Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

SARAH

Living off the ranch means you’ve got to stay alert all the time. So when I wake up in the middle of the night, I reach for James’s side of the bed, but it’s cold and empty.

Looking for him, I squint into the dark until my eyes adjust to the faint light slipping through the old curtains. The silence is thick. No footsteps, no voices, not even a breeze whispering through the cracked walls. Finally, I spot him shirtless, standing in front of the back window, filling the whole frame.

Usually, it’s his strength that draws me in, but tonight, it’s his skin. He’s covered in burns, cuts, and deep ridges—scars running across his back, chest, shoulders, even down his arms. A roadmap of pain, and I’ve memorized every line. God knows I’ve tried every trick in my stubborn book to get him to tell me about those scars, but he won’t say a word. Not one. He doesn’t talk about his past, at least not with me.

I slip quietly out of bed, the floor cool beneath my bare feet, and walk over to him. I wrap my arms around his waist and press a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, right where one of the scars begins. James lets out a deep sigh, and I feel him ease back into me. He’s a fortress, but even fortresses need care sometimes.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask. “You’ve still got time before your shift, right?”

We’ve worked out this system for keeping watch at night. Michael starts, James takes over halfway through, and I do the last shift, up before the sun. It’s not perfect, but it keeps us from waking up to some nightmare ambush.

James turns around and pulls me into a tight hug.

“I…” he starts, then goes quiet.

I cup his cheek. “Tell me.”

“I’m worried,” he says, his gaze drifting up to the fireflies outside, lighting up the garden like tiny lanterns. “We’re surrounded by raiders, Sarah. What if something happens on the next scavenging run? I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

“Me? Hurt?” I snort, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t break. Well… except for the wrist. And, okay, the arm. Oh, and that one time I wrecked my foot…”

I laugh, but he doesn’t join in. He’s more worried than usual.

He leans his forehead against mine, eyes locked on me. He’s still tense, every line in his face says so.

“What if you need me, and I can’t get to you in time?” he asks.

Oh, James… even Superman needs a nap sometimes. But good luck explaining that to Mr. I-Can-Lift-A-Truck-With-One-Hand.

Instead of arguing, I get on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his chin.

“James… don’t be scared.”

I’m echoing his words from that night a year ago, when we fled the ranch, when everything around us was chaos and fear and smoke, and his strength was all I had to hold onto.

The tension in James’s forehead eases, and he slides his hands down my back in the most delicious way.

“No matter what corner of the earth I have to go to, I’ll find some chocolate for you, Sarah Williams.”

He kisses my forehead, and I can’t help but smile. He smells like pine trees, my absolute favorite scent.

I poke him in the ribs. “You really know how to woo a girl.”

He grins. “What can I say? I’ve got skills.”

“James Hill, if you find any chocolate at all, you’re my hero.”

I’m half-joking because he already is, though I’d never let him get too smug about it.

I trace a scar on his chest with my fingertips, a deep line etched right over his heart. He has so many scars, some older and faded, others still vivid, but this one looks like it hurt the most. I don’t know how it happened, but the shape of it… it has to be a knife wound.

Sometimes I wonder if I almost lost him before I ever really had him, all because of that one scar. And every time I look at it, my chest aches. It says he came way too close to dying, maybe in a fight, and the thought of it unsettles me more than I’ll ever admit.

I shake it off with a smile and ask, “We’ve been on the road for months. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

“That’s impossible, you’re the reason my heart’s still beating.”

Wow, he sure knows how to say the right thing.

I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “If you hadn’t shown up at that barn that night… I don’t know where I’d be. Michael and I might’ve never made it out. But you came. You saved me.”

James shakes his head. “Leaving you behind on that ranch was never an option. I was always gonna take you with me, no matter what.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know I’d go with you?”

His hand cups the back of my neck, strong enough to guide my gaze to him, and the intensity in his eyes makes me sigh.

“Because you were mine long before I ever spoke it aloud.”

I should disagree, but we both know that’d be a lie.

James’s hands wander, sliding down to my ass and gripping hard as he pulls me even closer, like there’s no such thing as close enough for him. Then he catches my mouth in a slow kiss that deepens until my knees go weak, sending a hot jolt straight between my thighs.

Who needs chocolate when you’ve got kisses like this?

I’m pretty sure there’s nothing better in the world than kissing James, except maybe… one thing.

“Hey, Outsider. Guess what? You’ve still got thirty minutes to kill.”

James’s eyes flare.

In one… two… three seconds, he scoops me up in his arms, kissing every inch of my face. And then he lays me on our bed, his hands tugging at my clothes until, well… I’m naked in record time.

◆◆◆

When I looked up at that crystal-clear sky this morning, I just knew something bad was coming. Every time a day starts out perfect, something ends up going wrong for us. But I ignored the feeling anyway and set out with a bucket in hand.

Fetching water from the nearly dried-up stream was just an excuse to wander farther than I probably should… and pick some flowers.

Who says you can’t find beauty in chaos?

These little adventures have become my quiet way of rebelling. And when I walk back to the cabin and James sees the new flower I brought in, now sitting in a vase on the windowsill, he just stares at it for a very long time before finally looking at me.

He knows exactly what I did—that I wandered off our safe path to grab it. He doesn’t say a word; his eyes do all the talking, silently scolding me for yet another risky little detour.

Have I mentioned how teasing James is my favorite hobby? Seriously, there’s nothing more fun than pushing his buttons, just enough to make him squirm. It’s an art form, really, and lucky for him, I consider myself quite the artist.

I flash him my biggest, most mischievous grin, so wide it should be illegal, then bat my lashes with fake innocence.

“You really think someone’s gonna find the cabin just ’cause I wandered off the trail a little?”

He narrows his eyes at me, his square jaw clenching. “It’s not about the cabin, Sarah. It’s about you. They might find you.”

His words wipe the smirk right off my face.

James and Michael can be so… overprotective. No, scratch that—they’re possessive! I can’t do anything alone, not even a trip to an abandoned store without them. My little scavenging trips are limited to whatever they can see from their guard post.

Don’t even get me started on talking to strangers—it’s like I’m committing some major crime. But do I let that stop me? No way. Every chance I get, I’m out there chatting with every group we run into on the road. And the angry looks they shoot my way when I do? Totally worth it.

Still, underneath all the eye rolls and snark, I get it. James cares a lot, maybe even more than Michael, and that guy already picks on me constantly. I know I shouldn’t be arguing with James. He’s been surviving this world since it fell apart nineteen years ago, before I was even born. He’s seen everything—every ugly part of trying to survive in a world where any day could be your last.

He once told me it felt like being trapped in one of those disaster movies where the credits never roll. Not that I’d know, since I’ve never actually seen a movie. Everything I know about them comes from books.

James and his dad, Andrew Hill, spent years wandering from one ghost town to the next. Their life was basically one long, gritty road trip. But just a few months before Michael stumbled across James, his world broke in half when Andrew died, leaving him completely alone.

You can still see the sadness in his eyes sometimes. It’s part of why he always seems to be searching for more than just a safe place to crash.

He’s looking for a place to call home.

As night falls, the crackle of the fireplace fills the room. The air smells like burning wood and stew from dinner. I’m curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a book in hand. Sure, it might be almost summer, but the nights out here still get pretty cold.

I look over at the dining table, where the boys are deep into another poker game. Michael’s locked in, brow furrowed like this is the most important hand of his life. James, meanwhile, is barely hiding a smug smile behind his cards.

I have so many memories of them playing around, especially on our last day at the ranch. That was the first time I saw James totally relax, like he didn’t have a care in the world. After their card game, he found me in the garden. I was lying on the grass, scanning the sky for shooting stars, and he just stood there watching me. Neither of us said a single word. Then Michael showed up, as always, with his perfect timing. He and James started joking around, hoping a meteor would smack the other on the head. Classic boys will be boys, I’m used to it by now. But in that moment, I could see it clear as day: James felt at home.

And just like that night, his eyes find mine again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

His timing makes me smile. He always knows when I start to daydream. “Just memories.”

“Memories with me?”

“Maybe… maybe not,” I say, watching his eyes darken with jealousy.

“Who is he?”

“Someone unforgettable.”

“Careful, Sarah,” he growls, sending goose bumps through my body in all the right places. “If he’s still breathing, he won’t be for long.”

I arch a brow. “Dangerous, aren’t we?”

“And you fucking love it.” He grins, and damn it, he knows he’s right.

From across the table, Michael shakes his head like he’s the only adult in the room.

“Come play with us,” James says, his voice softer now, warming me in a way the fire never could.

“Tempting, but as much as I enjoy the sound of cards shuffling, card games have never been my thing. I’ll stick to my book.”

Books haven’t let me down yet, unless you count a paper cut every now and then as a betrayal. Plus, why play cards when I can play with fire? His fire.

James chuckles. “I need to find more books for you, then.”

“You already promised me chocolate,” I warn. “Priorities, James.”

“I’ll give you everything you want. Just tell me what and where.”

It’s the kind of thing you don’t say unless you mean it. And he always means it.

James doesn’t break eye contact, even as he casually flicks a card onto the table. The way he watches me, as if he’s tracing the lines of my body for some grand painting, makes me want to run to our room and wait for him.

How does he do that with just one look?

I lick my lips, trying not to grin, but my body’s already giving me away. Heat pools low in my stomach, and my skin prickles like it’s waiting for his touch.

I slide off the couch, letting the blanket slip to the floor, baring my legs. James’s gaze follows, and yep, I’ve got his full attention now.

As I head toward our room, I throw him a teasing look over my shoulder. “Don’t take too long. I might start without you.”

A knowing smile spreads across his face.

“I like to see that, b—”

“Hey! I can still fucking hear you two!”

I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Trust Michael to show up right when things are getting good. He’s got a sixth sense for mood-killing.

I’m still smiling, halfway to the bedroom, when a chill creeps down my spine. The usual night sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional owl vanish all at once, replaced by… something else. A sound, faint and distant, but eerie enough to make every hair on my body stand up.

I turn back toward the living room, drawn by the sound. My feet carry me to the window, and I peer out into the dark woods. Sure enough, something’s there, darting too fast for me to get a good look.

“James! Michael!” I call out, my eyes still locked on the window.

They’re just a few steps away at the dining table, but right now, it feels like miles.

“What is it?” James looks up, and the cards slip from his hands when he sees the look on my face. I’m not laughing anymore.

The room freezes when I say it.

“There.” I point a trembling finger toward the windowpane. “A shadow.”

James goes deadly serious in less than a heartbeat, and Michael grabs his machete, always within reach. It’s wild how fast they flip from joking to all business. But I guess that’s what happens when you’ve nearly met your maker three or four times in a year.

James and Michael are the glue holding my world together, so I watch them a lot. I watch as James’s eyes meet Michael’s. A single nod passes between them, and that’s an entire conversation. They talk with just their eyes, and that’s it. That’s all they need to plan their next move.

I’m different, though. I need fucking words, the louder, the better. I need someone to shout over the noise in my head and the fear crawling through my body. It’s been this way since we fled the ranch, and even after all this time on the road, I’m still the same.

We’re all huddled by the window near the still-burning fireplace, scanning the dark woods. My heart races as the moonlight starts revealing shapes—more than one, moving too quietly to be friendly.

“It’s not just one person,” Michael whispers. “There’s five… no, wait, six.”

Michael’s right. Six of them are creeping toward our cabin, their shadows long and twisted. And they’re all armed.

I fidget with the hem of my shirt, a nervous habit I can’t shake.

“You think maybe they’re just passing through?” I breathe out, but who am I kidding? We’ve never been that lucky.

“Looters,” James says firmly. “We can’t stay. Pack up, now.”

We’re moving before he even finishes the sentence, same as we’ve done a dozen times before. Michael hauls the heavy packs onto his shoulders, and I work fast to erase any sign we were here.

No footprints.

No ashes in the fire.

Just ghosts again.

I grab all the food from under the kitchen counter and stuff it into my bag. Then I snag the blankets off the couch and chairs. They’re scratchy, sure, but when your whole world has to fit in a backpack, even an old blanket feels like a luxury you can’t leave behind.

As I pack up the last of our stuff, one of James’s grim mantras echoes in my head: “Each safe place always comes to an end.”

We’ve swallowed that bitter pill more times than I can count, but it never gets easier.

I watch as James grabs the knives he’s stashed all over the cabin. Each one’s made for a different kind of trouble. He’s got big hunting knives for whatever’s lurking out in the woods, and slick ones that disappear under a jacket—perfect for when you need to stay armed without looking it.

We haven’t had handguns or rifles in a while, just knives. And knives aren’t exactly comforting when six armed people are sneaking up on us in the dark.

We pack up everything in under five minutes. It’s almost impressive how quickly we can tear down something that felt like home.

Standing by the back door, I take one last look at the little cabin that, for a while, almost felt normal. I’ll miss its old charm, those fuzzy carpets and the green curtains hanging everywhere.

“Sarah, it’s time.” James’s urgent voice cuts through my thoughts. When he gets that tone, you don’t ask questions; you just move.

I glance around the room, trying to soak it all in, even though I know we’re not coming back. My gaze lands on the vase of wildflowers I picked this morning, still fresh and bright on the windowsill. They were meant to start our day with something beautiful. Now, they’re just proof we were here for whoever finds this place next.

With a sigh, I grab the vase and toss it out the window.

“Goodbye.”

And just like that, another place becomes a memory.

We walk away from the cabin. Dad’s old compass is in James’s hand, its needle steady as ever, pointing us to… who knows where this time. His other hand finds mine, and I hold on tight, feeling the warmth of his fingers laced with mine.

I used to think home was a house with a door and windows and a roof, but now I know it’s wherever he is.

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