Chapter 28
Amber
The rain starts mid-morning, a soft mist that beads on the windshield and blurs the pines into tall green shadows. The van smells faintly of coffee and damp hoodie—Bas’s hoodie, which I’m still wearing, because it’s warm and because it’s him.
He hasn’t said much since we left the forest, except for the occasional quiet curse when the road narrows or a truck sprays our windshield. He’s hyper-focused, blue eyes flicking between the mirrors and the road, jaw tight.
I watch him for a while before I finally speak. “You’re doing that thing again.”
His grip on the wheel tightens. “What thing?”
“Where you disappear into your head and forget I’m sitting right here.”
That earns me a sideways glance, brief but sharp, before his eyes are back on the road. “I’m trying to keep you alive, Amber. That takes focus.”
I hug my knees tighter to my chest. “I know. But it also… it makes me feel like you’re a million miles away. Like last night didn’t even happen.”
That gets his attention. He exhales, low and rough. “Oh, last night happened. Don’t doubt that.”
My cheeks heat, partly from the memory of his hands on me, his mouth on mine, the weight of him making the rest of the world fall away. “Then why does it feel like you regret it?”
He’s silent for a long moment, the rain tapping its soft rhythm on the roof of the van. Finally, he says, “Because I’m trying to be the man who deserves you. And I don’t know if that man exists right now.”
My chest twists. I reach across the space between our seats, resting my hand on his thigh. His muscles tense under my palm, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Bas… you’ve been that man for years. You just don’t see it.”
He lets out a humourless laugh. “Years. You mean the years I watched you from a distance, too broken to do anything about it. Years where my son was my whole world, and I didn’t think I had the right to want anything else.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my throat tight. I trace little circles on his leg through the denim, and his breathing shifts, like he’s fighting himself.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I say quietly. “Even when I knew I couldn’t have you. Even when it hurt.”
His jaw flexes. “And now that you do have me?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I keep wondering if this is just… adrenaline. Fear. If we’re clinging to each other because it’s easier than falling apart.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, heavy but not empty. He’s thinking—I can see it in the way his thumb taps the steering wheel.
Finally, he says, “I don’t know either. I just know that I can’t stop wanting you. And that scares me more than the men chasing us.”
The words steal my breath. I look out the window, blinking hard, because if I keep staring at him, I might cry, and I can’t afford to fall apart.
The road curves through a little village, and the rain eases enough for me to notice the colour—the houses are red and yellow, roofs steep and black, flowers hanging in window boxes that look too bright against the grey sky.
For a moment, it feels almost normal, like a road trip instead of a run for our lives.
The petrol station appears like a tiny island in the endless forest, its white walls glaring under the flat grey sky. A single row of pumps sits in front of a squat shop, and a bright yellow sign creaks in the wind. Out here, surrounded by miles of trees, it looks almost too bright, too exposed.
I hug Bastiaan’s hoodie tighter around myself as he pulls the van into the lot. My stomach twists as I scan the road behind us, half-expecting a bike or a car to come flying out of the trees. Nothing. Just the endless stretch of forest swallowing the road.
“Stay here,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I lift my chin anyway. “I could help—”
“No.” He cuts me off, sharp and certain, and my mouth snaps shut. But then his eyes soften just a fraction. “I need to make sure it’s clear first. Please.”
Something in the way he says please makes me nod.
I watch him step out into the cold daylight, tall and solid, scanning the lot before heading for the pump.
He moves like he’s wired for danger, like even here—especially here—he can’t let his guard down.
My chest aches watching him, knowing he’s carrying all of this weight on his shoulders… and that some of it is me.
The van feels too quiet without him. Too empty.
My reflection in the side mirror looks pale and tired, eyes ringed in shadows.
I trace a finger over the fraying cuff of his hoodie and imagine, for a second, that I’m somewhere else.
At the beach with Bea. In my shop. Trimming roses and laughing with Jess.
I can’t stand the waiting.
The bell over the shop door jingles when I slip inside, and the warm air smells of coffee and sugar. Bastiaan’s head jerks toward me immediately, his frown deepening.
“You couldn’t wait?” he murmurs under his breath as I wander toward the fridge.
“I didn’t want to sit there alone,” I whisper back. My voice is smaller than I want it to be.
He doesn’t argue, just watches me with that unreadable expression as I grab A Diet Coke and—because I can’t help myself—a chocolate bar. Something normal. Something sweet in the middle of all this fear.
By the time I meet him at the counter, he’s already piled it with bottled water, apples, sandwiches, crisps, and a huge bag of nuts. I spot a small flashlight and a couple of rain ponchos tucked under the food, and I can almost see his mind working—always preparing for the worst.
The cashier doesn’t seem to care about us. He barely looks up from his magazine as Bastiaan pays in cash. I can feel my pulse in my throat anyway, like we’re seconds from being caught, like at any moment someone will step out of the trees and point and say: there they are.
The bell above the door chimes again.
I freeze.
A white SUV glides into the lot, tyres crunching over gravel. I can’t stop my body from tensing, can’t stop the surge of cold panic. Bastiaan subtly shifts, his hand resting near the bag of supplies, his eyes tracking the vehicle.
It rolls past the pumps, slows for a moment, and then continues back toward the road.
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“See?” Bas murmurs, his hand brushing my back as he steers me toward the door. “Just a car.”
I nod, but my chest still feels tight, like the air doesn’t want to go all the way in.
The van smells faintly of him when we climb back inside, sandalwood and soap and something that makes my stomach flip. I clutch a cold Diet Coke as he starts the engine, the bag of supplies at my feet, and watch the forest swallow the station in seconds.
It’s brighter out here than it should be, the daylight turning the trees into a blur of green and grey. But it doesn’t make me feel safe. Not really.
Bas pulls out onto the road, and we continue our journey to a soundtrack of rustling packets and my moans. That grabs Bas’ attention, making him stare at me like he wants to eat me alive. Lucky me.
Then I see them.
Two men in black leather cuts, standing outside a small market. Even through the rain-streaked glass, I recognise the patches. My blood turns to ice.
“Bas.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I see them.” His tone is flat, deadly calm.
We keep rolling past, slow and steady. The men don’t move, don’t raise a hand, but I swear I feel their eyes tracking us like laser sights. My heart thunders against my ribs.
“They didn’t follow,” I whisper, looking in my wing mirror.
“Not yet,” he says. “But they know we’re here now.”
We drive in tense silence for miles, the rain swallowing the sound of the engine. I try to keep my breathing steady, but my hands are shaking in my lap.
Finally, Bas pulls onto a side road that winds through a thicker patch of forest. He kills the headlights for a moment, coasting. My heart’s in my throat.
“Are we… hiding?” I ask.
“For now,” he says, scanning the mirrors. “They could’ve called it in. We need to put some distance between us before we get back on the main road.”
I watch his profile in the dim grey light—sharp jaw, soft stubble, the stubborn crease in his brow—and he looks different now.
Not just the man I’ve loved quietly for years, not just the devoted father who makes the world feel safe.
He looks like someone trying to hold everything together, even when none of this is his burden to carry.
“Bas?” My voice wavers.
He glances at me, softening just enough to make my chest ache. “Yeah, liefje?”
“If we make it through this…” I pause, fighting the lump in my throat. “Do you think we… could be something? Like… really be something?”
He’s quiet for a long time, his hands steady on the wheel even as my heart feels like it’s swinging on a thread.
Finally, he says, “If we make it through this… I don’t think I could let you go. Even if I should.”
It’s not a promise. But it’s enough to make me feel like I can breathe again.
The road stretches ahead, empty and wet, and for now, that’s all that matters.