Page 37 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)
One year to the day
Autumn paints the mountains in russet and gold as we drive the winding road to the cabin. One year to the day since I crashed in a Montana blizzard, fleeing a monster to find unexpected salvation.
Mason’s hand rests on my thigh as he navigates the familiar route, occasionally squeezing gently in wordless communication. Bear and Chaos doze in the back of the SUV, older now but still alert, still protective of the humans they’ve adopted.
The cabin appears around a final curve, transformed from the tactical fortress of my memories into something warmer, more welcoming. The porch has been expanded, window boxes added, and a sense of permanence infused into what was once merely a survival outpost.
“Ready?” Mason asks as we pull to a stop, his eyes searching mine for any hesitation.
I look at the place where our story began—not with romance but with survival, not with courtship but with necessity. The memories could be overwhelming, but instead, I find they’ve lost their sharp edges, softened by a year of healing, building, and reclaiming.
“Ready,” I confirm, squeezing his hand before stepping out into the crisp mountain air.
The dogs bound ahead, reacquainting themselves with familiar territory as Mason retrieves our bags.
Inside, the cabin has been transformed—still secure, still tactical in its bones, but warmer now.
Bookshelves line the walls, filled with legal texts alongside military strategy.
The kitchen gleams with new appliances, ready for the meals we’ll prepare together over the coming week.
“What do you think?” Mason asks, setting down our bags and wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Too many memories?”
I lean against his solid warmth, surveying where everything changed. “Good memories now. Or at least, memories that led to something good.”
His lips brush my temple. “I have something for you.”
From his pocket, he produces a small velvet box—not the traditional shape for a ring, I note with curiosity. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lies a key.
“The deed transferred yesterday,” he says, voice rumbling against my back. “The cabin is yours now. Or ours, if you want it to be.”
I lift the key, turning to face him with questions in my eyes.
“This place saved me after Rachel,” he explains, his hands settling at my waist. “Kept me sane when I thought I’d never rejoin the world.
Then it brought you to me, gave us both shelter when we needed it most.” His eyes hold mine, serious and intent.
“Seemed right that it should be yours now. A safe place, whenever you need it. No matter what happens.”
The gesture renders me speechless—not just the gift itself, but the profound understanding behind it. A safe place. A refuge. A choice that’s truly mine.
“Ours,” I say finally, pressing the key back into his hand and closing his fingers around it. “It should be ours.”
Relief and something deeper flashes in his eyes. “You’re sure? I wanted you to have something that was completely yours, without obligation?—”
I silence him with a kiss, pouring everything I feel into the connection. When we part, I keep his face between my hands, ensuring he understands the importance of what I’m about to say.
“I spent three years trapped in a marriage where nothing was truly mine,” I tell him, voice steady despite the emotion behind the words.
“Where every gift came with invisible strings, every kindness with expected repayment. What you’re offering—a safe place with no obligations—means everything.
” I press another kiss to his lips, gentle and affirming.
“But I’m choosing us. Not out of fear or necessity or gratitude, but because it’s what I want. ”
The tension in his shoulders eases beneath my touch. The warrior who faces every threat without flinching still struggles sometimes to believe in his worthiness, just as I struggle with trusting my judgment after Steffan.
“What we’re building together—it isn’t perfect,” I continue, tracing the scar along his jawline with tender fingers. “We both carry too many scars for perfect. But it’s real, and it’s healing, and it’s chosen freely, every day.”
“Every day,” he echoes, gathering me closer. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
His shirt shifts as he moves, revealing the edge of new ink over his heart—a small mountain range matching the charm on my bracelet. The tattoo is recent, acquired without fanfare just before our trip. His commitment is etched into skin that already bears so many marks of his past.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips—words we’ve exchanged before but that feel especially significant here, in the place where everything began. “Not despite your darkness but including it. Not because you saved me, but because you saw me as worth saving.”
His answering kiss holds everything words cannot express—protection without possession, dominance without subjugation, love without conditions. When we finally separate, his forehead rests against mine, our breathing synchronized in the quiet cabin.
“Welcome home, Willow,” he murmurs, the simple phrase carrying layers of meaning.
Home, I reflect as I look around the cabin that witnessed our beginning, is no longer a place I’m running from, but a feeling I’ve found—in my reclaimed sense of self, in the legal work helping others escape abuse, in the arms of a man who understands both my strength and my submission.
Outside, snow begins to fall—gentle this time, not the raging blizzard of a year ago. Through the window, I watch the flakes settle on the pines, transforming the landscape into the pristine beauty that first sheltered our unlikely beginning.
“Home,” I agree, turning back to the man who has become my sanctuary. “At last.”