Chapter 79
AVA - NEW KIND OF PEACE
Three months.
That’s how long it had been since the smoke. Since the gunfire in the trees. Since we ran, fought, bled, and survived.
It didn’t feel like three months. Some days, it felt like three minutes had passed. Others, three years. But time had passed, and slowly, we were stitching things back together.
Remi had thrown herself into work with her usual reckless devotion.
The clinic was thriving, almost too much.
Clients poured in from neighbouring counties, word spreading fast about the place where survivors were believed.
Where no one had to fight for someone to believe the worst night of their life, she’d stopped trying to cap her schedule.
Her intake list was full. Overflowing. She worked late.
Skipped lunch. Carried three separate notebooks now.
I caught glimpses of her between sessions, eyes sharp but tired, like she was running on something more fragile than caffeine.
Me? I’d taken a different road.
I’d started therapy.
It had taken a quiet, carefully arranged recommendation from someone who understood what I needed: discretion.
Understanding. A therapist who didn’t flinch when I said I couldn’t touch a firearm without feeling a phantom pulse in my palms, someone who let me say the word “murder” without locking up.
Some days, I left those sessions raw. Some days, I left a little lighter.
But I was still showing up.
And today, today was one of the good ones.
The kitchen was warm and smelled like garlic and rosemary. Sunlight poured through the open window as I stirred the pan, humming along to the soft acoustic playlist I kept queued up on weekends. Harlan sat at the kitchen table, newspaper unfolded, reading aloud with his usual sarcastic flair.
“This town used to reek of decay and apathy,” he recited. “But it seems Chief Gray has scrubbed the rot out with a steel brush and a moral compass.” He snorted. “Steel brush? Do I look like someone who owns a steel brush?”
I grinned. “Only if it comes in ‘grumpy but lovable.’”
“Lovable? You’re getting soft on me, Sinclair.”
He leaned back, his bare feet propped on a chair, one of my favourite mugs of his in his hand, a blue ceramic mug with a chipped rim. The one I always used when I was here. And that was saying something, because this place had started to feel like mine too.
“Sources confirm that the new precinct initiatives are not only effective, but surprisingly humane,” Harlan continued, voice thick with mockery. “Under Chief Gray's leadership, the department has taken a sharp turn away from fear and force, and toward community-centred protection.”
He raised a brow. “Surprisingly humane. Should I be offended or flattered?”
“Both,” I said, plating the eggs. “But mostly flattered.”
We sat together, shoulder to shoulder at the table, sharing a weekend brunch like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Because three months ago, we didn’t know if we’d have another morning.
And now?
Now we had sunlight. Laughter. A kitchen that smelled like fresh herbs and coffee. A new kind of peace.
I glanced over at him, fork paused mid-air. “Did you ever think we’d get here?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“No,” he finally said. “But I never stopped wanting it.”
And maybe that was the difference between us. I had wanted it too, but I hadn’t believed it was possible.
Not then.
That night, after dinner, we curled up on the couch. I had my legs thrown across his lap, and he was tracing idle lines along the inside of my ankle. He looked so peaceful.
But something in him had shifted. I could feel it in the way he held his breath.
Like he was trying to find the right words.
“You’re quiet,” I murmured.
He didn’t look at me right away. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He huffed a laugh. But then he turned, serious now. “I was wondering what you’d think about… making this official.”
I blinked. “Official?”
“This place. Us. You. Me. Moving in together. Making it ours.”
My heart did this stupid little stutter, even though we already spent most nights here, even though I’d taken over half his closet and more than half his bookshelf.
Still, it felt different hearing him say it.
“You want to live with me?” I asked, teasing soft.
“I already do,” he said. “But I want you to feel it. I want this to be your home too. Not just a safe place to land. I want it to be… ours.”
I didn’t answer right away. Not because I didn’t know.
But because something about it made the breath catch in my throat.
We’d lost so much. We’d fought for even more. And maybe now… maybe it was time we let ourselves want more too.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He didn’t grin. Didn’t joke.
He just leaned in and kissed me like it was a promise.
Like this time, we were building something real.
Together.