Page 53 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Gabby

F our weeks later…

The breeze rolling in from the Atlantic carried the sharp tang of salt and the faint, earthy scent of driftwood.

It swept across my skin with a softness I hadn’t felt in weeks—like something kind, something human.

I stood on the beach in the Outer Banks, watching the tide pull in and out in a slow, hypnotic rhythm while the sky above stretched wide in bruised hues of early evening.

Behind me, the agent had just ended the call, but his words lingered like a storm cloud in the back of my mind. Months, Gabby. This won’t be quick.

Months alone, disconnected from everything and everyone I loved, because it was safer that way.

I’d agreed to it. Hell, I’d asked for it.

After giving my statements to both the FBI and local police, it'd been clear I couldn’t stay near the people I cared about.

Not without putting a target on all of their backs again.

So here I was, a ghost with a name nobody here knew, tucked away in a little beach town.

I tried to picture my cousins’ faces, their voices overlapping in concern when they’d all offered to help me hide.

It would’ve been easier, maybe even comforting, to be with them, but when I’d sat down with the agent the first time, I’d been crystal clear—I needed to be far away from them.

I couldn’t stomach the idea of any more danger touching them.

It wasn’t the violence done to me that haunted my dreams, it was the nightmares I had of them bleeding, crying, shouting, fighting for their lives.

I woke up covered in sweat, lungs screaming for air, and begging for someone to tell me it was over.

But no one was there, and it sucked as much as it comforted.

The funny thing was, I’d always thought I was a little tougher than this. I’d always been the one who could take a hit and keep going, who made jokes in the middle of chaos to keep other people from falling apart. Now, the silence was so loud it made my chest ache.

And I missed him. God, I missed Webb.

At first, it'd been curiosity. The gauges in his ears, the tattoos, the way he always looked like he’d just stepped out of a brawl or a basement show—he was chaos and calm, wrapped in a man-shaped mystery.

I’d even winced the first time I thought about getting a finger accidentally stuck in one of those ear gauges—how do those things even work?

And had a barber ever caught a comb in them?

My stylist caught the tiny hoop at the top of my own ear every time, so I couldn’t imagine trying to navigate clippers around those things.

But then, he'd smiled at me that first time, and I'd realized the sharp edges were only surface deep.

What caught me off guard wasn’t the way he looked—it was the way he saw me.

It was likehe could read the parts of me I didn’t even understand yet.

There was a quiet strength about him, steady and grounding, but always with a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

He could switch from deadly serious to disarmingly charming ina heartbeat.

From the start, we'd had an effortless rapport—something rare for me, like winning a coin toss five times in a row.

I could have lived without him. I had before. But each time we crossed paths, I started to see him more. The way he really listened or how he leaned in when he teased me, like the joke wasn’t just for a laugh but a test.

When the nightmare started—when it all turned to hell—I could’ve gone anywhere.

I could’ve called in favors, flown across the world, or thrown money at the problem.

But I realized I'd gone to Marcus’s ranch because Sasha had mentioned Webb had been there recently, and my gut, my heart, whatever you want to call it, hoped he still was.

Deep down, I think I knew he’d protect me. Not just with fists or guns—but with that fierce, grounding energy that had pulled me toward him from day one.

At the police station, just before we were separated, he'd whispered that he loved me.

And now, I was sitting on a beach with no way to reach him, no way to hear his voice, no one to even say his name out loud to. The sun dipped lower behind the dunes, shadows growing long on the sand, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, letting the breeze mess with my hair as I closed my eyes.

He was still with me. Not in the way I wanted or the way I ached for—but in the way that meant something deeper. Some people come into your life like a spark. Webb was a burn that didn’t fade.

I scratched at the side of my calf and hissed at the raw, ticklish sensation.

My leg and arm felt like they didn’t belong to me anymore.

They were too light and too exposed after being trapped in plaster for weeks.

The handyman who’d helped me cut them off had done a decent job, though.

No blood or need for stitches and only a slightly nervous laugh when I’d looked at the saw in his hand and asked if he’d ever done this before.

He was one of those sun-browned, salt-soaked surfer types—young, charming, and always barefoot called Flynn. Apparently, he built custom boards when he wasn’t fixing leaky roofs or mending fences, and from the stories he told, it sounded like half the island had him on speed dial.

He’d offered to teach me how to shape a board some time, his smile bright enough to rival the sun.

I’d smiled back and nodded, but the odds of me ever actually getting into the water were slim.

Every time I looked at the ocean, I pictured a shark mistaking my newly healed leg for a snack.

Or worse, catching a wave only to snap my arm again in some freak wipeout.

No thanks. I’d survived too much to go out in a cartoon death scene, and luck really wasn't on my side just now, so I wasn't taking any risks.

Instead, I’d focused on disguising myself.

My hair was a little blonder than it used to be, streaked with caramel and honey highlights that made me look like I belonged somewhere coastal.

I’d chopped some length off, too, and added soft layers around my face that moved in the breeze instead of clinging to my neck.

The stylist had said I looked like a different person, especially with the new makeup techniques I'd learned online. Good, that was the point.

A lone surfer caught a wave just down the beach, his silhouette cutting clean against the rising swell. I was just about to reach for my water bottle when my phone buzzed with an unknown number. For half a second, my heart seized—what if it was the FBI? What if something had gone wrong?

I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

“T’is I, Senor Ira,” said a dramatically bad French accent on the other end.

I snorted so loud it startled a gull off the dune. “Senor is Spanish, you idiot. If you’re trying to be French, you need monsieur.”

“Merde!” he cursed, then immediately added, “Anyway, we miss you. What are you up to?”

The laugh that burst out of me was pure relief. Ira was talking like I’d just popped out for groceries, not vanished off the grid under federal protection.

“I’m itching my leg off,” I explained, smiling into the wind. “Just had the cast removed. No shark bites, though, so I guess we call that a win.”

“You shouldn’t joke about sharks. That’s a coastal betrayal,” he said solemnly, then lowered his voice. “How are you really?”

“I miss you,” I admitted, surprising even myself with how easily the truth came. “I know we’ve not known each other long, but...”

“Doesn’t matter. You strike the mark, Gabby. You did with all of us.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from the sun. “How’s Gladys?”

“She’s good. Still mad at her son for being an asshole.”

I laughed. “Yeah. Me too." And wasn't that putting it mildly. "How about you? How are you doing?”

He sighed, the kind of sound that traveled straight from his chest to mine. “Bored. Life’s too quiet without you. I need you back in Orlando so we can stir some trouble up again. I'm fading out here.”

That made me laugh harder than I had in days. “I was thinking of opening a kitten café. That might help with the stress and trauma, you know?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “What the hell is a kitten café?”

“It’s like a regular café, but with kittens you can cuddle while you drink your coffee.”

He made a sound like he’d just choked on a gator bone. “Absolutely not. If you wanna feel alive, open a wolf, skunk, raccoon, or gator café. Now, that’s a place with flavor. Can you imagine the Yelp reviews?”

I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped the phone into the sand.

We talked a while longer—about nothing and everything, about how he still couldn’t make decent sweet tea and how Gladys had joined a book club but mostly went for the snacks.

For a few stolen minutes, it felt like life was normal again.

“I gotta run,” he sighed eventually, voice lower now. “Poker game with the guys.”

“Miss you, Ira. Take care of yourself, okay?”

There was a long pause before he spoke, and when he did, his voice cracked just a little. “You’re more important, Gabby. You take care of yourself.”

The call ended, and I sat there with the phone in my lap, my heart feeling like someone had squeezed it too tightly. I missed them all more than I could say. But for now, I just had to keep breathing, keep hiding, and keep waiting for the storm to pass.

And maybe figure out how to live again in the in-between because this sucked.

Webb

The mower rattled beneath me like it wanted to shake apart, the engine groaning every time I hit a bump.

I was halfway through the lower field, sweat dripping down my back, and my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The only break in the monotony came when I spotted another massive pile of horse shit right in the middle of my path.

“ Shit !” I bellowed, slamming on the brake and throwing an arm out toward Marcus like he’d done it on purpose.

He didn’t even look up—just kept scooping poop with the same dead-eyed calm he always had when he was trying to wind me up without saying a word.

“I'll fix shit, I'll move shit, I'll cut shit,” I shouted across the field. “But I do not touch shit!”

Marcus grunted and tossed another steaming pile into the container hooked to the back of the ATV. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve made your boundaries real clear.”

I muttered a string of curses under my breath and sat back in the seat. The heat was relentless, and the mower seat was hot enough to cook my ass straight through my jeans. But none of that was why I was in a foul mood. That was all Gabby.

I didn’t know where she was. Didn’t know if she was okay—if her leg was healing, if her nightmares were getting worse, or if she was sleeping at all. I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

Just that kiss. That whispered I love you that I’d meant with everything in me. But it hadn’t been a kiss that promised tomorrow—it promised I’d wait. And waiting was killing me.

“You’re scaring’ the horses,” Marcus called out. I glanced over, and sure enough, one of the mares had moved clear to the far end of the field, flicking her tail like she could sense the storm rolling inside me.

I exhaled hard. “You’d be pissy too if the woman you—” I stopped short and rubbed at the back of my neck. “If the woman you cared about disappeared, and no one would tell you a damn thing.”

Marcus looked up, his face sobering. “I’d be furious. I’d probably break half the shit in my barn just to let it out, but I’d also be making plans.”

“Plans?” I echoed, squinting at him.

“Yeah.” He leaned his shovel against the ATV. “Plans for when she comes back, so she’s got something solid waiting. Something safe and good.”

I stared out at the trees swaying in the distance. “Like what, Disney trips? Candlelit dinners? Paint a couple walls and call it home?”

“You’ve got a place in Orlando you never use. You sleep here more than you do in that damn house. Maybe it’s time you made it an actual home, not just a crash pad. You want her to feel safe, start there.”

He had a point, and the truth of it hit harder than I liked.

“What else?”

He shrugged. “Call Sasha. Ask what Gabby likes and build around that. Do stuff that shows you’re serious and that she’s got security. But don’t forget about you because you need that too. You’ve been walking through fire, same as her.”

I scratched my beard and winced at how long it had gotten. I looked like a damn swamp hermit. Taking a deep breath in, I winced as I realized I probably smelled like one, too.

“You’re right,” I breathed. “Holy crap, but you’re actually right.”

And instead of turning the mower back around to finish the field, I veered off straight for the edge, not giving a damn about the patchy mess I was leaving behind.

“Webb!” Marcus bellowed from behind me. “You leave that field like that, and I swear to God?—”

“I’m making plans!” I shouted back over my shoulder.

I parked the mower near the barn, jumped down, and jogged into the house to pack. I didn’t need much—just a few clothes, some tools, and my charger. It wasn’t about what I took with me. I just needed to move.

By the time I slid behind the wheel of my truck and pulled out of the ranch, something shifted. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of purpose again, like there was still something I could do.

I grabbed my phone, scrolled to Sasha’s number, and hit call.

It rang once. Then twice.

And then her voice came through—breathless, tight, and already telling me everything I needed to know. She was the person who could really help me with this.

“Have you heard anything yet?”

I stared at the road ahead, the city skyline still miles away. “No, but I’m getting ready for when I do.”