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“I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

He sat up, instantly alert.

“Jude?”

I closed my eyes, gathering every ounce of courage I had.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Not my family. Not my friends. Not even the therapists they forced me to see after it happened.”

Cyclone moved closer, his hand brushing my back gently.

“You can tell me,” he said, low and steady. “Whatever it is, sunshine, you’re safe with me.”

I drew a shuddering breath.

“I lost them... my husband, my daughter... because of me,” she choked out. “It was my fault. I forgot my phone. I went back inside to get it. If I hadn’t—”

My voice broke completely, sobs wracking my body.

Cyclone pulled me into his arms without hesitation, holding me so tightly I could feel every beat of his heart against my ribs.

“No,” he said fiercely, stroking her hair. “No, Jude. That wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. If you hadn’t gone in for your phone, you would be dead now.”

I clung to him, weeping into his chest, the dam inside me finally breaking.

Cyclone rocked me gently, murmuring against my hair, letting me pour out years of pain and guilt and silence.

When the storm inside me finally calmed, and I could finally breathe again, I realized something I hadn’t let myself believe before.

I wasn’t alone anymore.

I wasn’t broken beyond repair.

And maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to be afraid to love again.

“It was him. He knew I was onto him. he wanted me dead. He killed my family. I’ve been after him for six years,” I said, wiping my eyes.

19

Jude

The morning air was crisp, still carrying the faint scent of rain from the night before.

I sat on the porch steps, knees tucked against my chest, staring at the endless desert.

Cyclone moved around quietly inside the house, giving me space but never straying far. He was trying to be patient, trying not to push.

But I felt him.

Always there.

Always steady.

And that was the problem.

I needed him too much. And if I weren’t careful, he’d pay the price for standing too close to my fire.

When Cyclone finally stepped outside, wiping his hands on a rag, I braced myself.