Chapter 7
SEVEN
FIONA
The babies are better than therapy. I don’t know who decided that tiny humans with chubby cheeks and absolutely zero respect for personal space are healing, but they were onto something.
Emma is asleep against Harper’s chest, a little snuffle of breath puffing out every few seconds like she’s dreaming of milk and world domination.
Aidan is on Kayley’s hip, trying to eat the drawstring of her hoodie like it’s the best snack he’s ever seen.
And me?
I’m sitting on the clubhouse steps, warm mug in my hands, pretending my life didn’t go sideways a few days ago.
It’s… nice here. That realization sneaks up on me and sits heavy in my chest.
Haven 7 is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel lonely. There’s movement everywhere—someone carrying gear across the yard, someone else splitting wood, a couple of the guys laughing about something that sounds like it involved a ladder and poor choices. It feels lived-in. Solid.
Safe.
I can see how people stay.
How they build something here.
How they stop running.
The door to the meeting house opens, and a cluster of men spill out like the world’s most intimidating boy band. They’re talking in low voices, serious faces, all business. My shoulders tense automatically, like my body’s bracing for bad news.
Gavin breaks off from the group and heads straight for me.
Big brother mode: engaged.
“How you doing, Fi?” he asks, stopping in front of me like he’s conducting a visual inspection for injuries and emotional damage.
“I’m good,” I say. “Better, actually.”
He studies me like he’s trying to decide if that’s true. “You sleep okay?”
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Yeah. The bed was… comfortable.”
Not a lie. Just… not the whole story either.
“Good,” he says, relieved enough that it softens his shoulders a little. “If you need anything, you tell me. Or Harper. Or Kayley. Or Emma.”
“Actually,” I say, then wince, “I do need something.”
He lifts a brow. “What?”
“Toothbrush. Face wash. Deodorant. You know. The glamorous stuff.”
Harper laughs. “I’ve got all of that. You can borrow.”
Kayley nods. “Same. We’ll set you up with a whole starter kit.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate it. I really do. But… I want my own stuff. Just a quick run into town.”
Gavin’s jaw tightens. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”
“I do,” I say gently. “I need to feel normal. Just for ten minutes.”
He looks like he wants to argue. Then he sighs. “Fine. But you’re not going alone.”
My gaze flicks, without my permission, straight to Chase. He’s standing a few steps back, talking to Boyd and Thorne, arms crossed, listening more than he’s speaking. When he notices me looking, his attention locks in like he’s been waiting for it.
Gavin follows my gaze. “Chase,” he calls. “You’re up.”
Chase’s brows lift. “For what?”
“You’re taking my sister into town.”
Chase’s eyes flick to me, then back to Gavin. “Copy that.”
I nod quickly, pretending my heart isn’t doing a weird, hopeful little stutter. “I’m fine with that,” I say. Which is true. And also a little terrifying. Because being alone with Chase feels… like stepping closer to something I’m not sure I’m ready to name.
We pile into his truck a few minutes later. The door closes with a solid thud that feels weirdly comforting. He starts the engine, and glances over at me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Nervous. But good.”
He nods. “That’s allowed.”
The drive into town is quiet, but not awkward. The kind of quiet where you’re aware of the other person without needing to fill the space. Trees blur past. The sky is a clean, cold blue. My shoulders slowly unclench.
“So,” I say, “do you always play chauffeur, or am I special?”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says. “You’re a VIP threat package.”
“Wow. I feel so cherished.”
His mouth twitches. “You should.”
We pull into Timber Creek like it’s a postcard—brick storefronts, string lights, a couple of people walking dogs in coats that look too nice for dog walking.
He parks in front of the diner. “Food first,” he says. “Then errands.”
“I’m not arguing with that.”
Inside, the diner smells like coffee and pie and comfort. A woman with red hair and sharp, kind eyes looks up from behind the counter. “Well, I’ll be,” she says. “If it isn’t Chase Callahan, back in my establishment.”
“Hey, Greta,” he says easily. “Got room for two?”
“For you? Always. Booth by the window.”
She glances at me, her gaze softening. “You must be new.”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
She smiles. “Only to people who’ve been here too long. I’m Greta. You hungry, honey?”
“Always.”
We slide into the booth. Chase takes the seat across from me, stretching his long legs like he owns the place.
Greta brings menus but doesn’t wait for us to open them. “The special’s chicken-fried steak. And I’ve got fresh apple pie.”
I look at Chase. “I feel like this is a test.”
He nods solemnly. “You have to pass.”
“I’ll take the steak,” I tell her.
“And pie,” Chase adds. “For both of us.”
Greta winks. “Good man.”
When she walks away, I laugh softly. “You’re popular.”
“Greta fed half this town. That makes her the real power broker.”
We talk while we wait for food. Little things. What it was like growing up with Gavin. Where he’s from. He doesn’t offer much about himself, but he listens in a way that makes me feel… heard.
When the food comes, I realize I’m starving.
“This is the first real meal I’ve had in days,” I admit.
He watches me for a second, then says quietly, “You don’t have to run anymore, Fiona.” The words settle between us like a promise.
I meet his gaze. “I’m starting to think that.”
For the first time since I left my apartment with a bag and a bad feeling in my gut, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.
I feel… okay.
And that’s dangerous.
Because I like Chase. More than I should. More than is smart. But sitting in a small-town diner, eating pie with a man who makes me feel safe? It feels like the beginning of something I’m not ready to walk away from. And for once…
I don’t want to.