Page 17 of Her Remarkable Protector

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He picks at a cuticle on his finger. “What’s the plan?”

“No plan.”

He scoffs.

“You might think I always know what to do,” I say, recalling the confidence he saw in me when he found me on Wild Horse Island. “But I don’t. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

His sigh stings a little, pulling me back to my own regrets. After my parents were buried, I spent too long trying to grow up, clinging to the hope of a normal life. When my resolve to avenge my father finally returned, I wasted years looking in all the wrong places—fixated on a face etched in my memory, but without a name to go on. It would’ve been easier if I’d gone to Damon sooner, fished out Chase Samson sooner. Smarter than letting that filthy Stone fuck me. Smarter than letting him knock me up.

I love my baby—I wouldn’t trade this pregnancy for anything. But damn, things are a hell of a lot more complicated now.

“Seriously, Honor. Where are we going?” Oakley asks, his tone carrying the weight of a question I’ve heard too many times.

I don’t have a real plan—just a vague idea and even less certainty. One thing’s clear, though: I won’t make it far. Disappearing to some place quieter, like Dillon or Jackson, sounds ideal, but it feels like wishful thinking. For now, I’ll just drive and see how far I can get.

7

CHASE

I pin Dr. Jones near the nurse’s station at Great Falls Hospital. He’s a slender man with glasses perched low on his nose, and he looks like he’s already regretting agreeing to meet us.

“I told you, I can’t just hand out patient information,” Dr. Jones says. “There are protocols.”

“We’re not asking for much,” I insist, leaning slightly closer. “Just confirmation she was here. That’s all.”

When his expression hardens, I shift tactics. “Ethan, could you give us a minute?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he smooths it over. “Sure.” He steps away.

Lowering my voice, I try again. “Look, Doc, this isn’t about snooping. Honor’s safety is on the line. She’s in trouble, and I’m trying to protect her.”

Dr. Jones adjusts his glasses. “And you think I haven’t heard that excuse before?”

“This time, it’s the truth,” I press. “I introduced myself as an agent from Red Mark Rescue to get your attention. But the truth is… she’s carrying my—” The words choke in my throat. “She has severe anxiety. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

I pull out the photo Mira showed me first—the one of Honor looking down, caught in an unguarded, candid moment. Holding it out to the doctor, I muster my best act. “I took this picture. She was so happy when she found out she was pregnant. We both were. But her anxiety—” I trail off. “She kept leaving home, and I kept trying to protect her. This time, though... I really screwed up.”

Silence stretches between us, my thoughts spiraling into the gamble I’ve just taken—white lie or reckless move?

Dr. Jones pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he mutters. “But if anyone asks, this conversation didn’t happen.”

Relief floods me as I nod. “Understood.”

“She was here about a week ago,” he says. “Healthy, as far as I could tell.”

“Healthy. That’s good to hear. She’s due any day now. I haven’t forgotten.”

A trace of sympathy breaks through the doctor’s expression. “She did seem anxious,” he admits.

“Did she leave anything? An address, maybe?”

He hesitates before pulling a notepad from his pocket. “She listed this address for follow-up care. No guarantees she’s still there.”

He tears off a sheet, handing it to me. I scan the scribbled address and tuck it into my pocket. “Thanks, Doc. You’ve done more than you know.”

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