Chapter Twenty-Five
She didn’t know how long they lay there like that, tangled together under the scratchy woolen blanket, her head on his chest and his hand idly running through her hair like it was second nature.
The fire had burned down to a warm, glowing hush. Outside, the sun was leaning west, stretching golden arms through the cabin window, dappling the pine walls like a benediction. A bird trilled somewhere up the ridge. She could’ve stayed there forever.
Until he shifted beneath her.
“I should check my phone,” Ethan said, low, almost like he regretted it. “See if Brock’s updated me on the horse. Or anything else.”
Her fingers curled into the hair on his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
He let out a soft laugh—more exhale than sound—and kissed her hair. “Baby, I got you. But I gotta check in. Just a minute.”
She knew. She did.
But it still hit her low in the gut—the idea of him walking out of that cabin door. Even for a second. Even just to the truck.
She didn’t want to be that girl. The one who begged.
But she was wrecked. Tender. Frayed at the edges. And the only thing holding her together was the weight of him next to her.
Still, she let him go.
“I know,” she said, trying not to sound too raw. “I know. You should.”
He shifted, propped himself up, and looked down at her—really looked. His brows drew in. “You okay?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I will be.”
He leaned in, kissed her once—slow and sure—and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll be five minutes. I swear.”
“You’re not leaving the camp?”
“No.” His voice was iron now, solid and steady. “Just checking my phone. Tin’s by the wheel well.”
She nodded, still not letting go. She gripped his wrist like muscle memory.
“Promise me,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. “Promise me you’re not leaving.”
He wrapped his big palm around hers. “Promise. You got me grounded, remember? No exfil until the lady calls it.”
She managed a tired smile.
“Sleep,” he said, tucking the blanket up over her shoulder. “Let yourself rest.”
She did. Or tried to.
She watched him pull on his jeans, then his shirt, moving with that quiet soldier efficiency. He ran a hand through his hair, tied it back, then stepped out into the fading sun.
The door creaked shut behind him.
And with it, a little hollow opened up in her chest again. Empty space. Cold as fear.
At least, she could say she tried.
Lying there under the blankets, she breathed in the scent he left behind—woodsmoke, pine, and Ethan Kane.
But her brain wouldn’t quiet.
She’d always been this way—Ethan had that same restlessness. She saw it in him. The way he moved like stillness was the same thing as danger. Maybe that’s what had always drawn her to him—recognizing her own ache in someone else’s bones.
She turned. Then turned again. The pillow was too hot. The room too quiet. Every creak of timber was a siren.
Finally, she sat up with a sigh and scrubbed her hands over her face.
Forget it.
The little shelving unit by the bed had folded flannel and neatly stacked thermals.
She rifled through it and pulled what she needed.
Her own bra, but the rest was his—a soft T-shirt, warm plaid pants, the boxers underneath a bit too big but comforting in a way that had her cheeks heating.
She slid his socks on last, then padded across the floor on silent feet.
The stove ticked softly. A few embers glowed. The coffee pot was cold.
She pressed her palm to the doorframe and peered outside through the narrow glass. Nothing. Just forest. Gold-red leaves scattered across the ground. A squirrel hopping over pine needles.
No sign of him.
She should wait. Should trust him.
But she couldn’t help it.
Something inside her, sharp and wired tight, said, see it for yourself.
So she eased open the cabin door and stepped out, the air cool on her skin. A light breeze tugged at her hair.
The driveway sloped gently down from the clearing, winding through tall trees and brush so thick it swallowed sound.
She walked, one bare hand brushing against bark. Her breath visible now.
Why couldn’t she let herself trust him? Why did she still feel like she had to chase down the truth before it disappeared?
Halfway down the drive, where the trees thinned into a small grassy clearing, she saw him.
Leaning against a hickory tree like a statue carved from anger.
Hands in his jacket pockets. Head low. Jaw clenched.
The phone was in his hand, screen dim.
She stopped at the edge of the trees, heart climbing into her throat.
There was nothing romantic about it. Nothing soft. He looked like a man at war with his own thoughts, and every part of her wanted to turn back.
But she didn’t.
Because she knew that look.
And she knew what it cost him to feel this much.
She stepped lightly, but the twig cracked under her heel anyway.
Ethan looked over.
No startle. No surprise.
Just that same stone-faced fury she’d seen from across the clearing—like he’d already known she was there, like he’d been waiting.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
His jaw twitched. “No.”
She waited, heartbeat kicking. The air felt colder now. “What’s going on?”
He shook his head once. A tight, final motion.
“Ethan.” She moved closer, careful. “Talk to me.”
Nothing. He didn’t even blink.
She stepped into his space, one hand brushing his sleeve, trying to reach him. “Please.”
He flinched. Like her touch burned. Like holding it together took effort he didn’t have.
“Ethan—what is it?” she pressed, now scared. “What happened?”
His eyes were glassed with rage. Unreadable. Terrifying. She saw it—all of it. The war. The grief. The shame. Whatever he’d just read or heard, it had cracked something inside him.
He looked away. Shoulders tense. Hands fisting.
Then, barely above a whisper, he managed, “Something bad has happened. I have to go.”
Her stomach dropped. “Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I’m not staying here alone again—”
“Amara, no.” He turned from the tree, already walking.
She chased after him, grabbing his arm. “You promised.”
“I know what I promised!” he snapped, spinning on her. “But you don’t understand what’s waiting out there—what I’m about to walk into. You can’t come.”
She stood her ground, shaking. “I’m not some glass doll you get to lock up. You brought me this far, Ethan. Don’t shut me out now.”
He stared at her, and for a moment, she thought maybe he was going to scream. Or punch the tree. Or vanish.
But instead, he just turned away.
Toward the truck.
Toward war.
She followed anyway.
“Ethan—”
He stopped. Shoulders stiff. Breath shallow.
Then finally, finally, he turned just enough to mutter, “Get in the truck.”
She didn’t argue, didn’t smile either. She just climbed in quietly in her borrowed clothes.
He slid into the driver’s seat like a man climbing into armor.
The engine turned over.
Whatever peace they’d found by the lake was gone.
* * * *
She gripped the handle above the passenger door so tight her knuckles ached, but Ethan didn’t slow down. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the cabin—just silence and fury, burning off him like heat.
She thought he’d turn down the road to the farm, but he didn’t.
He took the turn for her house.
Her stomach went cold.
It hit her nose before her eyes.
Smoke. Sharp and thick. Bitter.
“No,” she whispered.
The world outside the windshield shifted—blues and reds in pulsing flashes, floodlights on trucks, hoses coiled like snakes in the grass. A fire truck still hissing steam. Water pooling in the gravel. Yellow tape whipping in the fall breeze.
And then ruin.
Where her house had stood…nothing. Just black skeletal beams. Charred stone. Ash.
“No,” she said again, louder this time, voice cracking. “No.”
Ethan pulled the truck off to the side, throwing it into park so hard the wheel kicked.
He didn’t look at her.
His phone buzzed. He snatched it, answering in a low, angry voice, already walking away.
She didn’t wait.
She shoved the door open and stumbled into the gravel, lungs already burning from smoke or grief—she didn’t know.
She could barely hear Ethan calling after her.
She didn’t care.
The yellow tape blurred in her vision. Her boots hit water. Mud. She walked like a ghost, like the dream had already ended and this was just aftermath.
That house had been hers. Hers.
She had built it plank by plank, day by day. Scraped money and hope and pieces of herself into those walls.
And now…gone.
Flames still hissed at the edges. Firefighters paced. The officer nearest the tape turned when he saw her coming, eyes going wide.
“Ma’am—!”
She screamed, launching herself over the yellow tape like it meant nothing. Screamed again as the officer started after her.
But he got there first. His arms, strong, hard, wrapping around her middle and yanking her back.
“No! Let me go!” she shrieked, thrashing. “Let me go!”
“I’m here,” Ethan growled in her ear, breath ragged, his arms a cage. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You can’t go in there. Stay with me—Amara, stay with me.”
She fought him. Fought like a wild animal. Clawed at his forearms. Screamed again—raw, guttural, broken.
Then—
Then her knees buckled.
And he spun her into him, hard.
He pulled her back onto the ash-wet grass, safely away from the wreckage, holding her crushed against him as she sobbed.
Full body, soul-tearing sobs.
She pounded his chest once—twice—then gave up.
She folded into him like he was the only thing left on earth.