Chapter 45 Rylie
Rylie
We went back to stay at the cabin.
I didn’t decide it all at once.
There wasn’t a single moment where I stood up and thought, This is what I’ll do.
It came together in pieces.
In the way Trigger watched the tree line longer than usual.
In how Havoc started parking closer to the cabin at night.
In the way conversations in town shifted from curiosity to distance.
In the way people stopped using my name.
That was the part that hurt the most.
I lay awake long after Trigger’s breathing evened out beside me, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet clicks and pops of the cooling fire. His arm was heavy around my waist, protective even in sleep, like his body refused to forget its job.
I loved him for that.
Which was exactly why I couldn’t let this continue.
Thomas wasn’t attacking us directly because he didn’t need to. He was applying pressure where it would spread—through the town, through fear, through doubt.
Through me.
I eased carefully out from under Trigger’s arm, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. My shoulder twinged, a sharp reminder of what I’d already survived.
I can survive more, I told myself.
I pulled on my jeans and one of his sweatshirts, the fabric too big, but warm and so. I paused at the edge of the bed and looked back at him.
At the man who had run into concrete and darkness to find me.
At the man who believed in holding the line.
This wasn’t about bravery.
This was about containment.
I stepped into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, hands steady now that the decision had settled. I didn’t pack a bag. I didn’t grab my phone.
I just took a piece of paper from the counter and a pen.
I kept it short.
I need to do this my way.
I love you.
Trust me.
I folded it once and set it where he’d see it immediately.
Then I slipped on my boots, eased the door open, and stepped into the cold night.
The forest didn’t react. No alarms. No shouts.
That was the point.
I walked down the trail until the cabin lights disappeared behind the trees. Only then did I stop and take a breath, the weight of what I was doing finally pressing in.
I wasn’t running.
I was moving the target.
Thomas wanted me isolated.
So I would isolate myself—on my terms.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and powered it on for the first time that night. One bar of service flickered, then steadied.
I typed a single message.
You’re hurting people who have nothing to do with this.
If you want revenge—talk to me.
I stared at it for a long second.
Then I sent it.
The phone buzzed almost immediately.
Not a reply.
A location request.
My pulse spiked—but I didn’t hesitate.
I accepted.
Somewhere far away, Thomas would smile.
And back at the cabin, Trigger would wake to an empty bed and a silence that didn’t belong to peace.