Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I lead Orion through the living room and down the short hallway to my bedroom. The overhead light sputters when I flip the switch, and the coziness of my bed, with its mismatched pillows and blankets, hits me in an unexpected wave of longing. This was my haven. But now, I can’t ignore the tension seizing my gut as I recall how Jason used to barge in whenever he wanted, picking fights about me “ignoring” him or not being quick enough to respond to his messages. My safe space was never truly safe with him around.
“I think there’s a photo in my nightstand,” I say, crossing the room to rummage through the drawer. My fingertips graze against old receipts, random pens, and the occasional chapstick until they land on a small, slightly bent photograph. “Here,” I add, pulling out a snapshot of Jason and me from a few months ago.
I stare at it for a moment before handing it to Orion. Jason’s arm is slung around my shoulder; I’m smiling, but the grin doesn’t reach my eyes. I remember that day. He’d been sweet earlier, buying me a little stuffed parrot from a gift shop, but that sweetness evaporated the moment he got jealous of a guy who asked me for directions. How many times did he switch from Jekyll to Hyde in the blink of an eye? I quickly shove the memory aside.
Orion takes the photo carefully, studying Jason’s face like he’s committing it to memory. I watch his brows knit together, that protective glint in his eyes intensifying. “Any more?” he asks, voice soft but firm.
I shrug, hugging myself. “I’m not sure. Maybe a couple in an old shoe box in the closet.”
“Let’s gather up everything, just in case,” he suggests, then gently places the photo on my nightstand. It feels like such a small, innocent thing, yet it carries so much of my past—one I’m still trying to fully escape.
I sift through my closet next, pulling out boxes and rummaging through old notebooks, trinkets, and birthday cards from my mom. Orion stands near the door, arms folded, quietly observing. Every so often, I look his way, grateful for his presence and the subtle sense of safety he brings just by being here.
“You know,” he says at one point, “I didn’t realize how far your bird obsession actually goes. You’ve got all these bird plushies and pictures. Where’d that interest come from?”
I pause, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve always loved animals, but there’s something about birds—their freedom, their ability to fly anywhere they want. My dad used to take me to this aviary when I was a kid, and I’d just stand there for hours, transfixed by them. I guess it stuck.”
He nods, stepping forward to help me lift a particularly heavy box, setting it on the floor with ease. “Well, it’s a noble passion. You’re doing good work with them.”
I feel a flush of warmth at his words, surprising me with how much I crave his approval. “I don’t know if it’s noble. It’s just… what I love to do,” I murmur, brushing dust off the shoebox now perched on my knees.
“You love it enough to make it your career,” he points out. “That’s something.”
There’s genuine admiration in his tone that catches me off-guard. I swallow, focusing on flipping the lid open. “So, what about you?” I ask, trying to shift the spotlight away from my own vulnerabilities. “What got you started in… well, protecting people?”
A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “I was in law enforcement. I guess once you’re used to watching your partners’ backs, it’s hard to get that out of your system. When I met Dean he offered me a job, and I wanted to use those skills in a way that felt meaningful—protecting people who need it.”
I pause, looking up at him, my curiosity piqued. “What was it like being a cop?”
His gaze hardens for a split second, as though a shutter closes behind his eyes. “Dangerous,” he answers simply. “But also eye-opening. You learn a lot about human nature, both the good and the bad.” He shifts his weight, and I sense there’s a lot he’s not saying. “It taught me discipline, taught me to trust my instincts.”
I pick up on the tension in his shoulders. “Did you… did you ever have to…?” I trail off, not sure how to finish.
“Kill people?” he says it for me, his jaw tightening. My breath catches. I hate that I’m so curious, but part of me needs to know.
“Yes.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He inhales a long, measured breath. “Yes,” he says, meeting my gaze head-on. “It’s something you never truly forget.”
A chill snakes down my spine. I search his face, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sure what else to offer. It feels inadequate, like I’m apologizing for something that was forced upon him by circumstance.