Page 21

Thatcher

Lying there in the aftermath, with Allie’s head on my chest and the erratic thrum of our heartbeats syncing slowly, I dare to let my guard down.

Our breathing steadies, and something shifts inside me—a door that’s been closed for so long, creaking open.

Not fully open, mind you.

But a crack.

I lift my hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, and allow myself to really look at her.

Vulnerability swims in her eyes and I wonder what it would be like to be so open.

I’ve kept an ocean of emotions dammed up for years, threatening to overflow…

Could I release that dam?

For Allie?

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft and tentative in the quiet room.

It unknots something within me.

“Are you okay?”

Without meaning to, I jerk back with the question, caught by surprise.

The words stumble out of my mouth like a drunken bumblebee, its wings beating frantically against the walls of my guarded heart.

“What do you mean? ”

The gentle rise and fall of her chest as Allie breathes is in stark contrast with her eyes, wide with concern and searching my face for any sign of distress.

“It’s just…” She seems to falter, chewing on her full bottom lip.

I brush my thumb over the spot and tug gently until it pops free.

“Tell me,” I demand gently.

She takes a slow breath, then says, “Duke mentioned something about his mom passing a while ago.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

Duke talked to Allie about Jenna?

How long has she known?

I barely talk about Jenna with my best friends…

so bringing this up with someone I have such new feelings for is uncharted territory.

But if I’m going to trust anyone with the ghosts that haunt me, it would be this woman—quirky, brave, and impossibly endearing Allie Larsen.

“Jenna,” I say.

“Her name was Jenna…” My voice trails off as I prepare to bare my soul, not knowing how she’ll take it, but fully aware that I can’t hold back any longer.

Not from her.

Not after tonight.

I clasp her hand, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

“We lost her only months after Duke was born,” I begin, the words feeling like shards of glass in my mouth.

“And it was my fault. She told me…” I pause again, a momentary pause stopping me.

I haven’t admitted the truth about Jenna’s death to anyone other than Hunter and Griffin and a few superiors in the force.

I trust Allie…

I think.

But that’s the thing with a dam release, isn’t it?

You can’t control the flow once you remove the blockage.

The water will come pouring out.

Allie gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.

Even though I want to trust her, I still need to be smart about this.

I can’t bring Drakon’s name into it.

Not without putting Allie in danger.

“She told me she thought she had a stalker. I didn’t listen. I—I thought she was overreacting, stressed from work and being a new mom.”

The silence hangs heavy as I pause, each heartbeat pounding against my rib cage like it wants out, like it can’t bear the weight of my confession.

It isn’t just saying the words out loud that’s getting to me; it’s the fact that I live with this knowledge, this guilt, every damn day.

“How did she…” Allie starts to ask and then fades away, trying to rephrase.

“I mean, what happened?”

“Officially, it was a car accident,” I say, my voice deadpan.

“The other driver had a heart attack behind the wheel and there was a head-on collision that killed them both.”

Allie’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “But unofficially…?”

“Unofficially, some things don’t line up with that. The person behind the wheel was indirectly related to my day job. And there wasn’t a single person who could corroborate the story, which struck me as odd. How was it there were no witnesses to this high-speed head-on collision at seven p.m.?” I pause and shake my head, trying to bury the emotion clogging my throat with this admission.

“And in her autopsy, they found a bruise on her neck.”

“That…that could be from her seat belt, right?” Allie offers.

It’s the same argument every other person not related to our mission has said.

It’s the obvious answer.

I tap my index finger nervously against her arm as I shake my head.

“It was the exact size of a thumbprint. And there was a darker band at the base of the bruise with three little indents as if?—”

“As if someone wearing a ring strangled her first,” Allie whispers.

I nod and exhale a breath.

It’s a relief to say it all out loud to someone other than Griff and Hunter.

And have her believe me on top of that.

Still naked, with Allie in my arms, shame suddenly overtakes me.

Here I am confiding in my new lover about my wife whom I let die?

I don’t deserve to move on.

I don’t deserve to find happiness.

I drop my gaze to the light blue sheets beneath us.

“I should have listened to her.”

“That’s not your fault,” Allie whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

She reaches up, her fingertips lightly tracing the line of my jaw, drawing me to look at her again.

Her empathy wraps around me, a stark reminder of what I’ve been missing in my life these last five years—what I’ve shut myself off from.

How can she sit here, so full of understanding, when I let Jenna down?

“Isn’t it though?” The question slips out, raw and ragged.

“Because I can’t shake this feeling—that if I’d listened, if I’d taken her seriously...” I break off, unable to finish the sentence, the guilt gnawing through my defenses.

Allie’s hazel eyes hold mine, steady and sure.

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Hindsight is always clearer. You did what you thought was right at the time. That’s all any of us can do.”

“I did what was right for me at the time. I was busy with—” I stop short of saying the name Drakon.

I trust Allie, but I can’t drag her into this either.

I still need to be cautious.

“I was busy with a case and exhausted with a newborn. Yes, I thought I was right, but it was still selfish,” I mutter, the burden of years threatening to crush me.

“Even though I don’t agree with you, you still have to find a way to forgive yourself,” she says gently.

“What if in twenty years, Duke loses his wife and comes to you with this confession? What would you say to him?”

My chuckle comes out bitter.

This is anything but funny, but the idea of Duke ignoring anyone’s needs is laughable.

That kid has more empathy than any adult I’ve ever met.

At least…

until I met Allie.

“I’d tell him he didn’t kill her. He wasn’t the one behind the wheel. And even if he did make a mistake that might have led to this, he needs to be kinder to the person he is now because of it.”

Her thumb brushes across my knuckles, a silent promise that she’s here with me, through the messy parts of life.

“Exactly,” she whispers.

“Be kinder to yourself, Thatcher. Jenna wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over this. She would want you to learn from it and move on.”

“Kindness was never really my strong suit,” I admit with a half laugh, a fractured sound that doesn’t know if it wants to be hope or despair.

“Especially kindness toward myself.”

“Good thing you’ve got me then,” Allie quips, her playful banter a lifeline back to the surface.

“I’m excellent at kindness. And board games. And making killer biscuits… Just ask my dog. It’s how he got his name. So, you know, you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“Seems like it,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting despite the ache in my chest.

Maybe with Allie by my side, I can start to forgive the man in the mirror.

Maybe .

“But man…seeing Jason with you tonight...it was like watching a nightmare unfold all over again.” My voice is ragged as I confess, the memory of Jenna’s fear clawing its way to the surface.

“I promised myself after Jenna that I wouldn’t let anyone I care about get hurt again. And there you were, in his grip, and everything inside me...snapped.”

Allie’s listening, her brows furrowed with concern and something fiercer—determination, maybe.

The kind of look that says she’s not just here to play the damsel or the comforting ear; she’s ready to climb into the trenches with me.

“First of all,” she starts, shifting closer, her warmth tangible even in the cool of the night.

“I’m fine. I’ve been on my own for a while now and I can handle guys like Jason. But with Jenna…maybe I can help you get some answers you need? I have contacts, resources at the paper that could help dig up information.”

Her offer hangs between us, bold and brash.

And damn if it doesn’t make my heart race for more reasons than one.

It’s exactly what I’d expect from her—Allie isn’t one to sit on the sidelines.

But the thought of her wading into this mess, becoming a target herself, sends a cold spike of dread straight through me.

“Allie, no.” The words come out heavy, laced with a cocktail of admiration and fear.

“I need you to stay far away from this case. I mean it.”

“But—”

“No buts. I can’t let you risk your neck for my ghosts.”

“Your ghosts seem pretty determined to crash our party,” she quips, her smile tinged with an edge.

Her audacity is a jolt of electricity, sparking through the shadows of my guilt and doubt.

It’s heady and contagious, and it takes everything I’ve got to keep my protective instincts in check.

The gratitude hits me first, fierce and warm like a shot of whiskey on a cold night.

Allie’s offer to dive headfirst into my hurricane of a past is more than just gutsy—it’s noble, and it knocks the wind out of me with its unexpected generosity.

“God, Allie,” I exhale, a half laugh caught in my throat.

“You’re one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.”

But as quick as the gratitude washes over me, fear grabs hold.

The image of her, bright-eyed and fearless, stepping into a world where bullets don’t care about bravery or journalism degrees—that thought shreds me from the inside out.

I can practically feel the crosshairs shifting, aiming at something far more precious than any revenge.

“But I’m serious. This is really fucking dangerous. It’s not some review of tiramisu and bolognese.”

She exhales a laugh that’s anything but humored.

“Bolognese and tiramisu,” she repeats.

“Wow. If that’s all you think I’m good for, then you really haven’t gotten to know me at all.”

I shake my head, trying to scatter the dread pooling in my gut.

“No, that’s…that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just mean that this is dangerous. Really dangerous. I’ve seen what these people are capable of?—”

“These people?” she asks.

“You said your wife thought she had a stalker. One.” It’s a question…

and also not a question.

She asks it almost like she already knows.

“It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated,” she repeats, murmuring.

“Classified?”

My eyes jerk to hers.

She seems to know so much more than I’ve ever said.

She’s smart and observant.

She’s clearly pieced together some of my background.

So all I do is nod.

“I…” My voice breaks before I can barricade it with my usual stoicism.

“I’m not going through losing someone again. Especially not you.”

She opens her mouth to argue, that firecracker spirit ready to ignite, but I press on, my words coming out more forceful than I intend.

“Listen to me,” I say firmly, my hand finding hers, gripping it tight enough to ground us both.

“I can’t—I won’t—put you in their line of fire. I need to know you and Duke are both safe.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Allie insists, her voice a blend of frustration and concern.

“I went to school for journalism. Hell, some of my classmates are overseas in war zones reporting right now?—”

“But you aren’t,” I admit, the edges of my resolve hardening the tiniest bit.

“I know you might think I’m being an overbearing jerk, but if that’s the price for keeping you out of harm’s way, then so be it.”

Her silence hangs heavy.

And as much as it kills me to see that spark of defiance dim in her eyes, I know this is one battle I have to win—for both our sakes.

The room falls quiet, the kind of quiet that isn’t empty but stuffed to the brim with all the things we aren’t saying.

Allie’s still beneath my hand, her pulse tapping a silent code against my fingertips.

There’s a whole conversation in the space between our breaths, in the way her gaze doesn’t quite meet mine anymore.

“Well…” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, but doesn’t finish.

What can she say?

What can I?

With every word unspoken, the air grows thicker, like we’re swimming through the last dregs of something neither of us is ready to let go of.

She shifts, and the bed creaks under us, a sound that feels as loud as a siren in the stillness.

Her eyes finally find mine, and it’s like looking into a mirror that reflects all the things I’m afraid to face—my need for control, the terror of history repeating itself, the raw edges of a heart too scarred to play it safe again.

“At least I know where I stand with you,” she murmurs, so soft I might’ve imagined it.

But it’s there, acceptance mixed with a dash of defeat, and it stirs something fierce in my chest.

“You stand as someone I’d give my life to protect,” I echo back, and it’s a promise, a plea, and a prayer all rolled into one.

We stay like that, caught in the eye of a storm that’s more than just the danger lurking outside—it’s the push and pull of two people trying to navigate the mess of their own making.

“Tell me one thing,” she says.

“Anything.”

“You, Griffin, and Hunter. What’s your backstory? What’s the real reason the three of you opened up a matchmaking business? And don’t give me some bullshit answer about it always being your dream. It’s obvious the three of you have some darker background and if you’re grounding me from helping, then being honest with me is the least you can do.”

“We were on a team of special forces, the three of us. Brothers, not in blood, but in camaraderie. After Jenna died, I had to retire; I couldn’t keep risking my life day in and day out when this helpless little baby had no one else.” My voice breaks as I remember how colicky Duke was at first.

How I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

How if I had kept on in my platoon, I might have left our little boy an orphan.

“And after I left, Griffin and Hunter followed me, retiring soon after, too. Jenna’s dream was to open a matchmaking business…so the three of us started Mission Match in her honor.” I chuckle to myself at how ridiculous it must sound.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. But Mission Match is mostly a front. On the side, the three of us have been working together to find the truth be hind Jenna’s death.”

It feels good to get all that off my chest for once.

Almost imperceptibly, a shift happens.

It’s nothing tangible, no grand gesture or sweeping declaration, but it’s there.

In the way Allie’s hand relaxes in mine, in the renewed determination that sets her jaw at an angle, in the slow nod she gives me.

It’s the subtle acknowledgment that from here on out, everything changes.

The rules of the game have been altered, the stakes raised with a few honest declarations.

And I know, deep in the gut of me where the most inconvenient truths live, that Allie Larsen isn’t someone who can be sidelined—not by danger, not by fear, and sure as hell not by me.

“I’m glad you have them—Griffin and Hunter,” she says, and there’s that spark again, the flicker of light that refuses to die out.

“You have no idea. I wouldn’t have survived losing Jenna without them,” I reply, allowing myself a half smile.

It’s brittle, but it’s a start.

The city hums outside the window, a reminder that life goes on, relentless and unapologetic.

We’re part of that rhythm whether we like it or not, each beat a step toward an unknown that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Yes, you would have,” Jenna says with a determination and belief in me that I don’t even have.

“Because Duke needed you. Needs you. You would have not only survived…you would have thrived, with or without your best friends.”

Her assertion hangs in the air, a challenge to my self-imposed narrative of dependency.

Before I can muster a response, the sudden blare of my phone’s ringtone slices through the stillness, jarring in the intimacy of our moment.

The screen flashes with Hunter’s number and my heart jumps into my throat.

Hunter doesn’t call.

Ever.

Allie’s eyes narrow at the interruption, her journalist instincts kicking in.

“Who is it?” she probes, curiosity coloring her tone.

“It’s Hunter,” I murmur, then swipe my thumb to the right to answer it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I yank my pants on over my hips, phone cradled against my ear.

Allie sits up, alert, the sheet pulled up over her chest.

“An alert from the new security cameras at your house. Someone was in the tree outside Duke’s room.”

Fuck.

“I’m on my way. Maybe we can get there in time to catch the guy red-handed.”

“I’m one minute out,” Hunter says.

“Griffin’s ETA is four minutes. Meet me there as soon as you can.”

I hang up the call and curse under my breath as I search the room for my boots.

“What’s wrong? Is it Duke?”

I shake my head.

“Duke’s fine. He’s with his aunt in Tennessee for a few days. But my security camera caught someone in my yard. I’ve gotta go.”

Allie scrambles out of bed, grabbing clothes.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” I snap, then force myself to take a calming breath.

“What did we just talk about, Allie? I need you to stay here. Where you’re safe.”

I manage to keep my voice level through sheer force of will.

The thought of her coming anywhere near Drakon makes my blood run cold.

“I’ll call you later with an update, I promise. Lock the door behind me.”

I’m already at her apartment door when her voice stops me short.

“Thatcher, wait?—”

And then she’s there, grasping my arm, her lips on mine, kissing me, the cool sheet still wrapped around her body.

We stay frozen like that for a couple of beats, the air heavy with all the things I can’t say.

“Just...be careful. Please.” Her eyes search mine, bright with fear and something more.

Something I don’t dare put a name to.

I nod, throat tight, knowing with gut-wrenching clarity that despite all my efforts to keep her out of this, tonight has changed everything.

Our world has tilted on its axis—and there’s no turning back now.

My hand comes up, brushing her cheek so briefly it might have been imagined.

Then I turn, striding out the door without looking back.