22. Chapter 22 #2
He turned back to the stove, pouring scrambled eggs into a pan with a sizzle that made her stomach growl. Beside him, toast popped up from the toaster, and he moved with effortless precision, plating everything with quiet focus.
“So what do SEALs do on Sundays?” she asked, stepping closer.
He glanced over. “Usually? Sleep, eat, wrench on shit, chase trouble, act like we don’t have a war schedule starting Monday.”
“And today?”
He gave her a look, then nodded toward the French press. “Today, I make you breakfast. Then we ride up the coast. Maybe find a beach. Walk a bit. Eat something we don’t cook. Do absolutely nothing.”
Maddie’s smile deepened. “That sounds… dangerous.”
He passed her a plate, his knuckles brushing hers. “High risk, high reward.”
They sat on the back patio with their plates balanced on their knees, the sun already climbing, the breeze warm but easy. His place backed onto a stretch of protected scrubland that rolled toward the water. The only sounds were distant waves and birdsong.
Maddie glanced sideways, soaking him in. He looked… settled. Relaxed. Like a man who didn’t get to have a lot of quiet and was finally letting himself enjoy it.
“You know,” she said after a while, “we could invite Natalie over later. Start a fire, pretend we haven’t been sneaking around for three weeks.”
Heath gave her a slow side-eye. “You want to tell my sister you’ve been fucking her brother in every room of your house?”
Maddie laughed. “I think the word is dating.”
Heath’s grin curved. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it.”
She nudged his leg with hers. “C’mon. We’re a thing. You’re my boyfriend. You said so.”
He lifted his coffee. “You sure about that?”
She sipped her own. “I’m sure. I think I’ve been sure since I handed you that stupid caulking gun.”
Heath didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at her with something warm and proud in his eyes.
Then—quietly—“Yeah. I’ve been sure too.”
They fell into silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling.
Three weeks. That’s how long it had been.
Three weeks since she’d opened the front door in a tank and shorts and found this man—calm, capable, rough-edged and real—standing there with tools in his hand and eyes that saw more than she wanted him to.
Three weeks since she’d stopped running.
She reached out and slid her fingers into his.
He squeezed gently. “We could really have a fire tonight.”
“Yeah,” she said, heart full. “Let’s do it. Invite over the Carringtons.”
* * * * *
The day had been… perfect.
He wasn’t used to that word. Not really. He didn’t trust it.
But watching Maddie laugh in the sun, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, blonde hair catching the breeze as she leaned back in her patio chair—yeah. It had felt damn close.
They’d eaten breakfast outside, legs brushing under the table, Maddie in jean shorts and a pink T-shirt, hoodie zipped halfway up. She kept stealing strawberries off his plate. He didn’t mind. He’d have handed her the whole damn bowl if she asked.
After breakfast, they took a walk down the beach.
Hand in hand, shoes forgotten somewhere behind them.
The tide rolled in and out, lazy and low, and she let him tug her closer when a wave chased their ankles.
She squealed like a kid, and he laughed—actually laughed—before wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the salt off her lips.
They stayed there for an hour. Maybe more. She tucked her face into his shoulder at one point and just breathed.
Back at the house, they laid out on the deck in the sun, reading separate books but somehow still sharing space like it was sacred. A playlist played low from inside. She hummed along to one of the songs. Something about the sound of her voice, quiet and off-key, made him want to freeze time.
It was the calmest he’d felt in years.
And then—like all things in his life—it shifted.
Late afternoon. Shadows creeping in. The Carringtons would be arriving soon. He was inside, rinsing glasses from earlier, when her phone buzzed from the patio table.
Maddie picked it up.
And everything changed.
He could tell—before she even said a word—by the way her body went still. Not tense. Not braced.
Frozen.
She just stared at the screen, like she was trying to decipher a code written in a dead language.
He walked out, drying his hands on a towel. “Everything okay?”
She didn’t answer. Just kept staring.
He stepped closer. The number on the screen said it all.
Unknown.
His stomach dropped.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low, tight. “Let it go to voicemail.”
The phone buzzed again.
And she answered anyway on speaker.
“Maddie,” said a voice Heath recognized instantly.
David.
Smooth. Polished. Poison wrapped in silk.
She didn’t say anything.
Heath watched her knuckles whiten around the phone.
“I hope you’re enjoying your little vacation,” David said. “It won’t last. This divorce? It’s not happening. You’re confused. You’re acting out. I’ve been patient. But you need to come home. Before this becomes something we can’t undo.”
Heath’s entire body locked up.
Maddie didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.
She just said, calm and steady, “I’m not confused. I’m not coming back.”
David laughed. Low. Cruel. “You always did love playing the victim. You want this to get ugly? You want me to drag every piece of your history through court? You want to fight me in front of your family, your work, your hospital?”
Heath took one step forward. Then another. But stopped himself.
Not his call.
Not yet.
David’s voice slithered through the line again. “I’ve kept things civil. But if you don’t call this off, Madeline… you’ll regret it.”
She hung up.
Didn’t say a word.
Just stood there, shoulders rigid, coffee cooling on the table beside her.
She turned slowly.
Heath met her eyes.
She looked… hollowed out.
“You answered,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, quiet.
He didn’t yell.
Didn’t storm.
Just let the anger coil in his chest like a loaded spring. “What the hell were you thinking?”
She looked away. “I was thinking that maybe I needed to hear what he’d say.”
“You knew what he’d say,” Heath snapped. “He’s a manipulative son of a bitch and you know it.”
Her jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.” He stepped forward, voice lowering. “You’re divorcing him. You don’t need to listen to another second of that bastard trying to sink his hooks in you again.”
Her spine straightened. That fire he loved—feared—flickered back to life. “He’s not sinking anything.”
“You answered the call.”
“I had the right to.” Her voice sharpened. “You don’t get to—”
“I don’t get to what?” His voice rose. “Care? Protect you?”
“I didn’t ask for that,” she snapped. “I didn’t ask you to fix me.”
His hands balled into fists at his sides.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
She laughed. Bitter. Hollow. “You think I don’t know who David is? You think I don’t know what he’s capable of?”
He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “I think you’re still trying to handle this like it’s your burden alone. Like you need to prove something.”
Her eyes blazed. “Maybe I do.”
He exhaled hard. Paced once. His blood was boiling and frozen all at once.
“He doesn’t get to have another second of your time.”
She lifted her chin. “And yet, here we are. Still talking about him.”
Heath didn’t move. Didn’t reply.
Maddie then breezed past him, heading back inside. He didn’t know where inside she went. Probably upstairs. Maybe pacing. Maybe crying. He didn’t know, and it was killing him not to go after her.
But he also knew he couldn’t fix what just happened by charging in and holding her too tightly.
She didn’t want to be saved. She wanted to stand.
He got that.
He still wanted to break every bone in David’s body.
The sun was dipping low when the noise hit the driveway—car doors slamming, kids shouting, laughter rising like a storm.
The Carringtons had arrived.
He plastered on a neutral expression—something between “friendly” and “not currently imploding”—and opened the back gate just as Bella came barreling into the yard at full speed.
“HEATH!”
She launched herself into his arms before he could brace. He caught her instinctively, staggering half a step back, grinning despite himself.
“Whoa, careful. You trying to break my ribs?”
“Yes!” she beamed.
Jake followed behind her, arms full of some weird inflatable game Heath didn’t recognize. “Can we light stuff on fire now?!”
“Not until I’ve had one drink,” Heath muttered.
Behind them came Natalie, arms full of snacks and intentions. Mike trailed behind with a cooler, looking suspiciously like he’d taken a wrong turn on the way to a frat party and accidentally became a father.
Adam and Lila walked in last, hand in hand. Adam’s eyes flicked to Heath’s immediately. Assessed. Noted. Said nothing—for now.
And trailing behind them, with the grace of a cat who hated being perceived, was Sloane.
Fourteen. Black hoodie. Wireless earbuds in. Misery in the shape of a teen girl. She took one look at Heath and rolled her eyes like it was a sport.
“Hey, Sloane,” he said.
“Cool. You’re alive.”
“Great to see you too.”
Bella was still in his arms, talking a mile a minute about something she built with duct tape.
He set her down gently, letting the hum of family noise start to fill the space like fog.
Natalie started arranging snacks. Mike fiddled with the Bluetooth speaker.
Adam began poking the fire pit with entirely too much aggression.
And all the while, Heath kept glancing toward the house.
Waiting.
Watching.
She finally appeared.
Maddie stepped out onto the deck slowly, hoodie back on, arms crossed. She looked calm. Composed.
But Heath could see the tightness in her mouth. The fresh war behind her eyes.
And still—she met his gaze across the yard.
He gave her the smallest nod. It said: I’m here.
She returned it. It said: So am I.
And then she turned to Natalie and smiled like nothing had happened.
Carrington chaos kicked in at full speed.