Chapter 5 Emma
FIVE
EMMA
I slept like the dead. Like, snoring-on-my-face, drool-on-the-pillow, zero-regrets kind of sleep. It’s the first time I’ve actually felt safe in… I don’t know. Weeks? Months?
Stretching as I pad barefoot into the main room, I stop cold.
There, curled up on a couch way too small for his mountain-sized body, is Rhett. One arm flung over his chest. One boot still on. His jaw is slack, his dark lashes somehow annoyingly perfect even in unconsciousness.
Poor guy looks wildly uncomfortable.
He didn’t even try to kick me out of his bed. Just let me crash and claimed this lumpy couch like a sacrificial protector.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling way too warm. Not because of the oversized sweatshirt I’m wearing—which, by the way, might be his—but because… I don’t know. There’s something about the way he’s all angles and strength even in sleep that makes my stomach twist in confusing directions.
I take one silent step closer and tilt my head.
His chest rises in a steady rhythm. His lips are parted just a little. The arm slung over his chest shifts slightly, like he's dreaming.
And that’s when he speaks—voice low and gravelly.
“You gonna keep staring at me, or are you planning my funeral?”
I shriek and jump back about a foot. “Oh my God! I thought you were asleep!”
Rhett cracks one eye open, a sleepy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hard to sleep when someone’s breathing heavy at me from across the room.”
“I was not breathing heavy.” I cross my arms. “I was observing. There's a difference.”
He stretches, groaning as his spine pops. “You could’ve observed from the kitchen. Preferably while making coffee.”
I roll my eyes, though I do feel bad. “You gave me your bed. You didn’t have to do that.”
His eyes flick to mine. “You needed the rest. I’m fine.”
“You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“That’s just my face.”
“Could’ve fooled me last night,” I mutter, too soft for him to catch—hopefully.
But then he stands, and his shirt rides up just enough to flash a sliver of ab definition that could slice a bagel, and yeah. I’m not okay. Not even close.
Focus, Emma. Missing sister. Evil jerk named Mark.
Not… forearms and sleepy grins.
“You hungry?” Rhett asks, pulling me out of my internal thirst spiral.
“I can make something if you want,” I say, trying to sound normal. “It’s the least I can do.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, Chase and Boyd are probably already cooking over at the clubhouse. Come on. I’ll introduce you to a few of the women around here. Harper and Kayley. You’ll like ’em.”
Harper and Kayley. Their names sound soft and kind. Like maybe they belong to people who don’t automatically think I’m insane for showing up at a secret mountain base demanding answers.
I follow Rhett out the cabin and down the wooded path. Sun filters through the trees, dappling the pine-needle ground and making everything feel oddly peaceful… despite the fact that we’re in the middle of planning to take down a criminal operation.
The clubhouse smells like heaven—coffee, bacon, something cinnamon-y. Inside, a big table is crowded with men who look like they could each carry me over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes and not break a sweat.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” one of them calls out.
Rhett just grunts and nods. “Emma, this is Chase, Boyd, and Thorne. You sort of met them last night. And, you already met Silas, kind of. Harper’s somewhere—ah. There.”
He gestures to the far side of the room where a gorgeous woman with dark curls is bouncing a baby girl on her hip while chatting with another blonde woman who’s seated next to a sleepy-eyed infant boy in a high chair.
“Kayley and Harper,” Rhett says. “This is Emma. She’s staying with us a while.”
“Welcome to the madhouse,” Kayley beams. “This little guy’s Aidan. And that wiggle worm Harper’s got is Poppi.”
“They’re the same age,” Harper adds proudly. “Basically cousins at this point. Haven 7 makes you family real fast.”
I smile, drawn to the babies immediately. “They’re adorable.”
“Want to sit with us?” Kayley pats the chair next to her. “You look like you could use pancakes and girl talk.”
“You have no idea,” I say, taking the seat.
As soon as I do, Poppi lets out a delighted squeal and grabs Aidan’s hand. Both babies giggle like they’ve got their own secret baby language.
“How,” I say softly, “did you find this place?”
She glances at Aidan, then back to me. “It wasn’t planned. My car broke down in the middle of a snowstorm, and Aidan was burning up with a fever. I had nowhere to go. I saw a porch light and started walking. Next thing I knew, Gavin opened the door and saved our lives.”
Harper leans in. “Same with me. I was running too. This place? It’s where you end up when you’ve got nowhere left—and somehow it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
I blink fast, emotions clawing at my throat.
Because I’m not alone anymore.
And maybe Haven 7 is where I’m supposed to be too.