19

Carrie

I couldn’t sleep. No matter how hard I tried to shut my eyes, no matter how many times I told myself I was safe, the image of Daniel’s face—twisted, smug, defiant—kept surfacing, vivid and sharp like a dagger pressing into my thoughts. The house was quiet, too quiet, except for the occasional creak of old wood and the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, my fingers knotted in the sheets, my mind racing.

Nathan had fallen asleep in the armchair beside my bed, his chest rising and falling steadily, his gun resting on the table within arm’s reach. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched tight, as though his body refused to fully let its guard down. Watching him, I felt a complicated rush of emotion—gratitude, fear, guilt, and something deeper, something rawer that I didn’t dare name.

I turned onto my side, biting my lip hard to keep back the tears that threatened to spill. How did it come to this? How did my search for independence, for peace, lead me straight back into the arms of danger? I thought I had escaped Daniel when I fled New York, thought I had buried the past deep enough that it couldn’t claw its way back to me. But now, sitting here in the darkness, with Nathan sleeping like a sentry at my side, I realized how naïve I had been.

He found me.

And worse, I wasn’t sure he was done.

I slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake Nathan, and padded barefoot across the cool floor to the window. Pulling back the curtain, I stared out at the street below, the orange glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. My reflection hovered in the glass—wide eyes, disheveled hair, a pale face etched with worry. I hardly recognized myself anymore.

A soft rustle behind me made me jump. I spun around to see Nathan blinking blearily at me, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Carrie?” His voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep, but instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, shaking my head quickly. “I… I just needed some air.”

He stood up, stretching out his long limbs, and crossed the room to me in two easy strides. “It’s not nothing. You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, though my voice betrayed me, quivering slightly.

He didn’t press, just reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his fingers lingering for a beat too long. His eyes searched mine, dark and serious, and for a moment, I thought he might say something—something important. But instead, he dropped his hand and turned away.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You need to try and rest. I’ll sit right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I let him guide me back to bed, and as I lay down, I caught his hand and held it tight. He hesitated only a second before squeezing back, his grip warm and reassuring.

“Stay with me,” I whispered.

He nodded. “Always.”

And as my eyes finally drifted closed, lulled by the steady beat of his presence beside me, I felt a flicker of something new, something fierce—hope.

Even in the dark, even with the storm still looming, I wasn’t alone anymore.

I woke up hours later, the sunlight sharp and blinding as it slanted across the room. For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was, the familiar ache of dread hitting me like a wave until my eyes found Nathan, sitting exactly where he promised—beside me, awake, his eyes on the window like a soldier watching for enemy lines.

“Morning,” I croaked, my voice thick with sleep and something else—something raw and lingering between us.

“Morning.” His gaze flicked to me, and I caught that flicker of something softer, gentler in his eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I thought I would,” I admitted, pushing myself up on one elbow. “You?”

He shrugged, the lines of fatigue around his eyes betraying him. “I’m used to it.”

There was so much I wanted to say, but the words tangled in my throat. Instead, I watched him rise and stretch, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt, his every movement laced with quiet strength. He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.

“I’m going to make coffee,” he said. “You want anything?”

“Coffee’s good,” I replied, my heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with caffeine.

As soon as he left the room, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My fingers traced invisible patterns on the sheets, my mind spinning with thoughts I couldn’t seem to corral. Nathan was more than just my bodyguard now, more than just the man my father had hired to keep me safe. He had become my anchor, the only thing holding me steady in this storm.

But I couldn’t let myself fall for him. Not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

I slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My reflection looked back at me—eyes too wide, skin too pale, lips pressed into a thin, determined line. I didn’t recognize this version of myself, but maybe that was the point. Maybe the old Carrie was gone, and this new version—harder, tougher—was who I needed to be now.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I wandered into the kitchen, where the rich scent of coffee filled the air. Nathan stood at the counter, two mugs in hand, his back to me.

“Perfect timing,” he said without turning around. “Sit.”

I slid onto one of the stools and watched as he set the mug in front of me. For a moment, we drank in silence, the tension between us thick but oddly comforting.

“Do you think…” I started, then hesitated.

He looked at me, brow raised. “Do I think what?”

“Do you think he’s watching me now? I mean, do you think Daniel is here, in Orca Bay?”

Nathan’s jaw tightened, and he set his mug down with a little too much force. “I think we should assume the worst and be ready for it.”

His answer didn’t surprise me, but it didn’t comfort me either. I stared into my coffee, my stomach churning.

“Carrie,” he said gently, reaching across the counter to take my hand. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

I looked up at him, his eyes blazing with conviction, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it. Really believed it.

But belief didn’t erase fear. And as much as I wanted to lean into the safety Nathan offered, a small voice inside me whispered that nothing—no one—could keep me safe forever.

Still, as his fingers tightened around mine, I clung to that flicker of hope, letting it warm me from the inside out.

Because right now, hope was all I had.