Chapter 52

Chapter 52
The light coming through Jackson’s bedroom window was soft and gray, the kind of morning that blurred time and made the world feel far away. I didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not with his arms still wrapped around me, one hand resting against the curve of my hip like it belonged there. I could feel his breath at the back of my neck, warm and slow, and for a moment I just let myself float in it—this cocoon of heat, skin, and safety we’d built together last night.
My body ached in the best possible way. The soreness between my thighs wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t wrong. It was memory—tender, careful, wanted. I smiled into the pillow, a private thing I didn’t have to share with anyone, not even him.
Jackson stirred behind me. “You okay?”
I nodded before I even opened my eyes. “More than okay.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my shoulder, then another lower, slower, like he wanted to map me all over again. I turned beneath him, eyes meeting his, and for the first time in what felt like years, I didn’t feel like I had to hide.
We stayed like that until the world began to nudge at the edges. Until our stomachs grumbled, and we laughed quietly. Jackson kissed my forehead and offered me the shower first. I took it, and he joined me halfway through, all hands and teasing grins and steam. There was nothing frantic in it—just softness and skin and the kind of warmth that melted something I’d been holding onto too tightly.
And then my phone buzzed.
It was still on the nightstand beside the bed, face down and forgotten, which somehow made it worse. Jackson was toweling off in the bathroom when I picked it up, still damp and flushed and full of all the peace we’d earned.
No name.
Just a number I didn’t recognize.
And a photo.
My breath caught before I could stop it. I dropped the towel in my hand.
Jackson’s voice came from the bathroom, casual and warm. “What is it?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because the image on my phone wasn’t graphic, violent, or overt.
It was a necklace.
My necklace.
The thin silver chain I used to wear every day before Daniel yanked it off during a fight I hadn’t told anyone about. I had tucked the broken pieces into a drawer and never looked at them again. I hadn’t seen that necklace in over a year.
But there it was.
Sitting neatly on the wooden steps of Jackson’s front porch.
I hadn’t even noticed it was missing.
Jackson came out and took one look at my face before crossing the room. “Liv?” His voice sharpened as he reached for the phone. I didn’t stop him.
He went still. His jaw tightened. “Did you leave the porch this morning?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t left this room.”
He moved fast after that—pulling on jeans, grabbing his phone, already muttering something about calling Dom and having the place swept. The shift in him was immediate and complete, like watching a soldier reassemble after peacetime.
I stayed where I was, clutching the blanket like it could protect me, even though I didn’t feel afraid.
I felt violated.
This wasn’t loud or chaotic. It wasn’t messy or frantic.
It was careful. Chosen. Measured.
That scared me more.

Dom arrived in under fifteen minutes, still in sleep clothes and sneakers, his keys clutched tight in one fist. “You okay?” he asked, barely glancing at Jackson before focusing all his attention on me.
I nodded. “I think so.”
Jackson held out the phone. “Someone left this on the porch and sent her a picture of it.”
Dom’s entire body stilled. “Jesus.”
After that, they moved like clockwork. Jackson called someone he used to work with, asking for a full tech sweep—cameras, trackers, anything that didn’t belong. Dom checked the porch, the bushes, the driveway, and the locks without asking for permission. Neither of them asked me to leave the room.
But I did anyway.
I got dressed slowly, every motion deliberate, and walked barefoot to the kitchen where the morning light felt less safe than it had before.
Because now I knew someone had been that close.
Close enough to place something on the steps and vanish before we noticed.
Close enough to touch what had once hurt me and use it.
Jackson found me ten minutes later, his voice still tight with restraint. “We’re going to get everything checked. Full scan. Cameras up by this afternoon.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
But the word felt too small.
He crossed to me slowly, as if waiting to see if I’d pull away. I didn’t. He touched my back lightly, palm warm over my spine.
“We can go somewhere else if you want,” he said. “Just say the word.”
I turned to face him. “I don’t want to run. Not again.”
He looked at me for a long time. Then he nodded. “Okay. Then we stay.”

We left the house an hour later, Dom trailing behind us in a separate car, eyes sharp and silent. Jackson wanted to drive me somewhere private, somewhere quiet, but I told him I needed something different.
We went to the bookstore instead.
It was public. Familiar. It gave me ground to stand on.
The woman at the counter smiled and waved when we walked in, and I smiled back like I hadn’t just found a piece of my past left like a calling card.
Jackson hovered close as we browsed, one hand grazing mine now and then. His body was coiled beneath the denim and cotton, but his presence was a tether. I let myself breathe through it, page by page, shelf by shelf, until the tension in my shoulders began to melt.

That night, I didn’t go upstairs.
Neither did Jackson.
We curled up in the living room, me on the couch, him in the armchair beside it, our hands never quite letting go of each other.
The lights were low, the doors locked twice over, and outside, the world was still.
“I’ll stay here,” he said when I started to drift.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
I reached out and brushed my fingers over his.
He caught them gently and wrapped his around mine.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
And somehow, I believed him.
Even now.
Especially now.