Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“Something like that,” I answer smoothly, same line as earlier.
Brock doesn’t push. He just nods like he gets the vibe. Like small towns know how to mind their business when the energy says don’t ask.
The game continues.
Brock and Shepherd are clearly a practiced team. They’re consistent, annoying, and way too entertained by how invested Salem gets. Salem, meanwhile, is fueled by spite and cider.
I’m fueled by the desire to impress her and the fact that I hate losing. At one point I manage a clean hole shot and Salem actually squeals, grabbing my arm.
“Yes!” she shouts. “Okay, Ozzy!”
Brock groans. “Ugh, romance.”
Shepherd smirks. “Let them have it.”
Two women enter the patio. One with long, wavy brown hair. She heads straight toward Brock and wraps her arms around him. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in. He kisses her temple like he’s done it a thousand times before.
“This is my wife, Willow.”
She smiles brightly at us. “Hope he’s not being an obnoxious winner.”
He laughs. He tugs her closer. “Winner being the operative word.”
The other woman wraps her arms around Shepherd, and they share an intimate moment. It makes me long for something like that with Salem. To be able to hold her in my arms and not care what the world thinks. Shepherd introduces his wife, Felicity. I can see the love shining between them, and seriously… I fucking want that.
Salem beams at me, eyes bright, and for a few seconds I almost forget we’re hiding. I almost forget the world. Then it hits.
The feeling. I’m frozen as instinct prickles at the back of my neck. That feeling of being followed. Watched. Like someone is there.
My smile fades. I don’t move abruptly. I keep my posture relaxed. I keep my face calm. But my attention shifts.
I scan the lot, looking for anything out of place. Anything that isn’t supposed to be there. Hell, I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know something feels off. The laughter around us is still normal. The patio is still warm. The string lights still glow.
And yet— I feel watched.
I let my gaze drift casually over the patio, over the fence line, over the street beyond. Then I see it. There’s a white van parked across the lot at the edge of the street. Not in a spot that makes sense. Not angled like someone’s getting out for a drink.
Just… sitting.
Engine maybe off. Maybe on. The windows are tinted. My blood cools. It could be nothing. Could be a delivery van. Could be someone waiting to pick up a friend.
Could be— I don’t do “could be” when Salem is with me.
Salem tosses another bag and laughs when it bounces wrong. “Okay, I blame gravity.”
Brock grins. “Gravity hates you.”
Shepherd glances at me. “You good?”
My eyes flick back to the van. “Yeah,” I say automatically. But my body is already shifting into protect mode. My hand slides to Salem’s lower back like it belongs there.
She notices instantly. Her smile falters. “Ozzy?”
I lean in, voice low, calm. “We’re leaving.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Why?”
“Just trust me.”
She swallows. Then she nods, because she does trust me now, and that trust is a weight and a gift and I carry it carefully.
I straighten and force a smile toward brothers and their wives. “Hey—this was fun. Sorry, but we’ve gotta head out.”
Brock blinks. “Already? We were about to destroy you completely.”
Salem manages a tight smile. “You already did.”
Shepherd studies my face for half a second, something sharpening in his gaze—like he recognizes the shift. “You need anything?” he asks, quietly.
I give him a small nod of respect. “We’re good.”
Brock claps me on the shoulder like we’re old buddies. “Come back. I like you two.”
Salem’s voice is soft. “Thanks for being so nice.”
Brock grins. “We’re Atwoods. We’re always nice.” He tugs his wife closer.
Shepherd snorts. “That’s a lie.”
We slip away from the patio, Salem close to my side. I keep my stride normal. I keep my head level. We step onto the sidewalk.
Salem’s fingers curl around my fingers. “Ozzy, what’s happening?”
I glance down at her, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I think we might’ve been made.”
Her breath catches. “Made? Like… found?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe not. But we’re not waiting to confirm.”
Her eyes flick behind us, panic starting to rise.
I squeeze her hand once. “Don’t look.”
She swallows hard and faces forward, trying to breathe.
The SUV is parked a few blocks away. Too close if that van is a tail. If I walk her straight to the vehicle, I’m handing them a bow on top of our location. So I steer her away from it.
“We’re taking a walk,” I say, like it’s casual.
Salem’s voice wobbles. “A walk where?”
“A loop,” I murmur. “We’re going to see if we’re being followed.”
Her fingers tighten on mine. “Ozzy…”
“I know,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
We turn down main street, blending into the evening crowd. The town is cozy at night—storefront lights glowing, people strolling with ice cream cones, couples holding hands.