“Sorry, Rochelle. I’ll pay for cleanup, security, whatever you need once the story breaks.” His voice is businesslike now, composed, like he’s flipping a switch. “Tanner, the brand launch might take a hit. Hudson, I hate that you got dragged into this. You’ve all been incredibly kind, and I appreciate you keeping my identity hidden. I’m sorry for today and for whatever comes next.”
He squeezes my hand, and bile rises in my throat.
Rochelle frowns. “Don’t go apologizing for something that isn’t your fault.”
“The brand launch will be fine. We have contingency plans.” Tanner waves it off, unaffected.
“You can hide at home,” Sawyer offers. “Both of you.” His gaze flicks to me, sincerity in his tone.
I’m overwhelmed by how fiercely this town protects him. Protects me. Protects us.
“I can’t do that to you and Annabelle and the boys,” Sutton says. “We both know Whispers will be flooded by morning. Cameras, reporters, there will be no escaping it.”
“I’ll get extra men, if needed,” the sheriff says.
“You’ll need it.” Sutton doesn’t sound relieved.
“We also need to be ready in case those men press charges,” the sheriff adds, looking at him pointedly.
Sutton nods. “Sawyer will know where to contact me.”
“Where will you go?” Sawyer asks.
Sutton exhales, thoughtful. “There’s only one place that can hide us a little longer, just a week or so, until we figure out our next steps.”
I frown, biting the inside of my lip. “What does that mean?”
Sutton’s eyes lock on mine once more, the intensity there so unlike him. This man has my back. “Do you trust me, Tinker Bell?”
“With my life,” I admit easily, because I do. His eyes soften, and a small smile pulls at his lips.
I have a feeling things are about to get crazier.
We got Preston from school, and Sutton drove us straight to the cottage, where we frantically packed enough to last a week before locking the place up tight. There was an old sign warning trespassers that Sutton put up on the front fence, the gate that has mostly remained open for us now firmly locked as well, not to mention, the shutters on every window closed. In this dreary weather, the cottage looks about as inviting as a horror movie.
Preston had questions, and I answered them all truthfully, but now, we sit in Sawyer’s kitchen in thick silence. Annabelle watches us, concern flickering in her eyes as Sutton shoves clothes into a bag, his movements clipped, restless.
Sawyer grips a glass of whiskey, leaning against the counter. "Pack light. You’ll be back."
Clinging to the words, I try to believe them. Whispers is the first place that’s felt like home since Mom passed. But if I have to leave, I will.
“I know.” Sutton’s tone is flat, forced, his body tense as he yanks the zipper closed.
I reach out, my fingers wrapping around his hand. He’s warm. Strong. Trembling.
“It’s okay. We’re okay.”
His breath shudders as he turns, pulling me close, holding on like he’s trying to absorb the moment.
“I’m so damn sorry.” His whisper rumbles against my hair, thick with something unspoken, heavy.
I squeeze him tighter. Fighting fate feels impossible.
“The fairy tale had to end sometime.”
His hold tightens. "Our fairy tale is everlasting. We’ll get through this. I told you I will keep you hidden, and that’s exactly what I will do.”
I have to believe him. I have no other option. The last bus left Whispers an hour ago. By morning, the media will be at our doorstep.
