5. Boyd
FIVE
BOYD
I haven’t left the chair in five days.
The fire crackles softly, the only sound besides Piper’s steady breathing.
She sleeps most of the time, which is exactly what Eli ordered.
I keep the room quiet, the curtains drawn just enough to block the bright mountain sunlight.
Every few hours I check her forehead for fever, adjust the pillows under her injured leg, and make sure the blankets stay tucked around her.
She looks smaller in my bed, fragile against the navy quilt, but there’s a stubborn set to her jaw even when she’s unconscious. I like that about her already.
She stirs now, eyelids fluttering. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and wait. Her eyes open slowly. They’re a warm hazel, still foggy with pain and confusion. When they focus on me, she tenses.
“Easy,” I say, voice low. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”
She tries to sit up. Pain flashes across her face. She hisses through her teeth and falls back against the pillows.
“Damn it,” she mutters.
I stand and move to the side of the bed. “Let me help.”
She eyes me warily but nods once. I slide one arm behind her shoulders and ease her up, supporting her weight so she doesn’t strain her ribs. She grimaces but doesn’t push me away. Once she’s propped against the headboard, I grab the extra pillow and tuck it behind her back.
“Better?” I ask.
She nods, breathing shallow. “A little. Thank you.”
I step back and give her space. “Hungry?”
Her stomach growls before she can answer. A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Starving, actually.”
I pick up the thermos on the nightstand. Harper brought fresh chicken soup this morning. I pour some into a mug, test the temperature, and hand it to her with a spoon.
She takes it carefully, but her hands shake. The spoon clatters against the side of the mug.
I don’t hesitate. I sit on the edge of the bed and take the mug back. “Let me.”
She looks ready to argue, but another wave of pain crosses her face. She nods.
I scoop a small spoonful and blow on it gently before holding it to her lips. She takes it slowly. Her eyes close for a second as the warm broth hits her tongue.
“Good?” I ask.
She nods again. “Really good.”
I feed her in silence for a while. Spoon by spoon. Slow and careful. She watches me the whole time, like she’s trying to figure me out. I don’t mind the scrutiny. I’ve been watching her for days.
After half the mug is gone, she leans back and sighs. “Thank you. I feel like a child.”
“You’re hurt,” I say simply. “Doesn’t make you weak.”
She studies me for a long moment. “Where exactly am I? You said Haven 7. What is that?”
I set the mug on the nightstand and settle back in the chair. “It’s a compound. Private land on Wedding Cake Mountain. A group of us built it years ago. Men mostly, but families live here now too. We protect people who need it. People who can’t go back to where they came from.”
She absorbs that. “The women you mentioned earlier. Harper and the others. Are they… like me? Running from something?”
“Some of them,” I say. “Harper was in trouble when she got here. So was Kayley. Sadie. They all found safety here. The men protect what’s theirs. The women look out for each other.”
She’s quiet for a while, fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. “And you? Why do you stay here?”
I lean back and cross my arms. “Needed a place where the noise stopped. The military was loud. Constant. I came here after I got out. Found men who understood. Built something worth defending.”
She nods slowly, like she’s filing the information away. “How many people live here?”
“About twenty full time. More come and go. We keep it small on purpose. Easier to protect.”
Eli knocks softly on the door then. I stand and let him in. He moves quietly, medical bag in hand.
“How is she?” he asks me.
“Awake,” I answer. “Still in pain.”
Eli smiles gently at Piper. “Good to see those eyes open. I’m Eli. I patched you up when Boyd brought you in. Mind if I check a few things?”
She nods, but her gaze flicks to me. I stay right by the bed, arms crossed, watching every move he makes. He checks her pulse, listens to her lungs, feels the swelling on her leg.
“You’re healing well,” he tells her. “The leg is healing nicely. Ribs will take time. Rest is still the best medicine. No sudden movements.”
She thanks him quietly. When Eli leaves, I lock the door behind him and return to the chair.
Piper watches me. “You haven’t left this room much, have you?”
“Wanna make sure you’re okay.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Why are you doing this? You don’t know me.”
I meet her eyes. “I know enough. Someone tried to kill you. I don’t like people who hurt women. Simple as that.”
She looks away, but I see the way her shoulders relax just a fraction.
The next few days pass the same way. I stay by her side. I help her eat. I help her sit up when the pain gets bad. I bring her water, adjust the pillows, make sure the fire stays warm. She asks more questions every day, and I answer every single one.
On the second full day she’s awake, she asks about the women again. “The ones who brought the clothes. Harper? And who else? What are they like?”
I tell her. Harper is with Rafe. She has a niece, Poppy.
She runs the lodge like it’s her own kitchen.
Fiona is Gavin’s sister, tough as nails, helps with security.
Sadie came here running from her own trouble.
Daisy loves the garden. Emma loves to read.
Kayley has her nephew, a little boy named Aidan and is dating Gavin.
He’s the one in charge. Hannah’s dating the sheriff, Silas.
They all look out for each other. They’ll look out for her too if she lets them.
She listens closely. “They sound nice.”
“They are,” I say. “They’ll come by soon. They’re giving you space until you are ready.”
On the third day she asks about the mountain. “Why Wedding Cake Mountain? That’s a strange name.”
I smile faintly. “Old story. Looks like layers of cake from a distance when the snow sits right. The name stuck.”
She smiles back for the first time. It’s small and tired, but real. It hits me harder than I expect.
By the fourth day she can sit up longer without wincing as much. Eli comes by twice a day now. He puts a real cast on her leg while I hold her hand through the pain. She squeezes my fingers tight but doesn’t cry. I’m proud of her for that.
That evening she asks about me.
“Tell me about you,” she says. “I want to know the man taking care of me.”
I lean back in the chair. The firelight flickers across her face. She looks better. The bruises are starting to fade to yellow. Her eyes are clearer.
“I was in the military,” I say. “Special forces. Sniper mostly. Spent twelve years overseas. Long waits. Precise shots. Learned to be quiet. Learned to watch.”
She waits for more.
I give her the surface. “I was good at it. Too good, maybe. When I got out, the noise of the world was too loud. I found Haven 7 through a friend. The men here understood. We built something quiet. Something worth protecting. I like the distance. The control. The ridge where I can see everything coming.”
She studies me. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
I shrug. “Never saw the point in wasting words.”
She smiles again, softer this time. “I like that about you. Most people talk too much.”
We fall into comfortable silence after that. I bring her more soup. She eats on her own now, but I stay close. When she winces reaching for the mug, I take it and help her without being asked.
“You’re good at this,” she says quietly. “Taking care of people.”
I meet her eyes. “I’m good at protecting what matters.”
She doesn’t look away. The air between us feels thicker for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just… aware.
A few more days pass like that. Slow conversations. Small comforts. She tells me bits about her life before. How she worked as a bookkeeper. How she saw something she shouldn’t have. How her father is the reason she ran. I listen to every word. I don’t push. I just let her talk when she’s ready.
I tell her more about the compound. About the Sunday dinners. About the garden Daisy tends. About the way the men and women here have built a family out of people who had nowhere else to go.
She listens like she’s picturing it. Like she’s starting to see herself in that picture.
One evening, after Eli leaves from his check-up, she looks at me and says, “I think I might be able to trust you, Boyd.”
I nod once. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiles, tired but real, and settles back against the pillows.
I stay in the chair, rifle close, heart steady.
She’s healing.
And I’m right here for every step of it.