I stop, because I can feel my voice tightening, and the last thing she needs is my anger on top of her own pain.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a second, the walls she keeps around herself slip. I see the fear, but I also see the grit—like she’s spent years telling herself she can survive anything if she just keeps moving forward.
“I’m not in that pack anymore,” she says finally. But the way she says it doesn’t sound like freedom.
I move methodically through the rest of the exam, checking reflexes, range of motion, balance. Every so often, her sleeve shifts and I catch another faint bruise, another shadow of something that shouldn’t be there.
I keep my questions neutral, my tone steady. When I finish, I step back, giving her space.
“You’re clear for concussion symptoms,” I tell her, “but I want you icing that wrist a few more days. And if you get dizzy, nauseous, or the headache spikes?—”
“I’ll call,” she says.
I hand her coat back, but she doesn’t put it on right away. She just sits there for a moment, holding it in her lap, like she’s gathering herself.
As she leaves, I feel that same low heat in my chest from when I first saw her in the bay. Only now it’s mixed with something sharper.
Because I don’t just want her safe.
I want to know who the hell thought they could put their hands on her and walk away.
CHAPTER 11
Gabe
Elias meets me in the lot behind the bait shop, the air thick with that briny mix of saltwater and oil from the boat engines he’s been working on. He’s got his jacket half-zipped, cap pulled low, the way he always looks when he’s about to deliver news I won’t like.
“Tell me you’ve got something good for me,” I say, leaning on the side of my truck.
He shakes his head. “Window’s shot. Not just cracked—split right down the middle. Frame’s warped, too. You’re looking at a full replacement.”
I exhale through my nose. Not exactly what she’s going to want to hear.
“What about the rest?”
“Body’s fine. No suspension issues. She’s lucky—could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. But between the glass and labor, you’re talking a couple days minimum before it’s drivable.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Alright. I’ll tell her.”
“You want me to get the order in now?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’ll cover the deposit. Just keep it quiet. She doesn’t need to worry about that right now.”
Elias gives me that knowing look—the one that says “you’re already in deeper than you think”—but he doesn’t say anything. Just tips his hat and goes back to his shop.
I’m almost back into town when I see her.
She’s across the street from Baxter’s Feed & Seed, standing at the base of a ladder that’s propped against the south-facing wall. Her hair’s tied back in a messy ponytail, strands of pink catching the late-morning light.
She holds a piece of chalk in one hand, squinting up at the brick like she’s calculating the surface area in her head.
Hasn’t even been three days since the accident.
I slow down, pull into the lot, and kill the engine. “Should you even be up there?”
Sadie looks over her shoulder, caught mid-reach. “I’m fine,” she says, like that should settle it. “I just wanted to trace an outline before the light shifts.”
I glance at the wall. “Baxter’s?”
