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I reach to brush the hair off her cheek, slow and careful. She flinches like a skittish fawn, then stills.

Ricky makes a strangled noise but blessedly keeps his thoughts to himself. I give Kara the quick‐and-dirty version (minus the part where I considered marrying a stranger in a storm). She doesn’t blink, just shifts into problem-solving mode.

“Let’s get her checked,” Kara says to the nurse already approaching. “We’ll cover it.”

An hour later, the woman is clean(-ish), swaddled in hospital scrubs two sizes too big, and perched on a chair like she expects it to buck. Her hair curls as it dries—dark copper at the ends, bright at the crown.

Fuck, she’s exquisite. I battle an emotion in my chest that I don’t have the vocabulary for. Protectiveness. Obsession. Hunger. Yes, hunger.

“Do you need anything?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. “Water?”

She opens her mouth, and what comes out is a croak. Panic flashes in her eyes. Ricky redeems himself as he unscrews a bottle of water and offers it to her. She sips, grimaces, and tries again.

“Um,” she says, voice rough as shore-rocks, “I… don’t have anywhere to go.”

Fuck. I want to wrap her up and carry her out of here like the cop did.

“Okay,” I say, because okay is the only answer. “I’m Everett. This is Kara. This is my assistant, Ricky. Can you tell me your name? I’d like to know who I’m thanking for saving my life.”

She hesitates, gaze skittering to the windows, to the officer, back to me. Her eyebrows pull together like she’s trying to remember something that should be easy. “Ariel,” she says at last, and the syllables land in my ribs like a siren call. “And… you’re welcome. I couldn’t let you drown.”

Kara steps to my side, all warm competence. “Ariel, would you like a place to stay tonight? Just so you can rest. We can figure out the next steps in the morning.”

Ariel’s eyes flick to mine. Wary. Not afraid, exactly, more overwhelmed by the entire concept of the situation she’s found herself in. She edges back when I take half a step forward, so I ease back, hands open, palms out. No threat. No rush. Your pace. But, fuck, I want to get closer.

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” I say. “You saved me. Let me return the favor with something basic like food and a roof and blankets.”

Ricky watches me like I’ve grown a second head—like he’s witnessing the kind of wild devotion that makes people write songs. Kara’s mouth curves, pleased rather than possessive, which is why she remains my favorite not-girlfriend on earth.

Ariel shifts her weight in the chair, the too-long scrub pants puddling at her ankles. “I… don’t want to be any trouble,” she says, almost apologetic, like existing is asking too much.

“You’re not,” I say, and mean it so hard my throat tightens. “Come home with me. We’ll get you warm. Fed. Safe.”

Her smile starts tentatively and then dawns, slow and golden and impossibly soft. A part of me that should not be aroused in a hospital does a full-body stretch.

“Okay,” Ariel whispers.

“Great,” I say, too bright, too relieved. I glance at Kara. “You’ll ride with us?”

She nods. “I’ll sit in the back with Ariel.”

Ricky clears his throat. “I’ll, ah, stop by your place with supplies. Essentials.” He softens when Ariel glances his way. “We’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

We step into the cool corridor. The automatic doors whoosh open onto damp air and distant thunder. I fall in beside Ariel, forcing my long strides into something patient. She keeps looking around as if the world is new.

Maybe it is. Maybe this is the part where life isn’t always pretty, but it’s suddenly, fiercely beautiful, and I decide not to question it. Not right now.

Note to self: when lightning strikes twice, don’t duck. Walk straight into it. Let it burn.