But this wasn’t a mission. This was me—my life, my body, my mess of feelings.
I searched his face, waiting for some trace of judgment, a flicker of panic, anything that would prove he wasn’t made of stone. But there wasn’t any. I was beginning to recognize that quiet resolve as the truest part of him.
And maybe that was what scared me most—that he was already standing still when everything in me wanted to run.
We cleaned up in near silence that hummed with too many thoughts and not enough words. The clink of plates and the splash of water filled the kitchen while Sunny padded between us, her nails ticking softly against the floor. Every so often, she nudged Sawyer’s leg for attention.
He reached down and gave her a slow scratch behind the ears. “Good girl,” he murmured, and I couldn’t help but smile.
It was such a simple thing—washing dishes side by side, his shoulder brushing mine now and then—but it struck me that this was the first time we’d done anything remotely ordinary together. No hiding, no pretending, no rush to part ways before dawn. Just the rhythm of two people moving around the same small space like they belonged there.
The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit.
When I turned to wipe the counter, Sawyer’s gaze met mine. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, focusing on a spot that didn’t need cleaning.
“Lilly.” His voice softened but stayed steady, that tone that made people listen. “Whatever it says, we’ll deal with it.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The wordwedid things to me I wasn’t ready to face.
He didn’t press. Just dried his hands, grabbed his keys from the table, and crossed to the door. “You ready?”
I looked down at my hands—sure enough, they were trembling—and then at Sunny. She tilted her head, eyes steady and trusting, like she somehow understood what I couldn’t say out loud.
Finally, I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
He opened the door and waited while I locked up behind us. The morning light spilled across the porch, bright and blinding, the air thick with all the words we hadn’t said.
By the time we reached the truck, my nerves were a tangle of what-ifs. Sawyer didn’t say much, and maybe that was better. Because if I really were pregnant, no amount of his calm could steady me for what came next.
Chapter Sixteen
The Waiting Game
Sawyer
Isat on Lilly’s worn sofa, elbows resting on my knees, staring at a knot in the wood floor that had started to look like a bull’s-eye. From the bathroom down the short hall came the muffled sounds of running water and the faint rustle of packaging. Every sound carried too clearly. The slow drip from her kitchen faucet. The low vibration of the refrigerator cycling on. The creak of the ceiling fan turning above me.
It was too quiet—quiet in a way that pressed against my chest. I’d been here before, not in this cabin, but in that same stillness before a mission went sideways. Counting breaths. Waiting for a signal that never came. The body remembers; it doesn’t care that you’ve traded a rifle for a wrench and a woman’s trust. My heart thudded, slow and heavy, like it was keeping time with ghosts.
I pulled in a breath and let it out through my teeth. Monique’s voice pinged off the corners of my mind, calm andmatter-of-fact:Ground yourself, Sawyer. Five things you can see.
The VA pamphlet she’d handed me months ago flashed in my mind, the one I’d folded into a glove compartment and promised I’d read later. I hadn’t. But I remembered the list.
I scanned the room.
One—the blue throw blanket Lilly kept draped over the arm of the couch.
Two—the framed photo of Sunny as a puppy.
Three—the chipped coffee mug on the table, still half full.
Four—the sunlight streaming through the curtains.
Five—the empty chair across from me, where she’d been sitting only minutes ago.
It helped, but not enough.
