Page 30 of The Bodyguard Situation

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, taking in the secluded cabin, surrounded by towering pines with dappled sunlight breaking through the branches. “You’ve always owned this?”

“Yeah,” I answer, my throat tight. It was my secret escape for years.

She yawns, pushing her hair away from her face. “It’s peaceful.”

“It used to be,” I say, mostly to myself. But she hears it and turns toward me, curiosity in her eyes. I quickly change the subject before she can ask any more questions. “Come on. Let me show you inside.”

Stepping out of the car, I take a deep breath, absorbing the scent of pine and moss that once felt like freedom. Today, it feels like a reckoning. I grab my bags from the trunk and lead Harper up the porch steps. My heartrate increases with every creak of wood beneath my boots.

When I push open the door, the familiar mustiness hits me instantly—a bittersweet reminder of happier days long gone. Harper steps inside behind me, looking around the cozy space—the stone fireplace; the worn couch and chair, both draped with old knitted blankets; the kitchen table I built one lazy summer afternoon from wood I’d chopped myself.

“It’s like stepping back in time,” she mutters, trailing her fingers over the back of the couch.

“In some ways, it is,” I admit, setting the bags down. “Are you hungry? Tired?”

“Mostly tired,” she says, turning to face me. Her gaze softens. “Are you okay? You’re tense.”

I force a smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. Memories, you know?”

She nods slowly, her eyes searching mine. “Good memories or bad?”

“Both.” My voice comes out rough, and I clear my throat, turning away. “I’ll get a fire going. It gets cold up here really fast. Even in the spring.”

I busy myself, stacking logs into the fireplace, my hands shaking slightly. Harper watches me, her silence heavier than any words she could say. She knows something’s off, but she’s giving me space to find my footing, which I appreciate.

“Brody,” she finally says, stepping closer, “whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me right now. But I hope you know you can.”

I meet her gaze, swallowing hard, emotions threatening to spill over. “I know. And someday, I will. I promise.”

She nods, her gentle acceptance nearly undoing me. “Okay. Until then, I’m here.”

This woman in front of me deserves to know every truth, every hidden scar. Yet Eden’s memory—my hidden grief—isn’t ready to surface, not yet.

“You should take it easy,” I say, guiding her toward the small bedroom down the hall. “We can figure everything else out tomorrow.”

She leans into me as we walk, her warmth easing some of the tension in my chest. For tonight, Harper is here with me and safe, and maybe that’s enough. But as darkness settles over the cabin, and the old, familiar stillness wraps around us, I know the hardest truths still wait ahead, buried just beneath the surface, waiting to be freed. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

9

HARPER

Iblink awake slowly, disoriented at first as I stare at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling. Then I remember Brody rescuing me, and my chest floods with relief. He saved me.

Stretching beneath thick, cozy blankets, I listen to faint sounds coming from elsewhere in the cabin—the sizzle of a skillet, light footsteps moving around, and the low hum of oldies playing on a radio. It feels like I’ve been transported to another time period—when life was easy and slow, where the weight of the world didn’t exist.

A smile tugs at my lips as I slide out of bed, shivering slightly at the chill lingering in the early morning air. I slip my feet into oversize slippers that Brody thoughtfully placed by the bed and wrap a warm plaid robe around my shoulders that I found draped over a chair. For the first time in days, I feel safe and guarded.

I look down at my finger, noticing the gaudy engagement ring is still on it. I take it off, placing it in the drawer next to the bed. Removing it feels like freedom.

When I step into the living room, the scent of coffee and savory food greets me instantly. Brody stands at the stove, his broad shoulders filling out a snug black T-shirt. Tattoos line up and down his arms as he casually flips bacon, looking oddly domestic and completely relaxed. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen.

I watch him for a few more seconds before I make myself known.

“Morning,” I say, my voice still raw from sleep.

His lips twitch in a teasing smile. “Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Nice of you to finally join the living.”

I make a face at him, moving to the kitchen counter and leaning against it. “You’rehilarious.”

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