Ivy
Hampton, Virginia
The bed is still warm where he just left, the sheets holding the faint, lingering scent of him—the subtle mix of soap and leather and the heat of his skin.
I’m comforted and content. I watch him for a moment from where I’m still curled under his duvet, the sunlight catching the tousle of his hair as he moves around, zipping up the flight suit that he threw on in a hurry.
He looks tense, all sharp lines and focus, but there’s a softness in the way he pauses to glance at me, like he’s making sure I’m watching him.
“Are you not showering?” I ask.
“I don’t have time. Townsend will have my ass if I miss the morning brief. He texted us that something came in and not to be late.” But then a smile breaks out across his handsome face. “Not that I mind having you on me all day.”
I scrunch my nose and roll my eyes. “Ew, Dalton.” But it comes out soft and breathless, and I can’t stop my own smile.
He laughs, a low, rough sound that makes my stomach flutter. He leans down, planting a quick, mischievous kiss on my forehead before scooping his bag up. “I’ll take one when I get home. Maybe you’ll join me?” I see the corners of his lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk.
I try to act like I’m annoyed, but I’m way too aware of how his presence lingers, the heat of his body already gone but still echoing across the sheets.
“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper, but it’s teasing, playful, and I know he hears it because his smirk turns into a grin as he pauses at the door, looking back at me.
“I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.” And then he's gone.
I lie back against the pillows a moment, breathing in, breathing out, letting the warmth of him linger.
Finally, I push myself up and pad to the bathroom.
The shower is hot, enveloping, and I let the water pound against me, washing away the tension that’s been knotted inside me for days.
I close my eyes and let my mind wander to him, to Hadley, to the three of us sitting down together for dinner later, and I feel something I haven’t felt in forever: complete, content, whole.
When I step out, water still glistening on my skin, I wrap a towel around myself and grin at my reflection.
I blow-dry my hair, curling the ends into soft waves, watching them bounce into place.
My makeup is deliberate, precise—the curl of my lashes, the sweep of blush, the careful brush of lip color.
I pick my outfit, mom jeans and a floral top, something soft but put together, and perfect for the beautiful spring day.
Then I walk downstairs.
The house smells faintly of coffee and cinnamon from this morning’s breakfast. The fridge hums quietly, the sunlight falling across the counter where Hadley’s little drawings from the weekend are still stacked.
I grab my keys and reusable grocery bags, planning to run to Trader Joes for the ingredients to make dinner.
My chest is full, light, tingling with happiness in a way that makes me ache with gratitude.
Then I see it.
A flash of broken glass catches my eye.
The front window is shattered. Shards litter the hardwood, glinting in the sunlight like ice, reflecting the blue sky outside in fractured, sharp patterns.
My stomach drops. The front door is ajar, swaying slightly in the warm spring breeze, the lock hanging uselessly.
Every nerve in my body snaps tight. My heart hammers in my chest as fear creeps in, slow and insidious.
I can see them before they even move.
Two men, dressed in black from head to toe, standing perfectly still in the foyer. Their faces are obscured by masks, their posture deliberate, controlled, predatory. They aren’t moving yet, but I can feel it—their presence pressing into the room, suffocating, like the air itself has thickened.
I want to scream. I try to move. My legs betray me. My arms flail before I can run.
And then hands grab me, strong, unyielding, pulling me backward before I can escape. Panic explodes inside me, a frantic fire lighting up every fiber of my being. My mouth opens, a scream clawing out, but their grip is iron, their force unrelenting.
The last thing I see is the bright sunlight spilling across the broken glass, the familiar warmth of Dalton’s home turning alien in a heartbeat. The last thing I feel is the world tipping, spinning, and slipping into blackness.