Page 77 of Her Remarkable Protector

He adds, “Getting chopped into bits while you’re still breathing? It was a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And as much as I hate to admit it—I owed him for that.”

For the first time, I’m truly speechless. Words fail me, leaving only the thunderous pounding of my heart.

Chase swallows. “Honor, I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not afraid to die.” His voice comes out raspy, as if his throat has been scraped dry. “I won’t stop you from pulling the trigger. But as long as Damon Stone is breathing, you and Laramie will never be safe. Let me end this—end him—once and for all. Then, I’ll come back to you, kneeling. And you can finish it. You can end me.”

The heat of his words prickles beneath my skin, leaving an ache I can’t shake. But I don’t flinch. I won’t.

I won’t.

I won’t…

Damn those eyes.

And that body. Laramie rested against it, against him. The safest haven she’d ever known. And beyond that body lies a heart—one that beats for her.

A scream tears out of me, raw and helpless, shattering the suffocating silence.

“This is who I am now,” Chase says, his voice unsteady. “I’m not that boy who felt indebted to Damon Stone anymore. I’ve changed—but I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you, to your parents. I don’t expect you to forgive me either, but please… don’t walk away. Not now.”

To forgive is to forget. But no one forgets forever. Santa Sophia proved that. One memory, one spark—and it all comes rushing back. And when it does, what happens to forgiveness?

“Since that day, all I’ve wanted to do is lodge a bullet in your head—just like you did to my father. You. Just you. Damon Stone was a monster, yes, but at least he never hid behind kindness. But you?” My voice breaks. “You saved me because you didn’t want me weighing on your conscience.”

“You’re right about that,” he whispers, his face stricken.

“I saw him, Chase. I saw my father lying on that floor.” My grip tightens around the gun, shaking with the memory. “You told me to run, but I didn’t. I stalled when I reached the living room. I saw what you did. I saw where you’d shot him.”

“I’m sorry, Honor. I’m so damn sorry.”

I step back, tears breaking free despite my fight to hold them in. No matter what I do, it’ll feel like a betrayal. If I walk away now, I betray my father. If I pull the trigger, I take the life of a man who has given me everything.

A sob wrenches from my chest, my lungs straining with the force of it. “I’m changing my mind, Chase.”

“Honor, put the gun down. Come back to me.” His eyes pleading, his outstretched hand shaking.

His desperation pulls at me, but I keep moving, keep breaking.

I nod stiffly, forcing out the words. “I’ve changed my mind.” I’m barely holding together as every remnant of his touch, his protection, his everything crashes over me. “Don’t follow me. Don’t try to find me. You’ll never know what I’ll decide when that time comes.”

His lips part as if to keep pleading, but no sound escapes. The space between us feels infinite, like a chasm neither of us can cross.

“Goodbye, Chase Samson.”

I turn away, leaving him standing there, frozen as if this moment could hold back time—a monument to the end of us.

28

HONOR

Laramie’s wails fill the car, tiny fists flailing in frustration. I glance at her in the rearview mirror. “Baby, we’re going to see Oak. You can’t wait to see your brother, right?” My voice is as soothing as I can muster, but it doesn’t seem to register. Her cries persist, a soundtrack to the winding road.

Finally, we crest the last bend. The scenery here is like something out of a dream. A river snakes lazily through the hills, its surface catching the sunlight. The greenery stretches, stitched with wildflowers. And perched at the top of the hill, is the house, with its timber beams and wraparound porch.

Ethan is already waiting at the gate, his ATV idling. He raises a hand in greeting before motioning for me to follow. I ease in behind him as we ascend the dirt path.

We pass a group of men near the paddock, their attention on a cluster of llamas—real llamas, just like in Oakley’s stories. They’re grooming the animals, brushing and trimming with practiced efficiency.

One of the men, a burly figure with a thick beard and a sun-creased face, waves at Ethan and then at me, his gesture easy.

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