Eventually, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pushed the door open. The warm air hit her like a wall. Her boots hit the pavement with a thud as she climbed down from the truck, shoulders tight, limbs heavy.
Her legs protested every step as she made her way to the side of the RV. She popped open the panel for the utility connections and kneeled with a soft groan. Hooking up the power, septic, and water lines was second nature, something she’d done a hundred times before. Still, her fingers felt clumsy with fatigue, her head cloudy.
The connections clicked into place with satisfying finality, and she double-checked the seals before pushing herself back up to her feet. For a second, she just stood there.
The night was quiet. Still. Just crickets in the distance and the buzz of a faulty light somewhere near the office. It felt like a moment outside of time, suspended between where they’d been and where they were headed.
She moved quietly back inside the RV, grabbed a bottle of water, and peeled off her boots. The muscles in her back pulled tight as she stretched, and she felt every one of her years and every ounce of her worry settle into her bones.
Sayer hadn’t stirred. His clothes lay on the floor, he was lying on his side, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other restinggently on the blanket near where his wound sat hidden beneath gauze. His brow was less tense now. At peace, at least for the moment.
Grabbing the phone from the console, she sent a single message to Teller.Accidents on the highway delayed our arriving tonight. We’ll see you boys tomorrow.
A reply came back within seconds from Teller:Stay safe. See you both tomorrow.
Diamond climbed into the bed behind him, slow and careful not to jostle him. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and she froze until his breathing evened out again.
Only then did she let herself relax.
She didn’t touch him—didn’t need to. Just being close was enough. She closed her eyes; her body pressed into the quiet and let herself drift.
For tonight, there were no decisions to make.
Just the hum of stillness and the steady rhythm of Sayer’s breath.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The first lightof morning filtered through the privacy curtains, casting a golden stripe across the bed. The world outside was still other than a birdsong in the distance and the soft rustle of wind through trees. It was the kind of morning that felt suspended, untouched by the chaos waiting on the other side of time.
Diamond shifted beneath the blanket, blinking slowly as sleep loosened its hold. For a moment, she forgot where they were. Then she turned her head and saw Sayer still asleep beside her, his face relaxed, one hand resting near his ribs, the other tucked beneath the pillow.
He looked younger in sleep. Softer. Like the weight he carried had finally loosened its grip for a few short hours.
She slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake him. The floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded to the kitchenette. She put together the coffee pot and hit brew, then rummaged for a clean towel and stepped into the small bathroom.
The water was warm—hot, even—and she let it run over her shoulders a moment longer than necessary. Her muscles ached in that dull, worked-too-hard way, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was earned. Grounding. She lathered slowly, letting the scent of the soap—something faintly herbal—anchor her.
By the time she stepped out, toweling her hair dry, the RV smelled faintly of brewing coffee. She pulled on a clean T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, then poured herself a mug, holding it in both hands as she leaned against the counter.
Sayer was still sleeping, one leg half-kicked out from under the blanket, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. She didn’t wake him. Not yet.
The morning was theirs.
Quiet. Unhurried.
For once, the world could wait.
The rich scent of coffee drifted through the cab, warm and familiar. It crept in slow, nudging Sayer from sleep like a hand smoothing down his spine.
He stirred, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding in through the blinds. The pain in his side was still there, but dulled, wrapped in the kind of ache that meant rest had done its job. He turned his head toward the kitchenette and saw her—Diamond—leaning against the counter, her hair damp from a shower, coffee mug tucked between her hands.
She hadn’t noticed him yet.
He watched her for a moment, quietly. There was something about seeing her like this, loose and low and unguarded, thattwisted something in his chest. The kind of ache that had nothing to do with injuries.
“Is that for me?” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
Diamond looked over her shoulder, one brow lifting, her mouth curving just slightly. “Only if you can make it to the counter without pulling a stitch.”
