. But I haven’t been out this far in a while.”
Micah grunted in response.
Caleb crossed his arms, staring at the snare. “You think it’s Travis and one of his brothers?”
Micah considered Caleb’s question. It was entirely possible. The Hendersons had hunted this land for generations before the Kings bought it, and Travis and his brothers had made it clear they still considered it theirs.
“I think someone feels like they still have a right to be here,” Micah said. “And I think this trap was left here to send a message.”
Naomi stared at Gio’s message, her thumb hovering over the screen.
She needed to say something. She knew that.
Ghosting him felt childish, and Gio didn’t deserve that. They’d been together for six months. He’d been there for her after the attack. He’d visited her in the hospital, had checked on her during those first terrible weeks when her own mind felt like a stranger.
She owed him a response.
So why did her chest tighten at the thought of seeing him again?
Grace shifted in her arms, and Naomi adjusted her hold, buying herself another moment. Another breath.
The truth was, she didn’t want to see Gio, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.
Maybe it was New York. Maybe it was everything that city represented now—the attack she couldn’t remember, the anxiety that had spiraled so far out of control she’d had to leave.
Gio was woven into all of it. He was part of the landscape she’d needed to escape.
Or maybe it was something else about him.
But what?
He’d always been so polished and composed. He was all smooth edges and sharp intellect.
He was one of the smartest people she’d ever known, the kind of man who could talk about market trends and philosophy in the same breath and make both sound effortless.
None of it had been bad. It just . . .
It just hadn’t been real. Not in the way she needed real to feel.
Her mind drifted to Micah.
Micah, who’d shown up without being asked. Who leaned against doorframes and said exactly what he meant without any polish or performance. He was just there. He was steady, the kind of man who didn’t bring expectations with him, just presence.
Naomi exhaled and looked down at her phone again.
She couldn’t keep avoiding this.
Her thumbs moved across the screen.
I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
She hit Send before she could second-guess it.
The response came almost immediately.
Please. I need to see you. I don’t like the way things ended between us.
Naomi’s jaw tightened. She could hear his voice in the words. He always sounded measured, with a slight edge of persistence he always had when he wanted something.
Their breakup had been friendly enough, she supposed. But nothing had felt normal after her attack. She didn’t recognize herself at times. Gio had acted differently also, probably in response to her trauma.
He’d mentioned staying together and dating long distance, but she didn’t want that complication. It was better they made a clean break.
Gio hadn’t agreed.
She typed back.
I have a lot going on right now. Maybe some other time.
She didn’t want to explain the baby to him. They’d talked about marriage, but he hadn’t even wanted kids. She’d told herself she didn’t either.
She now realized that hadn’t been the truth.
Family was everything.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then Gio replied with:
I miss you.
The words sat on the screen, waiting.
Naomi stared at them.
She should say it back. That was the polite thing.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Because they weren’t true.
She didn’t miss him. Not the way he meant. Not the way she should.
Naomi locked her phone and set it face-down on the table.
Grace made a small sound in her sleep—a sigh, barely audible—and Naomi looked down at her. At the tiny face, peaceful and untroubled, completely unaware of the mess swirling around her.
Naomi’s chest loosened, just a fraction.
One thing at a time.