Soon.
Before I decide that distance isn’t enough anymore.
Before I decide to solve the problem myself.
Because the truth is, he’s not a complicated man.
And men like him are very easy to remove.
I don’t want to spook her.
That’s the only reason I’ve been so patient.
He’s running out of time.
CHAPTER 29
IVY
The shift starts before I even leave the plane.
It moves through me without warning, a physical release that doesn’t wait for me to catch up. My shoulders drop as if something has unhooked from them. My lungs pull in a deeper breath than I’ve taken in days.
The tight, restless edge that followed me out of Miami loosens all at once, not fading slowly but breaking clean, like it was only ever held in place by distance.
I don’t try to understand it. My body has already decided.
By the time I step into the terminal, everything feels quieter. More settled. The noise around me fades into something in the background—something irrelevant—and the only thing that feels clear is direction.
I know where I’m going before I think about it, my steps falling into place without hesitation, without the constant second-guessing that had been running underneath everything before.
The first time I came here, every moment felt sharp. I was watching him, watching myself, measuring every interaction likeit could tip in either direction. There had been tension in it, a constant awareness of risk that made everything feel heightened and unstable.
That sharpness is gone now.
I move through the airport like I belong here, like this is a return, not an arrival.
He’s waiting exactly where I expect him to be.
There’s no searching on his part, no scanning the crowd. His attention locks onto me the second I come into view, immediate and certain, like there was never a version where he didn’t know the exact moment I would appear.
The recognition lands in my chest in a way I feel more than understand, something steady and grounding that pulls me forward without hesitation.
I don’t slow down.
I go straight to him.
He closes the distance before I can stop, his arms closing around me with a firmness that leaves no space for uncertainty.
My body folds into him instantly—the response automatic—like I’ve stepped back into a position that was already waiting. The breath that leaves me is heavier than it should be, deeper, pulled from somewhere low in my chest that had been tight for longer than I realized.
His mouth brushes my hair as he speaks, voice low, controlled, satisfied in a way that settles under my skin. “Welcome home, stray.”
The word stays.
There’s no resistance to it anymore. No instinct to correct him or push against the implication. It fits too easily, sliding into place like something that was already forming before he said it out loud.
“I’m so happy you’re here.”