Page 32 of Dirty Delivery

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I glance away, my gaze falling to the blanket tangled around my legs. “I am not used to this,” I say softly. “Being the reason someone cares so much.”

Rylan shifts slightly, finally leaning back in the chair. “Get used to it, mo stóirín,” he says simply. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“What does that mean? Why do you call me that: mo stóirín?” I ask, in my best attempt at an Irish accent but I am pretty sure I butchered it.

Rylan chuckles softly at my clearly awful pronunciation. “I’ll tell you when you’re ready to know.”

The quiet confidence in his voice makes my heart stutter. I pull the blanket tighter around me, clutching it like a shield against his presence. It’s not just the warmth I’m seeking—it’s a way to steady myself, to hide the shivers that ripple through me every time his eyes linger just a moment too long.

“You really should get some rest,” he says after a moment, his tone softer now. “It’s been a long day.”

“What about you?” I look up at him. “When do you sleep?”

He smirks, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting his eyes. “I’ll sleep when I’m sure you’re safe.”

It’s a sweet answer, but it only makes the knot in my chest tighten. “You can’t do everything, Rylan. You’re only human.”

“Yeah, well.” He stands and stretches. “You’re worth it.”

I’m frozen, caught in the weight of his words. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he walks back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with thoughts I’m not sure how to process.

I should go upstairs. I should try to sleep. But instead, I stay curled up on the couch, staring at the empty chair he left behind. My mind is a whirlwind of emotions, each one pulling me in a different direction. Gratitude. Guilt. Fear. And something else—something warm and unfamiliar that makes my chest ache.

For the first time in weeks, I feel something close to hope. It’s fragile and tentative, but it’s there. And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to keep me going.

Rylan

I retreat to the kitchen after leaving Savannah in the living room. I need the space to clear my head. Every moment with her feels like a knife twisting in my chest. Seeing her curled up like that, vulnerable and scared, makes me want to destroy every single person who’s put her in this position.

But I can’t. Not yet.

I grip the edge of the counter and bow my head, letting out a long, controlled breath. It’s been months since the first time I saw her, and she’s consumed me ever since. I tried to play it cool, tried to convince myself that she was just a passing interest. But every delivery, every smile, every annoyed look she gave me stuck with me like a brand.

And now, she’s here. In my house. In my life. It should feel like a victory, but instead, it feels like a slow march to war. Becauseno matter how hard I fight, I know this situation is a powder keg waiting to explode.

I glance at the security monitors mounted discreetly on the wall, quickly scanning the feed from the cameras placed around the property. The guards are stationed at their posts and the perimeter is clear. Still, it doesn’t ease the tension in my gut.

The Castillos won’t stop. Not until they find her or I give them something else to take their focus off her. And I’m not sure I have enough left to give.

My thoughts are interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps. Savannah stands in the doorway, her blanket draped over her shoulders like a shield.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I push back from the counter, straightening to my full height as I assess her.

She shakes her head. “No. My mind still can’t seem to turn off long enough for me to fall asleep.”

I gesture to the counter. “Want some tea? It might help.”

She hesitates but eventually nods and steps closer. I busy myself with the kettle, trying to ignore the way her presence seems to light up the room. When I set the mug in front of her, she offers me a small, tired smile.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

I watch her for a moment, the way her auburn hair catches the light and the way her eyes seem to hold a thousand unspoken emotions. And I know, without a doubt, that I’d do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Every decision, every move I make from here on out, is for her.

“You’re not alone in this,” I say quietly. “You never have to be.”

She looks up at me, her gaze softening. “I’m starting to believe that.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself hope too.

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