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"He was protecting his person." Brenna shook her head. "I know my brother. He doesn’t invest this deeply unless it matters. He’s scared when it comes to relationships because he is afraid his dark side will ruin them. But he didn’t push you away."

The memory of his rough hands gently washing my hair at the kitchen sink rose in my mind. The memory of his quiet presence by the piano. He had offered me the very sanctuary he built for himself.

"I don’t want to ruin his peace." I sighed into the heavy air. "My life is a circus, Brenna. There are lawyers, and contracts, and people who want to tear me apart. If they find me here, they will drag him into it."

"Ben can handle a circus." She took a long drink of wine. "He handles trauma for a living. He pulls people out of burning cars. A few paparazzi won’t break him."

"My ex-husband is worse than paparazzi. He controls narratives. If he knows Ben has a history of violence..." I stopped, biting my lip. I had said too much.

Brenna didn’t flinch. "Sounds like your ex is a bully. Bullies operate on fear. Ben operates on duty. I’ll put my money on the paramedic every single time."

A profound, warm sense of belonging settled over my chest. Brenna wasn’t warning me off. She wasn’t asking me to leave to protect her family’s reputation. She was sitting in Ben’s kitchen, drinking wine, and welcoming me into the Coleridge orbit. She recognized the threat Nash posed, and she simply dismissed it in favor of loyalty.

"You guys are fiercely protective of each other.”

"We have to be." Brenna smiled. "The resort business is brutal. Island life is small and the Coleridges have had our ups and downs. If we don’t hold the line for each other, the tide washes us out."

A sharp, aggressive rattle shook the front window. The rain arrived in force, hitting the cottage in a solid, deafening sheet of water. The noise was instantaneous, drumming against the roof with the intensity of a firing squad.

Brenna glanced at the window, then set her wine glass on the counter and hopped off the barstool. "That’s my cue. The access road can flood when the bands hit this hard. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be sleeping on your couch.”

"You can stay." I stood up, following her to the entryway. "It isn’t safe."

"I have a solid vehicle and a husband waiting for me. And Colton needs his momma." She grabbed the yellow raincoat and shoved her arms into the sleeves. She stepped into her rubber boots. "I’ll be fine. I just need to beat the surge over the low bridge."

She picked up the wet umbrella but didn’t open it. She turned to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a tight, sudden hug. The raincoat was damp and smelled of plastic. "Take care of my brother, Sutton. And let him take care of you. You don’t have to fight the whole world by yourself anymore."

"Thank you, Brenna. For the clothes. For everything."

"I’ll check in after the storm passes. Maybe even bring Hunter with me." She pulled back, giving me a bright, encouraging smile. "Hunker down. Drink the wine."

She opened the front door. The wind shoved her backward slightly, but she leaned into it. She rushed out into the deluge, pulling the door shut behind her with a heavy thud.

I engaged the deadbolt. The lock clicked, securing the perimeter. As I walked back into the living room, the cottage felt different now. The space wasn’t just a hiding spot. It was a home connected to a wider network of people who cared. The cream sweater kept me warm. The wine relaxed my nerves.

I sat on the gray couch and pulled my knees to my chest. The storm raged outside. The noise was incredible. Wind and water pounded the exterior walls in a wild, chaotic roar. But I was fortified. I had clothes. I had allies. I had a man driving through this to get back to me. I wasn’t the fragile, broken pop star Nash tried to create.

The silence inside the cottage broke.

A harsh, mechanical buzz vibrated against the granite countertop in the kitchen. The burner phone sat exactly where I had left it on the counter. It vibrated again, a short, angry burst of movement that sent a spike of pure ice down my spine. Only Mindy had this number.

I uncurled my legs and stood up, the soft fabric of the leggings providing no comfort against the sudden chill in my blood. I walked slowly toward the kitchen island where the small digital screen glowed in the dim light of the kitchen. I picked up the device, and the green backlight was illuminated with a text message from Mindy.

Mindy: Two updates and you’re not going to like either. Nash called my personal cell Tuesday night. Threatened my career, my family, everything I have, and a puppy I don’t have unless I gave him your address. I told him to go to hell. He doesn’t know where you are. Yet.

Mindy: Second thing. TMZ got a tip. They don’t have an address yet, but they know you are in the Lower Keys. They are calling hotels. The storm is probably helping you now by keeping the press away. But that won’t last long, Sutton. You need to move as soon as you can.

The blood drained from my face in a rapid, sickening rush. Mindy had carried that alone for three days. She had stared Nash down without flinching while I drank wine in a cottage. The warmth of the wine evaporated, leaving my stomach hollow and twisting. The air in the room vanished.

The Lower Keys.

They knew the geography. They had narrowed the search from a state to a county to a specific string of islands. It was only a matter of time before a reporter asked the right local, maybe a hotel clerk who remembered a rumor about an ambulance.

I dropped the phone onto the counter. The plastic clattered against the stone as a gasp tore out of my throat. The bubble was bursting. Nash wasn’t waiting for me to make a mistake. He was actively hunting, and the hounds had caught the scent. The darkness of the storm outside matched the fear clutching my chest. The perimeter was compromised. The war was no longer an abstract threat.

The war was here.

Chapter Sixteen