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STACY

R ay Crawford.

Of all the people in the world, he’s the one who showed up when I needed someone most. Like the universe sent him to catch me midfall—just before I shattered. He showed up right as the floor gave way and kept me from being left crumpled and broken in the wreckage of another mistake.

At the bar, everything unraveled too fast. Ronnie—that son of a bitch—lied, right through his perfect smile. Through his stupid little laugh that I now realize was as fake as his perfectly rehearsed stories.

Married. He was fucking married.

And there I was. Moments away from having my heart handed to me, cut out by a broken beer glass by his furious wife when Ray arrived to save me.

No cape. No spotlight. Just calm, steady Ray—with that cool-eyed calm and the low, anchored voice that says, I’ve got this. And God, did he. It was little more than one look from him that had stopped disaster.

Ronnie’s wife hadn’t hurt me. She had left me stunned and shaking, but unharmed. Ray had led me out of there as if nothing happened. Like I hadn’t been one breath away from total humiliation.

Now in the quiet hum of my car, my mind won’t stop racing.

I tighten my grip around the steering wheel.

My body thrums with adrenaline, with nowhere for it to land.

Every nerve is lit up. And all I can think about is Ray.

How quiet he is, sitting in the passenger seat.

How he doesn’t ask questions or try to make it better with dumb jokes or pity.

He just sits, here with me. Quietly present and most of all, not judging.

I pull into Monica’s driveway and think that maybe this is my chance to say thank you. Maybe salvage something from the wreckage of the day. Maybe explore this tingling sensation in my heart.

“You could come in for a drink,” I say as casually as I can, though my voice wobbles a little.

This is the stupidest of my bright ideas. Or maybe the bravest. I can’t tell anymore.

I dig into my purse for the house keys, becoming suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is.

“Hmm.” His voice is soft, thoughtful. He looks at the front door for a moment as if passing judgment on it or something. “Okay. Funny thing. I've heard a lot about the doctor’s house, but I’ve never actually seen the inside.”

“It’s nice,” I say, climbing the steps to the porch and unlocking the door. The deadbolt clicks, loud in the silence. “What’ve you heard? I swear, if it’s the story about Raul busting in through that corner window, I’ve heard it a million times.”

Ray’s mouth curls. It’s not a full smile, but it’s close enough that warmth creeps across my chest.

“You mean when Raul broke her ex’s wrist? Yeah. That one does make the rounds.”

I step into the house and Ray follows in my wake. I flip on the lights and the warmth of Monica’s decor wraps around us. The air smells faintly of cinnamon and something floral—like the house itself is trying to hug you.

“Does he include the part about it scaring the crap out of her?” I ask over my shoulder, making my way to the kitchen. “She was all wide-eyed and shaky then, but now she can’t shut up about it. What can I get you?”

“Beer’s fine.”

I grab two and twist the cap off one before handing it to him. He stands at the infamous window, peering out like he’s watching a ghost—as if Raul might come crashing through all over again.

“Big enough opening,” Ray murmurs. “If I were him, I’d use it too.”

I linger a beat longer than necessary, watching him. The way his shoulders stretch under his shirt. The way his fingers gently curl around the neck of the bottle like it’s something delicate.

“I’ve never seen it,” I admit. “The shifting thing. Monica and Erica say it sounds like a machine gun going off.”

He takes a drink, slow and thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I hear the first few seconds and then it goes quiet. The wolf takes over. After the first few seconds... everything else fades.”

A small silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, just thick. Charged.

“So,” he says eventually, “we’re skipping the family dinner. If this were April, Raul would be furious.”

I laugh quietly, leaning against the counter.

“Monica would kill me too. She gets this look when she’s been around the Crawfords too long. Like, ‘Don’t you dare leave me alone with these people.’ It’s kind of cute.”

Ray lifts his brows. “She clicked with Raul fast.”

“Yeah,” I say, softer. “Like two puzzle pieces just snapping together. Have you ever felt that?”

His eyes stay on his beer.

“Not really,” he says, then pauses. “But I don’t think it always has to happen like that. Sometimes love doesn’t come with fireworks. Sometimes it’s a slow burn.”

Something in the way he says that makes my throat tighten.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nods, quiet.

“At those family dinners... you’re not like this.” I wave a hand suddenly self-conscious. “This… serious, I mean. You’re different. You tease your siblings, joke around. Where is that Ray?”

His gaze lifts to mine, steady and unreadable.

“I put him away when I saw you in Tiffany’s.”

That hits hard, making my breath stutter and my pulse skip, then thunder. I’m left blinking and confused, trying to figure out what he means by that but I can’t make sense of it. Finally I have to ask.

“What do you mean?”

“That Ray—the one who jokes and teases—he likes you.” His voice is low, almost reluctant. “Always has. But we want different things.”

I stare as my chest tightens. “Like what?”

He finishes his beer and sets the bottle down with a soft clink. He stares at the now empty bottle in silent contemplation before he answers.

“Ask yourself that, Stacy.” His voice is calm, but it cuts deep. “Because I think you already know.”

His movements are sudden, like a decision has been made. He moves past, brushing close enough that I catch a whiff of cedar and something darker—something that is uniquely him. It floods my senses and makes my pulse race.

“Thanks for the beer,” he says. “Stay away from married men. Next time I might not be around.”

He walks to the door. No pause. Not even a glance back.

I’m frozen. Every part of me burning with the things I should say but can’t.

His words hit their mark. Each one slammed home and hit a target I didn’t know was exposed.

He’s gone before I can move. But his words won’t leave.

They hang in the silence like smoke—impossible to catch, impossible to ignore.

I stare at the door long after it clicks shut, feeling the echo of him inside the house. The room feels too still and too empty. Why did that feel like more than a goodbye? Like a long-term goodbye.

I move to the couch and sink, knees folding under me, bottle still in hand. The beer’s grown warm and unappealing. My throat aches. Ray’s voice loops in my mind.

You want different things.

But I don’t know what that means.

I thought I wanted... something simple. Someone who wouldn’t lie, who wouldn’t manipulate, who would just be real . Wasn’t that what I’d said to Monica, drunk on wine and cynicism? That I was done with men who wore masks?

Now Ray comes along and I didn’t know what to do with him. He’s too real. Too steady. Too much like something I could lean on. He fits what I said I wanted, but somehow that terrifies me.

I rub a hand over my face. My weekend on the mountain isn’t over yet. There’s still time. And there is something here. Buried under unsaid words and half-finished goodbyes.

I’m going to find out what’s driving Ray away from me. Even if it means tearing down every wall between us. Even if I have to walk into the fire he’s running from.