22. Chapter 22
The scream didn’t leave her throat—but it wanted to. Maddie’s eyes flew open, her body jolting upright before her mind caught up. Sheets tangled around her legs. Her tank was soaked through. Her chest ached from breath she hadn’t taken. For a second, she didn’t know where she was.
The window. The ocean air. The room—quiet, warm.
Not David’s.
Not David’s.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum, trying to rub the weight off her chest. Her pulse was racing. Her skin was slick with sweat. And her throat—
Her throat hurt.
Phantom hands. The dream. His hands.
“Maddie?”
Heath’s voice, low and groggy, came from behind her. The mattress shifted. She felt his hand brush her lower back, tentative. Protective.
She flinched.
She hated that she did.
“Hey.” His voice sharpened. “You okay?”
She couldn’t lie. Not really. Not in this bed, not after everything they’d shared. But she couldn’t tell the whole truth either. Not yet. Not when she still hates herself for it all.
“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly. Too practiced.
Heath sat up beside her, his hand withdrawing slightly but not disappearing. “You were thrashing. Breathing like you’d run a marathon.”
She stared at the wall. “Just a bad dream.”
“Nightmare.”
She didn’t reply. She got up, went to the bathroom. Splashed water on her face. And then she went back, sitting on the bed beside him.
He waited. He didn’t push. But the silence stretched, thick with things unsaid.
She could feel him watching her. She could feel the weight of his concern, the way it wrapped around her like a too-heavy blanket. She loved it. She hated it.
She rubbed her palms over her bare thighs, grounding herself in the sensation.
“Maddie,” Heath said quietly. “Did he lay hands on you?”
She looked at him, trying to say something. But the words lodged in her throat like splinters.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered. “Not now.”
He didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was calm, steady. “Okay.”
She exhaled, relief and guilt tangling inside her ribs.
“I stayed,” she said suddenly, the confession ripping out of her before she could stop it. “I stayed with him. For years. I let it happen.”
Heath’s brows pulled tight, his whole body shifting toward her.
“You survived it,” he said again, more emphasis this time. “You didn’t let anything.”
She shook her head, looking down at her hands.
“No, I did. I ignored the signs. I told myself it wasn’t that bad.
I explained away every threat, every bruise, every time he…
got close. I lied to myself. I made excuses.
He didn’t really beat me. It wasn’t like that.
But he did lay hands on me. He did push me, shove me.
Corner me. And I guess… I didn’t want to admit that I’d chosen someone who—”
Her voice cracked.
“I didn’t want to be a victim.”
Heath was quiet. His hand hovered near her, like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t know if she’d pull away again.
“I don’t see you as a victim,” he said eventually. “Not once. Not ever.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “No? What do you see, then?”
“I see a woman who’s still standing.” His voice was steel now. “Who left. Who fought her way out. Who’s building something new. I see a fighter, Maddie. Not some poor, helpless thing.”
Tears burned in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. She blinked them away.
“I’m still scared of him,” she whispered. “Even now. Even after all of it.”
She looked at him.
He met her eyes without hesitation. “You don’t have to carry that alone. You’ve got me now.”
It was too much.
Too kind.
Too easy, the way he said it.
And still—part of her wanted to believe him. That maybe someone could see the mess and not flinch.
She nodded, leaned in.
And kissed him.
Long. Slow. Deep.
It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t hungry. Just… full. Anchored. The kind of kiss that said this is where I want to be. The kind that made her forget what time it was, what day it was—why she’d ever wasted so much time pretending she didn’t need someone like this.
She slid her hands up his bare chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palms. He kissed her back like she mattered. Like he had nowhere else to be. His lips moved against hers in a rhythm that felt familiar already, like something they’d built together without realizing it.
When she finally pulled back, her breath was shaky.
“I’m glad I met you three weeks ago,” she whispered, her forehead resting against his. “I’m glad Natalie sent you. I’m glad you walked into my goddamn disaster and didn’t flinch.”
He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His thumbs stroked slow circles against her waist. His eyes held hers like a promise.
“For the first time…” she breathed, “this all feels doable.”
Heath brushed his nose against hers, soft and sure.
“You make it doable.”
She smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. “So…” she drawled. “What time is breakfast served in the Carrington house?”
He smirked, cocked his head. “Depends.”
“On?”
He gave her that slow, dangerous once-over—the kind that made her thighs clench.
“Whether or not you plan on putting clothes on before it’s ready.”
Maddie laughed, already reaching for the shirt he’d tossed across the chair the night before.
“Then I guess you better get cooking, sailor,” she said. “Because I’m starving.”
Heath’s grin deepened. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * * * *
Within minutes, Maddie was in the shower. The water was hot. Too hot, maybe, but she didn’t turn it down.
She let it pound against the nape of her neck, loosening the tension that had crept into her shoulders overnight. Her hands moved slow through her hair, fingers massaging in the lavender shampoo she always carried, the scent wrapping around her like something safe. Familiar.
Downstairs, she could hear faint movement. Cabinets opening. A pan settling onto the stove. The low murmur of Heath’s voice—probably talking to himself, or to the coffee maker, which seemed to be getting more of his attention than anything else in the house.
She smiled under the stream of water. The man was a walking contradiction. Navy SEAL. Combat medic. Quiet, steady hands that knew exactly what to do in a crisis—and somehow, also the same guy who took the time to fold the towel she’d used yesterday and set a fresh one on the counter this morning.
Heath Carrington was a lot of things. And slowly, she was beginning to realize just how much of him she didn’t know yet.
She turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping the towel around her as steam curled along the mirror.
She dug through her bag, pulling out a pair of soft, worn denim shorts, a soft pink tee, and a gray hoodie that hung a little too loose around her frame.
The cotton clung to her damp skin as she zipped it halfway, leaving her legs bare.
It was still too damn hot for late October. San Diego refused to acknowledge fall.
She padded barefoot down the hall, trailing fingers along the edge of the wall, letting herself take in more of the space than she had the night before.
His house was… nice.
That shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did.
But it wasn’t just clean—it was intentional.
Warm wood floors. Earth tones. A few well-placed pieces of local art.
Everything was functional, practical—but with just enough softness to make it feel lived-in.
The kitchen was sleek but not sterile, his coffee mugs mismatched in a way that made her smile.
There was a quiet masculinity to it. Orderly. Grounded. Like the man himself.
She moved toward the living room, glancing at the bookshelf tucked beneath the stairs.
A few novels. Military biographies. A dog-eared copy of Into Thin Air.
One framed photo of Heath and a group of guys in uniform—SEALs, no doubt.
The beach behind them, the sunlight in their eyes, the grin on Heath’s face broader than she’d ever seen.
Maddie’s chest pinched a little. There was a whole life here—years of it—that had nothing to do with her.
She turned toward the hallway, her bare feet whispering across the wood floor.
Family photos lined the wall. She recognized Natalie immediately, smiling in a Christmas sweater, a kid perched on her hip.
Another photo beside it—a trio of adults.
Natalie, a man with a perpetual scowl (had to be Adam), and Heath, a little younger, a little less guarded.
His arm was slung around Natalie’s shoulder, his smile easy.
She lingered there, studying his face.
And then she saw it—the next frame.
A couple.
Heath. And a woman.
They were dressed up for something. Maybe a wedding, or a formal event. She was blonde, like Maddie, but with shorter hair, curled perfectly around her face. Tall. Elegant. And she was looking at Heath like she knew him—really knew him.
Maddie stared at it longer than she should’ve. Her stomach twisted.
This had to be the ex he’d mentioned. The long-term one he’d been with before he called it off.
There was something about the picture that unsettled her—not because they looked overly happy. If anything, Heath’s smile was a little stiff, a little too polite. But the woman’s hand rested on his chest like it belonged there. Like she thought she still had time.
Jealousy pricked at Maddie’s spine before she could stop it.
But then she could smell bacon. Then coffee. Then that low, raspy hum of Heath Carrington’s voice, taking a phone call as he moved around the kitchen.
When she finally padded down the stairs to the kitchen, he was standing barefoot at the stove in worn, fitted jeans and a grey T-shirt that clung to his shoulders like a second skin.
He glanced over his shoulder.
“There you are,” he said, a grin already in place. “Thought I lost you.”
Maddie leaned against the doorway, arms crossed—massive on her, hanging to mid-thigh.
“I might’ve, if you weren’t in here committing war crimes with bacon and charm.”
Heath chuckled. “It’s Sunday. I’m allowed.”