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They were a picture of happiness that was rare to find but even rarer to hold onto. Watching them, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace in this home. Quinn and Levi had found something special that made all the chaos worth it.
And in moments like this, it felt as though I’d found a bit of that peace, too, and not only by being part of their lives. The past few years had been a wild ride, but seeing them here, like this, made me think that maybe, just maybe, we were all where we were supposed to be.
Maybe I was supposed to be here in Whisper Ridge with Neil.
“More coffee?” Quinn asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Yeah,” I said, holding out my mug. “I’ll take another one.”
When Quinn padded out, Levi sat forward. “Little bird says they saw you leaving the sheriff’s place a few days back looking all kinds of disheveled and blissed out.”
“Freaking small towns,” I muttered.
“So?”
“So what?” I played dumb.
“Are you bumping uglies with our sheriff?”
I could laugh it off, make a joke, but something stopped me. “Ask your husband,” I deadpanned.
And I left before he did that very thing right before me.
The minutes draggedby as the darkness outside deepened as I waited at Neil’s place, using the code he’d given me to get inside.
Or the code I’d seen him use, which he reluctantly confirmed. Tomatoes, To-mah-toes.
I knew he was back in Whisper Ridge—I’d seen his distinctive SUV—and the house felt empty without him, too quiet, too still. I tried to keep busy—cleaned up the kitchen, straightened the living room, even considered cooking something—but nothing could distract me from the gnawing worry that had settled in my chest. I knew today had been hell for him, and all I wanted was to be there when he walked through the door.
It was late by the time I heard his car pulling up. I stood by the window, watching as he stepped out, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his movements slow and heavy.
When he finally came inside, I was there, waiting. He didn’t say a word. He walked into my arms, burying his face in my neck. His silence spoke volumes, the tension in his body telling me everything I needed to know. He was exhausted, drained by the day’s events, and I could feel the tremors running through him, the way he held on as if he were afraid to let go.
“They’re keeping him in the hospital.”
“Come on,” I murmured, guiding him toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you in the shower.”
He didn’t protest—he followed my lead, his steps slow and unsteady. Once in the bathroom, I turned on thewater, letting it run until it was warm enough, then helped him out of his clothes. He stood there, leaning against me for support, his head bowed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
When I got him under the spray, he sighed, the hot water washing away some of the tension. I joined him, wrapping my arms around him, feeling his body relax a fraction as the warmth seeped into his bones. He was too quiet, and I knew his mind was a thousand miles away, lost in the worries that had been eating at him all day.
“It’s not fair,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “None of this is fair.”
“I know,” I said softly, kissing his temple. “I know.”
“They said he might’ve had a mini-stroke. A transient ischemic attack,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t… I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be okay. It’s like he’s slipping away, piece by piece, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
I tightened my hold on him, feeling the raw pain in his words. “It’s not fair,” I agreed, my heart aching for him. “But you’re doing everything you can. You’re here for him, and that’s what matters.”
He nodded against me, but I could feel the tears he was holding back, the silent struggle to keep it together. I turned him around, pressing him back against the cool tiles, my hands cupping his face, forcing him to meet my eyes.
“You’re not alone in this, Neil. I can be here for you if you want me to.”
“I don’t even like you,” he lied.
“Yes, you do,” I whispered.
His gaze softened, and momentarily, I saw the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. He nodded again, a slight, almost invisible movement, and I kissed him, slow and tender, attempting to pour all the reassurance I could into that one simple act.
