Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

CONNOR

Neil was with his mom and Bessie, and he said he'd be okay with them alone. They had things to talk about and final decisions to be made. When he left my side, he kissed me and held onto me for the longest time, and I didn't know what to do.

"I'll meet you back at the house," he said as he climbed into the SUV.

I wanted to stand, watch him go, and maybe wave at him, but I wasn't a teenager. Instead, I did the grown-up thing and walked around the corner to peek at him from where he couldn't see me. I only felt happy when his car turned onto Main, and then I was lost for what to do next.

My phone buzzed, and it was Quinn. He was the distraction I needed, and we agreed to meet at the diner. He said he had an idea he wanted to run by me, and anything that used up my brain power was a good thing.

"I've been thinking," Quinn began as soon as he sat down. He was interrupted when Merle came over with menus and coffee. "French toast, bacon, syrup, more coffee," Quinn said without looking at the menu and with the broadest grin.

"Same," I said for ease, not having the brain capacity to consider food choices. When Merle left, I doctored my coffee with cream and waited for more from Quinn.

"Yeah, so I had this idea."

"I'm listening."

Quinn had always been the type to think big—bigger than most—and his latest idea would probably be no exception.

"I've been thinking a lot about Max—last week was his birthday. And about your cousin Natalie, it got me imagining what they would have done if they'd gotten out, but unlike Rachel, they didn't have family they could go home to. Then I was doing some research, and there is a network of safe houses for them, but it's underfunded and a broken system, and there's nowhere for people who slipped through the cracks, who don't have anywhere else to turn."

He stopped when Merle delivered napkins and silverware, and they talked a bit about the weather before Merle headed over to another booth.

"Anyway, so I started scribbling some ideas for a safe place on Lennox land—creating a fully secure home, or yurts or something, with access to medical care in Whisper Ridge, maybe job training, therapy, grants … everything they need to get back on their feet. Somewhere to escape to."

I rubbed my chin, considering Quinn's proposal. His passion for philanthropy wasn't new, but this was different. It was personal to him and me, and it was needed. "Sounds like a big undertaking," I said because he needed me to be the voice of reason.

"It will be. And that's why I need you, Connor, as co-founder, as manager, and all-around good guy. You're the best person I know, and I want to work on this together. As a team, not me as your boss, it would be your project, and I'd fund it, and you'd be the one helping people to get out." He shifted in his seat. "I mean, sometimes they can't get away, you'd need to … y'know, do your SEAL stuff to get them out."

"I could do that."

"So, what do you say?"

I must have paused too long trying to find the right words to say ‘hell, yes', because he became flustered. "God, have you already got life plans to leave or something? Have I overstepped?"

I shook my head. "No, you haven't." The idea struck a chord with me. After all, helping people like Natalie out of the cults they'd been suckered into would be a cause close to my heart. Quinn's plan wasn't just about donating money—it was necessary and potentially life-saving. I found myself nodding before I even spoke. This could be something real for me.

"Tell me more."

We spent the next half hour, until he had to leave for a meeting with his lawyer, hashing out preliminary ideas. Quinn's vision was muddied with too much information, and I couldn't make sense of the big picture yet. We'd need a lot more talking because who would get these young adults out of the cults? Would we expect them to make their way to us? Or was my background going to help with that? Or my connection to my former teammate's security company? For the first time in a long time, I felt a fire rekindling inside me, fueled by the prospect of helping, protecting, and finding those who needed me.

When Quinn left, I sipped coffee, wondering how Neil's meeting was going. I wanted to tell him what Quinn had come up with.

That a future path was opening before me, and I might have a real reason to stay in Whisper Ridge and make a home with him.

Jesus, where did that thought come from?

I needed to talk to Neil.

I will.

One day.

Soon.

Neil was quiet when he returned from being with his family, which was understandable. He was content to curl up against my side on the couch as we watched a British baking show. Now and then, I'd toss out a remark about the contestants' choice of frosting or the unlikely flavors they were attempting, but none of it pulled a smile from him.

On the screen, the contestants were in the throes of the showstopper challenge, and the theme was pastry sculptures meant to resemble family pets. Yep, pets out of pastry.

"I can't believe Gerry is trying to make his cat out of the choux pastry," I commented, a laugh bubbling up as the camera zoomed in on a lopsided pastry that resembled a feline—if you squinted. "That looks more like a pile of god knows what, not their beloved Whiskers." I laughed as Gerry frantically piped more cream, his hands shaking. "He's going to need nine lives to get through the judges' critique on that one."

Neil finally chuckled, the sound warm in the quiet of the living room—it was such a nice sound. Better than nice. Perfect.

I have it bad.

"Hey, at least he's ambitious," I said. "What about Linda? Her ten-layer poodle looks like it got mixed up with a mop." The poodle-pastry's head drooped to one side, eliciting a gasp from Linda and a zoom from the camera. "Well, there it goes, the leaning tower of Poodle," I quipped. "Do you think the judges will throw it a bone for effort, or is it going to the doghouse?"

"Definitely the doghouse," Neil murmured, and I kissed his cheek.

"You've got to admire the effort," I replied, my gaze drifting back to the screen as the judges began their rounds.

"If we ever get a dog, remind me to hide the baking supplies," Neil murmured, and warmth filled me. A dog. Our dog.

As the evening wound down and a yawn escaped Neil, stretching his weariness across his face, I nudged him. " Time for bed, huh?" I suggested, standing and extending my hand towards him. He took it, allowing me to hug him close. Neil's breathing was ragged as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, and I thought I felt a sob, a soft cry that I took and held close as I encouraged him into the bedroom.

The warmth of the small house enveloped us when we moved toward the most comfortable bed in the world. As we settled under the covers, Neil was tense as he buried his face against me again.

"Tell me about your dad," I whispered into the darkness, feeling Neil stiffen at the question.

He was quiet for a long time. "He was always a good dad when we needed him, strict and sometimes too hard, but mostly fair. He wasn't always there, but then he covered a lot of territory before Collier Springs got their own office. He and mom were a unit… shit… are a unit."

"I get it," I reassured him.

"He wasn't good when I came out. Took it badly. He'd seen some stuff and assumed it wouldn't be easy for me." Neil's words trailed off when he was lost in the bad memories. "I always wanted to be a sheriff and follow in his footsteps. He thought that would never happen for me if I was out as gay."

Listening, I tightened my hold on him, stroking his back in soothing circles. "But you proved him wrong," I murmured, pride swelling in my chest for the man Neil had become.

"Yeah, I did," he replied, a note of defiance threading through his fatigue. "My dad was a strong, confident man. A good dad, really, just … not at that moment. I miss him al ready." I felt his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, the prelude to shared confidence. "When I was eight," he began, his voice a gentle thread in the stillness, "my dad did this thing."

My curiosity piqued, and I tightened my embrace, encouraging him to continue. "What?"

Neil's smile was audible in his voice. "It was my eighth birthday, and I was completely obsessed with space—all the stars, planets, the whole universe. And my dad brought an astronomer from the local college to our house, with a real telescope and everything."

"Seriously? That's amazing," I responded, impressed.

"It was," he confirmed, his tone wistful. "We set up in the backyard as dusk turned to evening. Looking through that telescope for the first time, I saw the moon's craters, Jupiter and its moons, and even Saturn's rings. It was like the universe just opened up for me."

I could almost see the awe on young Neil's face, his world expanding beyond the confines of their small town. "What did your dad say about that?" I asked, my voice low in the quiet room.

"He didn't say much then. He just stood by my side and watched. He told me later that seeing the excitement on my face was more thrilling than anything the telescope could show him." Neil's voice softened, filled with a fondness that seemed to smooth out the edges of his usual reserve.

"He sounds proud of you," I murmured.

"He was. No, he is. He's still in there, and I know he's proud." He paused for a moment. "That night, he wasn't just the tough sheriff or the disciplinarian—he was just Dad." Neil's breath was steady, and his body relaxed against mine as if the memory lent him peace.

The silence that followed was filled with our soft breathing, the night wrapping around us like a blanket. I thought about Garrett Windham, who I would never really know as the man he used to be, the indomitable force of a man who had shaped Neil for better or worse. It was a complex legacy, one Neil navigated with the grace and strength he'd inherited.

Neil's breathing evened out, the tension easing from his body.

"It's going to be okay," I whispered into the darkness, unsure if I was comforting Neil or reassuring myself.

He shifted, his hand finding mine under the covers, squeezing it gently. "Yeah, it will be," he whispered back, and at that moment, I believed it. Everything felt possible in this small, peaceful house with Neil by my side.

"Quinn talked to me today," I began, and Neil let out a soft hum to let me know he was listening. "He's thinking of working to set up a safe place for people caught up in cults. Maybe on Lennox Ranch, or maybe not, I don't know." There would be implications for the town if that was what was going to happen, and I was probably overstepping if Quinn hadn't yet talked to the town representatives, Neil included.

"Sounds good," Neil murmured, tired.

"Wants me to work with him."

"Yeah?"

"Use my skills to help people get out."

"Cool."

I wasn't sure Neil was listening, and I stroked his back. " It would mean hanging around here for a home base. Annoying you. Getting in your way. Y'know, the usual."

"I could probably handle that."

That was the best endorsement I was going to get for now.