Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
SLOAN
They’re getting closer.
They’re closing in.
I can feel it in the way Asher's jaw tightens when he thinks I'm not paying attention. He won’t stop checking his phone for news updates.
The restless energy that radiates from him even when he's trying to appear collected is putting me even more on edge.
We've been running for days now, deeper into the mountains, pushing ourselves to the limit just to stay ahead of the helicopters and search dogs.
The motel room is a far cry from our cozy cabin. Thin walls, scratchy sheets, the lingering smell of cigarettes and cleaning products. But it's low-key, the kind of place where people pay in cash and ask no questions, and right now that’s worth more than comfort.
"We need to keep moving," Asher says from his position by the window, where he's been monitoring the parking lot for the past hour. "Cross into Utah, find somewhere we can camp while we figure out our next move."
"How much farther?" I ask.
"A few hours, maybe four or five depending on how much we need to stick to the back roads." He turns from the window, his eyes finding mine across the small, dark room. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No," I say, and I truly mean it. "No second thoughts."
His smile is instantly relieved. "Good. I'd rather die than lose you now."
"I need ice," I announce, grabbing the plastic bucket from beside the mini-fridge. "The machine is down the hall."
"I'll come with you."
"It's just ice, Asher. I'll be back in two minutes. Less bodies out in the open, less risk."
He hesitates, visibly torn between his protective instincts and the need to maintain our low profile. Finally, he nods. "Two minutes. If you're not back, I'm coming to find you."
The fluorescent lights in the hallway flicker overhead as I make my way to the ice machine, the plastic bucket swinging from my hand.
It's late enough that most guests are settled in for the night, leaving the corridors empty except for the distant sound of televisions and muffled conversations bleeding through the thin doors.
The ice machine is around the corner from our room, tucked into an alcove that provides relief from the harsh lighting. I'm halfway through filling the bucket when I hear voices drifting from the direction of the lobby.
"...missing person case out of Colorado. Young woman, red hair, disappeared on Christmas Eve..."
I freeze in place, paralyzed by fear. Slowly, I peer around the corner toward the direction of the voices.
Three people in matching jackets stand near the front desk, talking quietly with the night clerk. Even from this distance, I can make out the official insignia on their clothing—search and rescue, probably coordinating with local law enforcement to expand their grid.
They're here. Actually here, in the same building where Asher and I are hiding.
"...checked all the establishments within a fifty-mile radius. Nothing so far, but we'll be expanding the search tomorrow..."
I should run, sprint back to our room, grab Asher, and get the hell out of here before they realize how close they are to finding me. I should do anything except stand here frozen like a deer caught in headlights, listening to them discuss my disappearance.
But I can't move. I can't breathe. My brain doesn’t want to process what’s happening.
"...family's offering a substantial reward for information leading to her safe return..."
My family.
I’d almost forgotten that there are people out there who love me, who are desperate to know what happened to me.
One of the search team members, a woman with graying hair, looks directly in my direction. For a moment, I think she recognized me. But her gaze slides past without registering.
This is my chance. My moment of choice.
All I have to do is step forward.
Show myself.
Say my name.
In thirty seconds, this nightmare could be over. I could be safe, surrounded by people whose job it is to protect me, on my way back to a life where this fucked up shit happens to other people.
But my feet refuse to move.
Because going back means leaving him, never again feeling the way I felt when he looked at me, when he touched me, when he whispered my name while his dick was buried deep inside of me.
The search team finishes their conversation with the desk clerk and heads toward the exit. Soon they'll be gone, the opportunity lost, and I'll have chosen him over being found.
I wait until their voices fade and the lobby is empty again except for the bored-looking clerk, before I finally move. My legs feel unsteady as I make my way back down the hallway, the half-full ice bucket forgotten in my shaking fingers.
Asher is waiting for me around the corner from our room, pressed against the wall like he's hiding. The moment he sees me, relief floods his features, followed quickly by something that looks a lot like awe.
"You saw them," he says quietly. It's not a question.
"Yes."
"And you..." He swallows hard, like he can't quite believe what he's about to say. "You stayed."
"I stayed." The words make it feel more real. It sinks in.
For a moment we just stare at each other in the dim hallway, the magnitude of what just happened settling between us. This was my choice, pure and simple. I had a chance to be rescued, and I chose him instead.
"Why?" His voice is raw with emotion.
"Because they wouldn't understand."
"Sloan..." He says my name like he can't quite believe I'm real.
"They'd want to fix me. Force me through therapy until I’m gaslit into believing none of what I feel is real." I step closer, close enough to see the hope in his eyes. "But it is real. What we have is real, and I'm not willing to give it up."
"Even knowing that there's no going back from this?"
"Especially knowing that." I reach out to touch his face, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw beneath my fingertips. "I made my choice, Asher. And I choose you."
He wraps me into his arms, pulling me in for a sweet kiss.
"You're mine," he whispers against my lips. "You’re really, truly mine."
"I'm yours," I agree, smiling up at him.
His hand finds mine, intertwining our fingers as he eagerly leads me back toward our room. But just before we reach the door, he stops, turning to face me.
"I love you," he says, the words raw with emotion. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving that you made the right choice."
"I know." And I do know, with a certainty that should terrify me but it doesn’t.
He is the right choice.