Page 18 of Huck Frasier (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #5)

Marley

T he morning light poured through the cabin’s windows like warm honey, soft and slow, gilding everything it touched. Frasier’s bed was empty beside me, but still warm. A note rested on the pillow in his hard, clipped handwriting.

Coffee’s hot. I’ll be back soon. – F

No hearts. No flourishes. Just Frasier—direct, steady, dependable.

I sat up, tugging the sheet around me, my body sore in all the right ways. Not just from last night, but from the weight I’d finally set down. I hadn’t cried like that in years. I hadn’t let someone hold me like that since… well, ever.

I wandered into the kitchen, wrapped in one of Frasier’s flannels. It swallowed me whole, and I didn’t care. His scent clung to the fabric—clean soap, pine, something faintly smoky. I sipped coffee from one of his chipped mugs and stared out the window at the trees swaying in the breeze.

For the first time in forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.

And that terrified me.

The knock on the front door was light but insistent.

I padded over and opened it.

Lark stood there with her arms crossed, her head tilted, and one eyebrow arched in judgmental amusement. “Well,” she said, eyeing the flannel. “Someone finally stopped running.”

“Morning,” I mumbled.

She pushed past me into the cabin like it was hers—which, knowing Lark, she probably thought it was.

“Frasier texted Axel. Said he’d be out for a bit. I figured I’d check on you.”

I grabbed another mug and poured her coffee. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smirked, but her eyes softened as she looked me over. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping coffee like real adults. Then she said, “You look like you’ve been crying.”

I laughed under my breath. “I’m happy… I think.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

There was something heavy hanging between us, something we never said out loud but always felt: the ghost of our mother.

“You ever think about her?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Lark’s jaw tensed. “Only when I’m hoping she’s not living in the same town as my future children.”

“That’s cold.”

“That’s reality,” she said, quieter this time. “I used to drive by the house, after college. Just in case she came back. But she never did.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

“I don’t know. But I do know she didn’t deserve to break us the way she did.”

I looked down at my coffee. “Sometimes I’m scared I’m like her.”

Lark leaned forward. “You’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because you ran to protect yourself, Marley, she ran to disappear. You know how she was. I always think Dad’s last thoughts were how sorry he was that he was dying and leaving us with her.”

That sat deep in my chest, warm and uncomfortable.

I hesitated, then spoke. “I got a message yesterday. A contact from my last mission in Tucson. Says something’s going on—kids disappearing near the border. Rumors of a ring getting bolder. He wants me to come back.”

Lark’s eyes sharpened. “You’re not seriously considering going alone?”

“I have to. If I don’t… who will?”

“You’ve got Frasier now.”

“I know. That’s why I’m scared.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me with that big-sister look that always made me feel five years old and reckless. She was thirty minutes younger than I was, but she has always tried to be bossy.

“Don’t be a martyr,” she finally said. “But if you go—you better come back.”

“I will,” I said it like a vow.

But even as the words left my mouth, I felt that old tug again.

The pull to run.

The need to prove I could still stand alone.

And this time, it wasn’t just about fear.

It was about doing the right thing.

Even if it meant risking everything I’d just started to build. I had to save those children.