Chapter Six #2
“Then come inside.” Before he could respond, she turned away and headed back to the warm little duplex.
Toward the light she always left on in the living room…the one that helped him see the flare of her eyes as he touched her in ways that made her gasp.
His chest squeezed.
She reached the door and held the screen open for him. He jogged forward to catch it and slipped inside. Holding his key fob toward the truck, he clicked the locks and then locked the door, checking every one thoroughly.
Warm air hit him, bringing the smell of cleaner and tomato sauce lingering from their humble supper. Ben’s coloring books spread across the coffee table beside toy cars and crayons. A pair of small sneakers were kicked off near the couch.
Their home. Not fancy or magazine-ready, but lived in.
Perfect.
Summer eyed him from a few feet away as he quietly removed his boots near the entry rug.
“Ben went back to sleep,” she whispered.
He nodded.
She moved around the living room gathering blankets from a basket beside the couch while he stood awkwardly near the armchair they’d had sex on—twice—feeling entirely too big for the small space.
He realized what she was doing and stepped farther into the room. “You don’t have to make a bed.”
“I’m not letting you be uncomfortable in my house.” She turned her head toward the chair as if memories of her straddling him—riding him—flooded her memory too.
She fluffed a pillow against the couch arm, spread out a blanket with a soft domestic ease that hit him hard. Then she disappeared down the hall and returned with another quilt folded in her arms.
“One blanket was enough.”
“The living room’s drafty.”
He reached to take the blanket, careful not to touch her because he didn’t trust himself to stop. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her soft voice edged under his skin in ways he couldn’t think about. Silence hung between them as she fussed with the blanket unnecessarily.
He watched her hands, feminine and soft, hands that drove him crazy and left his heart warmer than it had ever been before. She made the room warmer just by existing.
That lump was back in his throat, bigger and harder than before.
Everything smelled like Summer and looked like Summer and had the love and care of Summer’s touch.
Even the damn half-dead houseplant near the window.
And he didn’t belong anywhere near this world.
He was stronger than he’d been a year ago, whole in some ways and broken in others.
She finally straightened and looked up at him, smudges of fatigue under her eyes. “You’ll be okay out here?”
He nodded once. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
A tiny smile tugged at her lips before it faded.
Another moment stretched between them. They had too much history, too much attraction.
Too many things neither of them was saying.
He forced himself to step back toward the couch before he did something stupid like touch her.
“Get some sleep.”
Summer hesitated, then nodded. “Goodnight, Vander.”
Hearing his name after everyone else called him Pope all day hit somewhere deep.
He watched her disappear down the hallway before finally setting on the couch. The house creaked softly around him. He took out his phone and the camera feed glowed across the screen.
The grainy night image showed the duplex and the empty road.
Then movement flickered near the edge of the frame.
Pope sat up straighter.
A shadow crossed near the side yard between Summer’s duplex and the neighboring unit. Human-sized. Gone almost immediately.
He replayed the clip twice.
Dammit. Nothing clear enough to identify.
But the hair along the back of his neck prickled long after the screen went still again.
He sent the clip to Carson and received an instant reply.
I’ll send one of the guys over now to check things out. Stay with your ward and wait for backup.
He stared hard at the screen, wondering if he’d imagined a threat that wasn’t there. Outside, nothing but cold wind moved through the quiet Willowbrook neighborhood.
Inside, Summer and Ben slept only feet away. He set the app with alarms to sound for any movement, even a branch waving in the wind.
Half hour later, he received a text from Dutch.
All clear. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes.
Pope dashed off a response and settled into the couch bed Summer thoughtfully made him. He stayed up for a long time watching the screen, but soon—surrounded by the familiar homey scent of the woman he was guarding—his eyes began to drift shut.
His phone buzzed against the arm of the couch.
Carson.
Pope opened the text and skimmed ‘the message.
Had the clip analyzed. Nothing actionable. Shadow distortion from motion blur and low light. All clear.
Pope stared at the message another second before looking back toward the security feed still glowing dimly on his screen.
Maybe Carson was right. But every protective instinct he had centered on the duplex and the small family sleeping inside it.
He shifted onto the couch without taking his eyes off the feed. He didn’t intend to sleep. He was resting with alarms active and backup ten minutes away.
For the first time in a long damn time, protecting someone felt dangerously close to having a place to belong.
And for the first time in a long damn time, Pope realized protecting someone could feel dangerously close to having a place to belong.
* * * * *
Summer’s eyes popped open, and she stared at the ceiling of her bedroom for several heartbeats as consciousness slowly stole over her mind.
She couldn’t remember the last time she slept that hard. Usually she woke three or four times a night without even fully registering it. Listening for noises, thinking about bills, running through work schedules and grocery budgets before dawn even arrived.
Some part of her brain always stayed ready, braced for the next thing that needed her attention.
But last night…she slept.
Really slept.
Waking to sunlight pouring across her bedroom wall scared her enough that she bolted upright. Panic that she was late for something hit.
“Oh my god!”
She threw the blankets aside and lunged for her phone on the nightstand. As soon as she saw the clock, adrenaline tipped into her veins. She’d slept way later than normal.
Was it a school day? What shift did she have today?
Her mind started firing.
Ben did have school, but if she gave him one of the Pop-Tarts from the gifted grocery haul, they’d make it on time. Or at most, a few minutes late.
She heard a noise coming from the living room and the rest of her memory kicked in. Vander had installed cameras and she’d invited him inside to crash on her couch.
Now she knew exactly why she slept so well. Knowing he was here meant that some buried part of her actually relaxed.
Which was more unsettling than the ticking clock.
Summer tugged on her hoodie and hurried down the hallway, already preparing to find the couch empty and Vander gone, the blanket folded neatly and the truck missing from outside.
Instead, she stepped into the living room and stopped cold at the sight.
Ben and Vander sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV playing video games. For a second, she could only gape at them.
Then the scent of fresh coffee hit her senses and she followed the smell to a mug that sat beside Vander while Ben, holding a controller, practically vibrated with excitement.
“You cheated!” Ben accused.
“I adapted.”
“That’s cheating.”
“That’s survival.”
Ben dissolved into loud laughter, and the sound punched Summer right in the chest.
Vander glanced up first.
There it was again—that aching pull she could never escape when it came to this man. Her stomach clenched—lower too—the second his deep blue gaze landed on her.
He still wore his thermal shirt, the sleeves pushed up over his thick forearms that invited lurid images of the tendons flexing as he moved over her.
Inside her.
“Morning.” His greeting snapped her back to reality.
She drank in his appearance. God help her. Those broad shoulders were relaxed for once instead of carrying all that rigid control he wore like armor. And the short strands of his hair were crushed on one side where he’d slept on it.
Ben whipped around. “Mom! Vander’s terrible at this game.”
He looked at her son. “I won two rounds.”
Her son scoffed. “I let you.”
Summer’s heart wasn’t going to survive the morning. She leaned against the doorframe because suddenly her knees didn’t feel reliable.
The room smelled like coffee and toast he must have helped Ben make for breakfast.