Page 111 of Fixing to Be Mine

But Colt knows. He knows something’s wrong. And later, when the laughter fades and the food’s cleared, he’ll ask.

I squeeze his hand back, and he leans into me just slightly, as if to tell me I’m still here, but the storm’s getting closer.

And my location has been revealed.

The dread is already settling in the back of my throat, and I’m relieved to be going back to New York in two days.

I can’t allow this to ruin the night, so I push the thoughts away.

The conversation softens and our stomachs are full. The night is winding down, and Colt yawns.

“Dinner was incredible. Thank you so much for inviting us,” he offers.

“We’ll have to do it again.” Remi meets my eyes. “I’m so happy you’re still here.”

“Me too,” I say. “Thanks for hosting.”

Fenix stands and helps clean up the table. She walks inside, leaving the four of us alone.

Cash and Colt shake hands, and Cash pulls me into a side hug that smells like smoke and bourbon.

“Thanks for joinin’ us,” he says.

After we say our goodbyes several times, we walk through the house and leave.

The truck is quiet as we pull away from his sisters.

Colt drives one-handed, his arm stretched across the window frame. The cool night air slips in and tugs at my hair. He doesn’t say anything right away. We’ve gotten good at silence—comfortable with it even. But tonight, it sits heavier than usual.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Colt says finally. He glances over, not panicked.

“Being on the front page is bad,” I say.

He raises his brows. “That’s what’s got you twisted up?”

“It’s not just that it’s a photo of us. It’s the article. The headline. The money.” I pause. “People are already looking for me. This feels like a target.”

His smile fades.

I continue, “All it takes is one person finding this image of me online. Valentine might be small and safe, but the internetdoesn’t work like that. That picture of us …” I shake my head, not sure how to finish, knowing more lies will be made up about me.

Colt keeps his eyes on the road.

“We’ll handle it,” he says. “Whatever comes next.”

I nod, but the anxiety streaming through me doesn’t loosen. “We have to leave Saturday morning, no matter what. Maybe we can get ahead of this.”

The farmhouse comes into view, porch light glowing warm and familiar. The gravel crunches under the tires as Colt eases the truck to a stop. Neither of us moves to get out right away.

I turn toward him. “I don’t know what will happen in New York. I don’t know what to expect.”

He studies me. “I’ll be right beside you through it all. We’ll ride out the storm together.”

That settles something inside me.

We step out into the dark and climb the porch together. Colt unlocks the door, and I follow him inside, my thoughts already spiraling.

I don’t know how close the past is, but it seems like it’s closing in on me.

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