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“No, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled like keeping secrets was one of his favorite pastimes.

“Even if I ask nicely?” I gave a small smile.

His smile widened. “Especially then.”

I huffed out a breath, torn between amusement and . . . something else. Relief, maybe. Because whoever it was, they’d noticed. They’d seen what I walked into and had done something about it. They’d taken one thing off my plate, but it felt like they’d lifted a dozen.

“I’ll be out of your way,” he insisted. “Just need an okay to do the yard.”

I hesitated another second, stepped back. “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Greene.”

“No mister, just Greene.” He tipped his hat slightly and moved past me, already heading toward the side of the house like he knew exactly what he was doing. I closed the door slowly, my mind spinning.

“Who was it?” Jace called from the kitchen.

“Some guy named Greene,” I said, walking back in. “Says he’s here to mow the lawn.”

Jace frowned. “Did you call him?”

“Nope.”

“. . . That’s not sketchy at all.” Leave it to the city kid to be as suspicious of a handout as I was.

“Right?” I said.

Grandpa looked up, delighted. “Is he gonna use the loud thing?”

“The mower?” I asked.

He nodded enthusiastically. “I like that sound. It’s like a tiny tractor.”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think he is.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the low rumble of a lawn mower filled the air. I stepped out onto the porch, drawn by it, and leaned against the railing, watching as Greene moved methodically across the yard, cutting clean lines through the grass. The sun had climbed higher now, warming my skin; the breeze was just strong enough to carry the scent of fresh-cut grass.

It struck me then—sharp and unexpected. I’d missed this. Not just the place, but the feeling, the quiet. The simplicity of something as ordinary as someone mowing a lawn on a Saturday morning. No chaos. No tension. No waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Just . . . this. My phone vibrated in my pocket. The peace shattered instantly because I knew who it was without looking. My stomach dropped as I glanced at the screen.

Brett.

Of course. I stared at the name for a long second before opening the message.

Unknown Number: You owe me.

Three words. Three words he’d used far too many times. Of course I couldn’t escape his reach. He was probably desperate for more pills, and I’d stopped playing his games. I was done allowing him to abuse the relationship we had.

Everyone believed Brett had nearly died saving us. They didn’t know he’d caused the fire.

I didn’t owe Brett Thornton a damn thing. I knew exactly what had happened that night. Jace and I were both lucky that he hadn’t killed us with his reckless choices. The hero everyone admired didn’t save me. I had rescued him, and sometimes I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I shook my head because I’d have saved him every time, not because of who he was, but because of who I was. After all, he was a person, but the hell he’d put us through the last eighteen months would make any logical person question how deeply they felt the need to be noble.

I leaned back against the porch post, closing my eyes for a second. Breathe. Just breathe. But it didn’t work the way it had before. Because peace didn’t erase history; it didn’t undo damage. It didn’t quiet the part of my brain that still kept score.

You owe me. It echoed, pulling me backward whether I wanted to go or not.

Back to late nights that turned into early mornings. The pills had started as a way to take the edge off his pain, or so I thought, but they became something he used when he didn’t want to feel anything at all. After that, everything unraveled. Our engagement. The house. The money. His story was the one everyone believed. I was left with the bills. And the blame. I was still cleaning up the mess of it all.

Still trying to prove—to myself more than anyone—that I wasn’t that person anymore. That I wasn’t someone prone to being used over and over again by men. That I never wanted to be in a place where I felt like I owed someone. Brett knew I hated that feeling, and that was why he’d used those words. It began as a coffee date after I’d treated a minor burn in the ER. Then dinner. Then he’d “forget” his wallet. Then he’d remind me how much he’d already done for me. Before I knew it, he was controlling my entire life because I owed him.