Page 32 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

Webb

The night had curled in quiet around us, the way it always did out here—soft and dark, with only the firepit crackling between us and the wilderness beyond.

Gabby sat across from me in one of the old camp chairs, knees pulled to her chest, the bottom of her t-shirt tugged over them. She was calm, but it was the kind of calm that came after laughter. The fragile type and the kind that could tip either way.

And I was about to tip it.

The news had been sitting in my chest all afternoon, burning a hole in my ribs. I’d wanted her to have the peace of the bayou, the laughing meltdown over a frog-eating monster, and the silliness of that moment. But it was gone now, banked like the fire.

It was time.

I shifted forward, elbows on my knees. “Matty called again while you were in the cabin earlier.”

Her gaze lifted toward me, a shadow crossing her face.

“He had his guys watching Barris, and they followed him to a meet-up with two guys we hadn’t seen before. They weren't the regular crew. These were more organized and professional, so Matty did some digging.”

Gabby’s arms tightened around her legs.

“They’re connected to one of Maddox’s shell companies. Word is, Barris isn’t just looking for you anymore. He’s passed your name along and outsourced the problem.” I hesitated, then said it plainly. “It looks like Maddox wants you gone permanently. Not just silenced but removed.”

Gabby didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even flinch. She just stared into the fire, her eyes fixed on the shifting orange glow.

And then I saw it, the tear. It slid down her cheek in the silence, catching the firelight like a falling star, and something in my chest cracked.

“I love my family,” she said quietly. “I also adore my friends, even the ones who drive me crazy.”

I stayed still and didn’t interrupt.

“I thought maybe I’d have a chance to say goodbye if it ever came to that.” Her voice wavered, soft and raw. “But I didn’t think I’d die this young, at least not without warning and a little bit more time. I mean, I’m only twenty-five.”

She sniffled, not dramatically, just like her body was trying to hold everything in and was finally losing the battle.

“I wanted to go to Italy,” she whispered. “I wanted to adopt a Bernese Mountain dog that scared everyone but was secretly a marshmallow. I wanted to wear red lipstick more. I wanted to dance with someone who made me feel like… like I wasn’t just the quiet one who notices everything.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood, crossed to her chair, and gently wrapped my hands under her arms. She looked up at me, startled, but didn’t resist when I lifted her out of the seat and settled her on my lap, arms around her, with my chin brushing her temple.

“You’re not dying,” I said gruffly into her hair. “We’re not letting that happen.”

She clutched the front of my shirt, knuckles white.

“I set traps today,” I told her. “And I’ll set more tomorrow. And coming from my family means some creative, wildly unsafe contraptions that would make MacGyver cry.”

She choked out a laugh—sharp and wet and broken—then buried her face in my shoulder and bawled.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she sobbed. “You’re helping me, and they’ll come for you.”

I tightened my arms around her. “I’ve survived worse. Maddox and his goons don’t scare me, not when it’s you on the line.”

She cried harder, and I just held her—the kind of hold that says I'm not letting go, no matter what. The kind you don’t give unless you mean it.

When she finally quieted, I leaned back just slightly and murmured, “One of the ranch hands is bringing up more gear, including guns and ammo. We’re covered.”

She sniffled, eyes glassy. “You’re gonna teach me to shoot?”

I nodded. “That’s the plan.”

She sat up slightly. “I can already shoot.”

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