Page 55 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

“I don’t think I can make it,” she says with tears in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re strong. I’ll look for somewhere for us to get warm for a bit. I’m cold, too, but we’re going to make it.”

“I don’t know how,” she whimpers. “I think we’re out of luck. We shouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Hey, hey, no.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders. The movement causes me physical pain. I can feel my body locking up, literally freezing. “We’re not giving up.”

She doesn’t answer. Our pace has dramatically slowed, telling me we have to find somewhere to start a fire and take off the chill. After what feels like an eternity, we come across an abandoned shack. Its windows are boarded up, but it will offer shelter from the relentless wind and cold. With shaking hands, I pry open the door. The interior is musty and dark, but it’s better than freezing to death outside. It’s tiny, but that will make it easier to keep warm.

We huddle together in the blanket, our breath visible in the frigid air. “We can’t stay here long,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “They’ll come looking for us.”

Mia nods, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. “What’s the plan?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“We need to rest for a bit. Get our strength back,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Then we keep moving. We have to get as far away as possible.”

She nods again, her eyes tinged with fear but full of grit. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

I hesitate, not wanting to lie to her. “They’ll look, but we have a head start. If we keep moving, we have a chance.”

She leans into me, seeking warmth and comfort. “Noah, I’m scared,” she admits, her voice tremulous.

“I know,” I say softly, wrapping the blanket tighter around us. “But we’ll get through this.”

Chapter twenty-three

Mia

I’m a little warmer now, the cold releasing its grip on my bones as we huddle together. His warm breath mingles with mine under the blanket. It’s ridiculous that I’m counting on our breathing to keep us alive. His body shakes. I feel bad for complaining. He’s just as cold as I am.

I snuggle closer, my body seeking his warmth. Noah is silent, but I know his mind is racing—figuring out our next move—calculating every possible outcome. He has always been the planner, the strategist. I trust him with my life. So far, he’s shown he is worthy of that trust.

“I’m sorry we’re in this mess,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he responds readily, almost automatically, like he’d been prepared. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. We’ve both got baggage. Our baggage combined was a recipe for disaster.”

A part of me wishes I could simply surrender myself to the comforting illusion that we are not running for our lives, that we are just two lovers in a little cabin. I imagine myself warm and comfortable.

“We’ll have to move on soon...while the daylight lasts,” Noah says, his steady voice breaking the little daydream. I can only nod, knowing full well how crucial it is to stay ahead of our pursuers.

The brief respite has given me a little energy, but my limbs still feel heavy and sluggish with cold.

Suddenly, the sound of engines can be heard in the distance. I stiffen, eyes wide and staring into the darkness. “They’re coming!”

We can’t stay in this little cabin. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and every creak makes my heart race. We’re fish in a barrel. They’ll see the cabin and find us. My heart starts to pound in my chest as a million things run through my mind. A certain death awaits if we can’t escape.

Noah and I exchange a look, a silent agreement passing between us. We have to move. We stumble to our feet, both of us moving slowly. He pushes open the door and peers out. I can hear the engines, but they sound far away. Maybe they’re going in the other direction. Maybe we’re safe.

“Let’s go,” he whispers.

The darkness is disturbing. It confuses my sense of direction. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me.

Noah clasps my trembling hand in his, the comforting warmth a welcome protection against the chilling cold. “Follow me,” he murmurs.

We step out into the blustery wind, leaving behind the relative safety of the shack. Each gust sends a shiver down my spine as we trudge through knee-deep snow in some places. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, an erratic drumbeat.

“Do you know where we’re going?” My voice is barely audible above the wind.

“I’ve got a good sense of direction. Trust me.”

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