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“We’ll discuss that with the prosecutor. For now, stay vigilant. And Sam? Be careful.”

“Understood.”

I hung up and found Tyson watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. He leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, morning light catching the scrapes on his knuckles from fixing my porch railing yesterday. Calm, steady. Every inch the man Garrett could never be.

“You okay?” I asked.

He shrugged, sipping his coffee. “Some guy I’ve never met is texting me threats from seven hours away because he lost the best thing that ever happened to him and I’m the one who gets to make her pancakes in the morning. I’d be angry too.”

I stared at him. “That’s your take on this?”

“What? I’m just saying. It sucks to be him.”

The casual confidence in those words hit me harder than any grand declaration could have. I crossed the kitchen and kissed him hard enough that his coffee mug hit the counter with a clatter.

“Careful,” he murmured against my lips. “I have to leave for work in ten minutes.”

“Weekend job?”

“Generator installation. Can’t push it.” He kissed me once more before pulling back with visible reluctance. His hands stayed on my waist, thumbs tracing circles on my hips through the cotton of his shirt. “Stay inside today? Just until we know where Garrett is?”

“I’m not hiding in my own house anymore. I’m done with him.”

His jaw tightened. I could see the argument building behind his eyes, the protective instinct warring with his respect for my independence. The respect won.

“Just be careful. Please. If anything feels off, call me. Call Patrick. Call anyone.”

“I promise.”

He left. I stood in the kitchen doorway watching his truck disappear down the road, already missing the warmth of his body against mine. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

All I wanted was him.

I sighed, forcing myself to find something to do. The garden I’d been planning needed supplies. Seeds, starter plants, some decent soil for the raised beds Tyson had built me last week. I could order everything online and wait three days, or I could drive ten minutes into town and be back before lunch. Yes. That’d do.

I changed into jeans and a sweater, tucked my phone in my back pocket and my backup phone, the one I’d started carrying after Sophie showed up, into my bra. Paranoid, maybe. But the text to Tyson had rattled me more than I wanted to admit.

The drive into town was peaceful. Spring was turning the mountains green in that slow, undeniable way that made Tennessee feel like it was waking up from a long nap. I parked on Main Street and stepped out into sunshine that felt full of promise. The flower shop was three blocks down. Maybe I’d grab coffee from Judy’s place on the way back, sit on the bench outside, let the sun warm my face.

I’d made it half a block when a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways.

My shoulder hit brick. The alley was narrow, shadowed despite the sunny day, a narrow space between buildings that smelled of dumpsters and old rain. Garrett’s face came into focus and my stomach dropped to my feet.

This wasn’t the man I’d married.

The polished executive, the man who ironed his shirts twice and got monthly facials, was completely gone. If he’d been bad the last time I’d saw him, now he was even worse. I barely recognized him. He was wearing a wrinkled oxford, face flushed and puffy, stubble growing into patchy beard. His eyes were bloodshot and too wide, the look of someone who hadn’t slept in days. He smelled stale, unwashed, with an undertone of bourbon that hit my nose and turned my stomach.

“Finally,” he snarled, grip tightening on my arm. It seemed he hadn’t brushed his teeth for days. Gods. That was disgusting. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through trying to get to you again?”

“Let go of me.” I tried to pull free but his fingers dug in, bruising. “You’re violating the restraining order.”

“Fuck the restraining order. Fuck your lawyer. Fuck this entire shithole town and the justice system.” Spit flew from his lips. “You ruined everything, Samantha. You’ve ruined me to the fucking ground. Are you happy now? Are you finally happy?”

“No.” I kept my voice level even though my heart was trying to punch through my ribs. “You don’t seem so ruined.”

“Fuck you!” His face went darker red, almost purple. “You could have handled it quietly. Divorce, fine. But you didn’t just want to leave, you wanted to burn everything down. And for what? So you could spread your legs for some small-town handyman?”

“His name is Tyson. And he’s more of a man than you’ve ever been.”