PRINCESS

CLAIRE KENT

CONTENTS

about Princess

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Excerpt from Embers

About Claire Kent

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Claire Kent. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

ABOUT PRINCESS

I GUESS I'M ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES.

When the asteroid hits and the world falls apart, I'm seventeen, and my dad buys us a place in an underground bunker. We're supposed to be safe down there, but we're not. Gradually, I lose everything until all I have left is a bewildering relationship with a stoic, unknowable man.

As one of the guards in the bunker, Grant has lurked in the background of my life for years, teaching me to defend myself, making sure I'm safe, and infuriating me by treating me like a sheltered princess in a tower. I don't even know if he likes me, even after we end up in bed together. All I know is that he's always there beside me--during the bleak half-life of the bunker and the hostile, unfamiliar world we discover when we finally come out of lockdown.

Maybe one day he'll open up. Let down his walls. And maybe eventually our days can be about more than surviving. Maybe I am one of the lucky ones, but right now all I have left in the world is him.

1

FIVE YEARS AGO

THE LAST DAY of my former life is a Friday, and I spend most of it in a fight with Melanie Brubaker.

Melanie and I have both been in Fairfield Academy since fifth grade, and we’ve always been classic frenemies. For the first half of our senior year, we’ve stayed friendly since I helped her prepare for the SATs and asked my dad to write her a recommendation to Brown. But now she’s decided that I’m making a play for her on-again, off-again boyfriend, whom I’ve known since kindergarten and is more like a brother to me than romance material. So we’ve been closing social ranks against each other for most of the day, rallying as much support for our sides as possible.

It’s not a new thing. It’s modus operandi here at Fairfield, one of the most exclusive boarding schools in the country. I find it only mildly stressful, but it’s been occupying most of my time today.

So when I return to my room after classes to change for swim practice, I’m distracted but not really in a bad mood.

I’ve only managed to take off the green jacket of my school uniform, worn over the plaid skirt and white top, when my phone rings.

The screen shows Dad, and a cold chill washes over me.

My father is the billionaire founder of a tech company, and his world revolves around work. His days are scheduled down to the minute, and for years he’s called me three times a week at the same precise times.

Any deviation from this routine means bad news. The last time it happened was when my mother died in a boating accident four years ago.

I hold the phone in both my hands, dropping into my desk chair and staring down at the word Dad.

If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling. Then he’ll contact the main office and have someone come and find me. I can’t avoid whatever he has to tell me—not for more than a few minutes.

So I finally connect the call. “Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”

“Hi, Pickle.” He’s always called me that. When I turned thirteen, I tried for months to get him to stop and use my real name, Olivia. He tried but couldn’t manage it and kept feeling bad about his failure, so finally I just resigned myself to being Pickle to him all my life. “We’ve got a crisis here.”

My father loves me. I’ve never once doubted that fact. But his manner is often brusque and businesslike, so the lack of small talk isn’t unusual.

“I figured. What’s going on?”

“You need to leave Fairfield right now. No questions asked.”

“What? Leave school? I have midterms next week—”

“I know. But none of that can matter right now. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

For the first time, I hear something else beyond the matter-of-fact timbre of his voice. He’s scared.

Scared.

It’s that recognition more than anything else that keeps me from arguing. I’m suddenly terrified too. “Okay.” My voice wobbles slightly. “Where are you? Are you sending a car to pick me up?”

“I’ve got someone there who will escort you. He’ll give you instructions. Just do what he says. Please.”

I have to swallow hard before I answer. My hand is shaking slightly. “All right. I will. Where do I meet him?”

“He’s at your door right now.”

With a gasp, I lurch to my feet and swing open the door to my room. Sure enough, there’s a man standing in the hall there. He’s big and dark-haired and unsmiling. Although he’s dressed neatly in tailored trousers and a white oxford, he still looks kind of rough. Dangerous.

He’s wearing a gun in a shoulder holster.

“What the…” I gape at the man. He’s a stranger to me.

“Please don’t waste time asking questions. He’ll tell you what to do. He’s going to bring you to me.”

“But what do I tell the school? They’re not going to just let me—”

“I’ve already handled that. Don’t talk to anyone. Just leave with Grant as quickly as you can. He won’t let anyone stop you.”

It’s surreal. The whole thing would be ridiculous if it weren’t so incredibly scary. I nod before I realize my dad would have no way of seeing the gesture. “Okay. I will.”

“I love you, Olivia. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

He used my real name. It feels like a death knell. “I love you too,” I manage to say before I end the call. Then I stand like a statue in the doorway of my room, staring down at my phone.

“We need to move,” the man says in a low, gruff voice.

I know it’s true, but it’s easier said than done. I have no idea what’s happening here, and it doesn’t feel like my feet are going to work even if I try to move them. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “I’m Olivia Vincent.”

“I know.” He takes a step toward me, and I somehow know if I don’t get going, he’s going to make me.

“And you’re Grant, I guess. Is that your first name or your last name?”

He’s got very blue eyes. I’m not sure why I notice that detail. “Last. Now move it, girl, before I carry you out of here myself.”

I’m five ten and built like a swimmer, so I’m not used to feeling small. But I do next to this man. He’s several inches taller than me, with broad shoulders and impressive muscle development I can see even through his long-sleeved shirt. “Okay. Can I get my stuff?”

He unfolds a canvas bag and hands it to me. “You can bring anything that will fit into this. Don’t bother with clothes or toiletries. Bring personal items that can’t be replaced.”

I look at the bag. Then look at my small private room. I have no idea what to put in the bag because I don’t even know where we’re going or for how long.

“Pretend there’s a fire,” Grant mutters. “What would you grab first?”

The advice helps. As does the adrenaline pumping through my body. I pick up a photo album I put together after my mom died. My iPad. A stuffed elephant I’ve had since I was three. My mom’s favorite red pashmina. My grandmother’s Bible and her old copy of Little Women, which were her most treasured items. A velvet-soft throw blanket I take with me everywhere. That fills up the space in the bag.

“My schoolbooks?” I ask, turning to look back at Grant, who’s been watching me silently for the few minutes it takes to collect all that.

“You won’t need them.” He’s taking the bag from my hands and zipping it closed. “Let’s go.”

I gasp, befuddled by how fast it’s all happening. Am I really leaving all my other stuff? My friends? I grab my favorite leather jacket from the back of the desk chair and pull it on quickly before Grant can drag me out. Then I snatch up the crocheted bag I use as a purse since surely I’ll need my ID and lip gloss.

“That’s it,” Grant grits out. “Time to move.”

He’s really quite obnoxiously bossy.

“Give me a minute to think—”

“You don’t have a minute. Everything you need will be provided, and you already got the personal shit.”

I suck in a gasp of outrage at hearing my beloved treasures referred to as shit. By any estimation, I’ve been spoiled and sheltered. Having parents with so much money will naturally do that. But I’m not a pushover. I’m used to holding my own. And I’m simply not accustomed to being walked over like this. “I have other personal shit,” I snap. “I don’t want to forget something.”

“If you haven’t thought about it yet, then it’s not that important to you. So get your ass out the door, princess, or I’ll haul you out myself.”

In most people, this would be an idle threat, but it’s not with this man. I know it for sure. I scowl at him, but I also stop stalling. I really don’t want him to toss me over his shoulder and carry me out of the building like I’m a sack of grain.

He wraps his hand around my arm to propel me out the door and down the hall. I’ve got long, slim legs, but I still have to almost run to keep up with him.

When we step outside, a group of my classmates are hanging out before soccer practice, and they stare as Grant pulls me toward a black Jeep parked illegally on the loop at the front of the school.

It’s not a regular Jeep. It looks like a military vehicle. If the gun Grant is wearing hadn’t already convinced me of the danger, this would.

It’s not discretion that keeps me from talking as I buckle up and he gets behind the wheel and drives away from the school. It’s more that I’m frozen. Trapped in fear and bewilderment. This is like a movie or a tense, bleak dream. Not my regular life.

I assumed most of my mental energy today would be spent on that silly argument with Melanie.

Then this happened.

The most I’m able to do is pull my long, wavy, blond hair back into a ponytail to get it out of my face and text my dad to tell him I’m on my way. It’s eight minutes before he texts back a Good.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask into the silence of the vehicle.

“Airport.”

I roll my eyes at this unhelpful response, but I’m not comfortable enough to press for more.

It’s not that I think this man will hurt me. My father doesn’t let anyone into our orbit without first vetting them within an inch of their life. Rather, it’s that Grant has given me no sign that he’s open to questions or conversations.

I’m not a shy person. My early years were spent interacting mostly with adults, and I’ve always been naturally outgoing. I can go up to anyone and have a conversation, and it helps that I’m used to being sought after because of my father’s wealth and position.

Most people I talk to want to be talking to me, but this fierce, silent man obviously doesn’t. He doesn’t even seem to acknowledge me.

I do manage to study him covertly. His age is hard to guess—somewhere in his twenties or thirties. He probably shaved this morning, but there’s already a hint of stubble on his square jaw. He’s got heavy, dark eyebrows. His thighs are thick and strong, molded by the fabric of his trousers. His eyes never stop moving, scanning the road in front of us but also behind and to the sides, as if he’s expecting us to be followed.

Or to be attacked.

There’s a kind of carnal power coiled inside his big, tense body. I’ve never experienced anything like it. In a different situation, I might have found it exciting, but I don’t have enough emotional bandwidth for that kind of response right now.

Fairfield Academy is located outside DC, and it takes about twenty minutes to reach a small local airport used mostly for shipping where my dad’s private jet is waiting. Grant isn’t any more talkative as we board the plane and take off. Once we’re in the air, I wander toward the cockpit, but it isn’t Rick, my father’s normal pilot, at the controls. The man isn’t any more forthcoming than Grant, so I give up and slump into my seat, glowering in Grant’s direction.

He appears oblivious to it, so the expression soon loses its appeal.

“Where are we heading now?” I ask after a while.

He lifts his eyes from his phone and just looks at me.

“Can’t you even tell me the state? The region? The country?”

“Kentucky,” he says at last.

I blink.

My father has property all over the globe, but I’ve never been aware of any holdings in Kentucky. “What’s there?”

“Nothing. That’s the point.”

I’d almost he rather say nothing than pronounce these confusing riddles and then provide no explanation or follow-up.

I really don’t like this man. Hopefully after he gets me to my destination, I’ll never have to see him again.

Deciding not to give him the satisfaction of recognizing my frustration, I pull out my favorite throw blanket and wrap it around me, folding my legs up and reclining my seat.

I’m not tired, but there’s something comforting about being covered to the chin by the soft fabric. And right now there’s no other comfort to be had.

We’re about two hours in the air, and by the time we land, I’m in a weird tense haze. I follow Grant off the jet and into the waiting vehicle—it also looks military grade—and don’t bother saying a word.

We drive for about an hour. He wasn’t kidding when he said there was nothing around here. It’s clearly a rural region with only the occasional small town off the highway. A lot of farmland and pastures and otherwise just rolling, wooded hills.

When the car slows down, I straighten up and peer around. A mechanized gate is opening in front of us, and we’re driving onto a piece of property surrounded by a high, electric fence. The road is gravel and runs through thick woods for several minutes until we reach an odd building.

It’s cylindrical and very large with a flat roof and no windows. There’s one enormous garage-style door, and it opens, allowing us to drive in.

“What the hell?” I breathe, staring around.

There are a lot of vehicles parked inside. Plus a couple of prop planes and what looks like a military tank.

I’m still staring, trying to figure out what’s going on, when Grant opens my door and pulls me out and onto my feet. He puts a hand on my back and guides me toward a central structure in the middle of the garage.

Guiding is too gentle a word. He’s pushing me more than anything else.

My feet fall in line. We reach two armed guards who don’t question us. They obviously know Grant, and they step out of the way so he can propel me into what I discover is a large elevator.

I’ve read enough books and seen enough movies to now understand where we are. “This is some sort of underground bunker? A fallout shelter or something?”

He slants me a look I can’t interpret. I don’t know him well enough to read the subtleties of his expressions. “Former missile silo. It’s been converted.”

“What’s happening? Is World War III about to start?” I have no idea how I manage to sound calm. My heart is hammering painfully in my throat, and I can barely feel my hands.

“Not that. But it could be just as bad. Your dad will explain. He told me not to say anything.”

Well, that makes his silence a little less annoying. If he has instructions from my father, then he’s not likely to ignore them.

Everyone in the world (except occasionally me) does what my dad tells them.

The elevator looks like something out of Star Trek, and we descend several floors until the doors open. I expect a bunker to be gray and bleak and sterile, but the room we enter isn’t anything like that.

It looks like a luxury apartment. Polished floors. Art on the walls. Elegant, minimalistic furnishings.

My father has been waiting in a leather chair. He gets up and hurries over to pull me into a hug.

I hug him back. Of course I do. My whole body starts to shake.

“I’m so sorry to scare you like this, Pickle. We just didn’t have much time and couldn’t risk you talking to anyone.”

“What’s happening? It’s not nuclear war?”

Grant has retreated to a corner near the elevator entrance, but he hasn’t been dismissed yet, so he clearly can’t leave. I’m barely aware of him at the moment. All my attention is on my father and whatever disaster is on our doorstep.

My father, bless him, never wastes time or fiddles around. “Have you heard about that asteroid that’s making a close call with Earth?”

I blink. Frown. Search my mind. “I… I don’t remember. Maybe.” I rarely pay attention to the news or current events.

“There’s a large asteroid heading toward us. They thought it would be a near miss, but they were wrong. They’re pretty sure now it’s going to hit us.”

“Where? Here?”

“In Europe. We don’t have the technology to stop an asteroid that size. They’ll try, but there’s nothing they’ll be able to do. It’s going to hit Europe. They’re predicting it will wipe out most of the continent and have a devastating effect on the entire world, even over here in the US.”

“An asteroid?”

“Yes. It will do an incredible amount of damage, maybe for years to come. It’s not going to hit for a month or two, but the news will become public later today, and there’s likely to be mass panic. Civil unrest. All kinds of violence. So now’s the best time to hunker down. Here where it’s safe.”

This isn’t the kind of news that can be processed quickly or clearly. It sits in my mind, untouched, as I ask the most inconsequential things first. “Did you know it was coming earlier? Is that why you built this bunker?”

He shakes his head. He’s a lean, balding man in his fifties. I know other people find him attractive, but he’s never been anything to me but my dad. “I didn’t build it. I bought into it about fifteen years ago, along with dozens of other families, just in case something like this were to happen. There’s about two hundred of us down here. We won’t be alone, and we’re stocked up and prepared. It will be a community. We’re waiting for a few more stragglers, but then they’ll be locking us in. We’ll be safe here. I promise.”

I gulp. Twist my hands together. “And everyone else? All my friends?”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, shaking his head. “I really am. But we can’t save everyone.”

My lips part. I stare. I simply can’t take it all in. “How… how long?”

“We have no idea. It might be a long time if things get really bad after the asteroid hits. We’ve got enough supplies for at least five years.”

“Five…” For some reason, I glance back toward Grant as if he might provide some sort of answers. “But I have midterms. And the big meet next weekend.”

Maybe it seems silly to mention such things, given the situation, but the next year of my life has already been planned out. I graduate in a few months with good grades and excellent extracurriculars. Then I turn eighteen in July. And in the fall I’ll be going to Yale. There’s never been doubt about any of that.

“It might not be five years. We’ll be able to monitor conditions on the surface, so if it’s safe or if it’s not as disastrous as we fear, then we’ll open up and come back out and you can finish school like you planned. But this is real. This is exactly the kind of disaster this bunker was built for, and it’s happening right now. My most important job is to keep you safe, so that’s what I’m doing.”

My eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I don’t do anything but clutch at the strap of my crochet bag with trembling hands.

“I understand how upsetting it is, and we can talk about it more. I promise. We’ll have plenty of time to process all of it. But I’ve got to take care of some things right now, and we don’t have much time until they lock us down. So Grant is going to show you around and make sure you’re settled in your room.”

“Who even is he?” I ask, glancing back at the stoic man behind us.

“He’s one of the guards here. He’s been assigned to us today. So please just let him show you around. We’ll talk more later.”

I lick my lips and nod at my dad, who takes the brief gesture as acquiescence. He comes closer to kiss my cheek and then disappears onto the elevator, leaving me alone with Grant.

“This is yours and your dad’s apartment,” he says. He sounds milder than he did before we got here, so maybe he’s not always so gruff and pushy. “There are three other apartments on this floor. They’re the biggest in the facility. Other levels have between six and ten.”

“How many levels are there?”

“Eighteen. Since it was an old missile silo, it’s basically an underground cylinder. In addition to the living spaces, there are community areas. A schoolroom for the kids. A clinic. A library. A movie theater. A bowling alley. A gym. A swimming pool.”

“A pool?”

He nods. “The whole thing is built to be completely self-sustaining and off the grid with backup solar generators in case anything happens to our main power system. We’ve got our own water and air-filtration systems. And a hydroponic garden and tanks of cultivated tilapia, so we’ll be able to eat even if our supplies run out. I can show you everything, but do you want to see your room first?”

I nod. There’s nothing I can think of to say.

My room is large and lush—like a five-star hotel—and it’s stocked with clothes and personal items. There are even windows that display a projected landscape scene, which makes it feel less like it’s underground.

“It’s nice,” I say since it feels like Grant is waiting for me to say something.

“Yes. It is.”

“Where’s your apartment?” There’s no particular need for me to know this, but I’m curious anyway.

“Staff is housed on level twenty. I’ve got a decent room. And no complaints.”

He didn’t buy his way into this bunker like my dad and the other residents did. He’ll have to work for it. But still… he’ll be a lot safer than most of the rest of the world if things get bad the way my dad thinks they might.

“How did you even get this job?” I ask him. “I’d think there would be a lot of competition for a place in this bunker.”

“I was recommended by my former commanding officer. I had no idea what it was until I got here. For obvious reasons, it’s been kept pretty quiet.”

“Oh.” I put my bag down on the small desk. I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do now.

“Do you want the tour now? Or do you want a minute or two to pull yourself together?”

I give him a little frown since I don’t appreciate the implication that I’m not already pulled together. Surely I’ve handled this as well as anyone else would have. “I’m fine. And it’s going to take more than a minute or two to process all this.”

“I’m sure.”

“How long have you had?”

“I’ve had this job for just over a year, but it was mostly training and preparation for a future event that might not even happen. I’ve known we’re locking down today since this morning.”

He’s had a little more time than me to adjust. But not much.

“Okay.” I glance at my phone, which has slid out of my bag. It reminds me of all my friends. Still at school. No idea what’s going to be happening. With a shaky breath, I whisper, “So we’re really going to leave everyone else up there to die?”

He looks at me for several seconds before he replies. “They won’t all die. Since the asteroid is hitting the other side of the world, folks here will have a chance to make it, and my guess is everyone in Europe will be getting out of there fast. We’ll have a big advantage down here, but that advantage won’t last forever. If things fall out the way I think they will, eventually survival won’t be about who has more money. It will be about who’s tough enough to survive in the new world.”

I really can’t believe I’m having this conversation. This morning I was so pissed at Melanie Brubaker for treating me like a boyfriend-stealing bitch.

“The new world?” I repeat. “So you think the old world isn’t going to make it? What if it’s not as bad as they think?”

I’ll never forget the look in his eyes and the thickness of his voice when he tells me. “I think the asteroid is definitely going to hit, and by tonight everyone on the planet will find out. Which means the world as you know it is already gone.”

2

TWO YEARS AGO

ON ANOTHER FRIDAY, I wake up at five thirty without an alarm, the same way I’ve done nearly every day for the three years I’ve lived in the bunker.

I’ve woken up early most of my life for morning swim practices, and it’s the best time to use the pool without interruption or distraction. I feel heavy this morning, like my body doesn’t want to move, so I sit on the side of the bed, rubbing my face and staring at the artificial window on the wall. Earlier this month, I changed the projected scene to a beach, so it shows a morning sunrise with waves lapping gently on the sand.

It’s fake, so the scene only provides a small degree of comfort. I haven’t seen the real sun and sky in thirty-six months, but the projection is better than nothing. Better than a blank wall.

I try not to spend too much time feeling sorry for myself. After all, if I wasn’t in this bunker, I’d either be dead or eking out a treacherous existence. We had communications down here for several months after lockdown, so we know what happened to the world before and after the asteroid hit.

Unimaginable death and destruction. From the initial impact. From the way the mass exodus out of Europe threw global politics and economy into chaos. From the devastating effects on the climate. From food shortages. From one natural disaster after another.

Whoever has survived up there is in much worse shape than we are, so I’m not going to begrudge my relative safety down here even if it leaves me aching for the warmth of the sun. The wind on my skin. The smell of salt in the beach air.

I only let myself sit, hunched and brooding, for a few minutes. Then I push myself to my feet, go to the bathroom, pull my hair into one tight braid, and put on my suit. I grab a towel, my swim bag, and a bottle from my refrigerator—sanitized and refilled with filtered water—before heading out into the hallway and toward the closest elevator.

I don’t live in the huge apartment my father originally bought for us anymore.

It’s always quiet at this time in the morning. Most shifts don’t start until seven. I make it down to the pool level without encountering anyone else, and the first person I see at all today is Grant, who’s finishing up his morning laps as I drop my towel and bag and bend over to get out my goggles. I wore out all my swim caps months ago, and there was nothing to replace them.

As I drop into the cool water, Grant pauses on the other side of the pool, giving me a polite nod and saying, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” I reply.

That’s the extent of our conversation almost every day. He must get here around five because he always finishes up before I’ve completed my five hundred warm-up. Afterward, he goes to the gym next door to lift weights, but I don’t bother doing that. Swimming is enough exercise for me.

Sometimes I think about asking Grant a question. Sharing a friendly anecdote. Giving him a compliment on his freestyle. Anything to start a conversation. I haven’t gotten close to anyone in the bunker, but most people seem to like me. At least, they’re willing to smile and chat when I run into them. Even the people who creep me out and that I try to avoid say more to me than Grant does.

Since the day he introduced me to this place, the longest conversation we’ve ever had was when he asked if I’d be willing to move out of my dad’s apartment.

My dad died in his sleep a little over a year ago. I said good night to him one evening, and the next morning he was dead. The doctor wasn’t sure what happened. Probably a heart attack. They weren’t willing to use their finite medical resources on investigating a natural death, no matter how sudden.

The reason didn’t matter to me then, and it doesn’t now. All that matters is that I’ve lost my dad.

A few weeks after he died, Grant stopped by to ask what I thought of the idea of moving into a smaller place. After all, I was only one person now with the largest unit in the whole complex. Grant was surprisingly gentle as he asked. He explained there were always rumblings of discontent, and moving would be a generous gesture that would stave off resentment against me from people who had less. He explained that if I didn’t want to leave my dad’s apartment, they would do everything they could to hold it for me, but he thought it would be smart to swap with a large family who was crammed into a small unit.

Of course I switched. I had no desire to live in such a vast, empty space—all of it haunted by memories of my dad. My new place is a small one-bedroom. It’s perfectly nice, and I’m always pleased to see how happy the Johnsons—parents, five children, two sets of grandparents—are in the big apartment.

Grant nodded after I agreed to move. Muttered, “Thank you. Your father was a good man. I miss him.”

That was the longest conversation I’ve had with the man in three years.

As always, I decide not to force conversation on a man who clearly isn’t interested in it, and I let him leave without a word. I swim until quarter after seven, and then I return to my apartment to shower and dress.

From there, I head to the community level to get my breakfast pack from the main kitchen. Today it’s a small round tomato-and-zucchini omelet made with dehydrated eggs and served with a piece of toast.

It’s fine. We’ve had some problems with our tilapia tanks, but our gardens are still going well. We’re fortunate to have so many fresh vegetables.

I eat my breakfast as I wander down to the main administrative offices. Most people aren’t allowed to just stop by without an appointment, but my father always did, and no one objects if I do too.

Dave Kenney is the developer and manager of the bunker project. He’s a friendly, laid-back man in his fifties. The kind of guy I always mentally label a “good ole boy.”

When I walk into the administrative suite, he’s hanging around in the sitting area, talking to a few others. Martha, his assistant. Grant, who finished his morning workout and changed into gray trousers and a black T-shirt. And Dr. Willoughby, who was a climate scientist in his former life and is responsible for monitoring conditions on the surface to see when it’s safe to come out of lockdown.

I hear a snippet of conversation as I open the door and step in. They’re talking about the air quality outside. The asteroid threw up huge amounts of dust and debris, blocking the sun for a while and filling the air with pollution. Just breathing that air would be dangerous. Not enough to kill someone instantly, but certainly bad enough to destroy lungs and eventually lead to death in all but the strongest and luckiest. The knowledge of that has stifled most of the rumblings from the residents here about coming out of lockdown.

“It’s getting that much better?” I ask, having overheard enough of the conversation. “The air out there?”

Dr. Willoughby doesn’t hesitate in sharing the information with me. “It’s a lot better. Still polluted but making progress. If it keeps improving at this rate, the air will probably be safe to breathe without health problems in less than a year.”

“Wow.” I turn my eyes to Dave. “Will we come out then?”

“I don’t know. It’s still not safe on the surface. The natural disasters have started to calm down as far as we can tell, and the air won’t be an issue. But we’re pretty sure there’s no recognizable civilization left. Governments toppled. It’s like the Wild West out there. Maybe even worse. Even if the planet won’t kill us, other people might, especially if they find out the kind of resources we have down here. Coming out of lockdown will be a long, complicated discussion.”

I nod, understanding all of this. I’d love to breathe fresh air again. See the sun and sky. But if it’s safe down here and it’s not up there, it would be foolish to leave before we have to.

I’ve been in an emotional slump since my father died, and I’ve had a hard time shaking it. My days seem to lay out in front of me like a bleak, gray, endless road—with no detours or rest stops—but it still feels like that’s better than being dead.

Glancing over toward Grant, I wonder what he thinks about all this. He’s been looking at me. I can tell even though his eyes move away as soon as I turn in his direction. Sometimes I wonder what he’s thinking. He’s such a hard man to read.

And it bugs me that he doesn’t even seem to like me.

I chat for a few more minutes with Dave and Dr. Willoughby, and then it’s time for me to head down the hall toward the coffee bar for my morning shift.

We do have coffee in the bunker. It’s one of the absolute essentials that was stockpiled in advance. But we have a limited supply, so it can’t be a free-for-all where people drink three or four cups (or more) a day. We’re each rationed out one cup a day, and the only place to get it is the coffee bar.

I do a shift working there from nine to noon every day.

For the first year after lockdown, things were pretty much status quo down here. The residents enjoyed the privileges that came with their investment, and the staff handled all the work. But during the second year, a virus hit the bunker. No one knew exactly what it was or where it came from. The air-filtration systems and ventilation were supposed to prevent airborne disease. Whatever it was, it killed thirty-nine of the two hundred in the facility in less than two weeks. It was a huge hit to our sense of safety and security. We lost a lot of staff, and the ones left couldn’t cover all the jobs. So my dad and a couple of others worked with Dave to develop a proposal for dividing up the tasks required to keep all our systems running. It took a lot of pressure off the staff, and there are enough of us to share the duties that people only need to work half days.

Some of the more selfish and entitled among the residents complained, but Dave keeps a pretty firm hand on the community. People who refused to work didn’t get to use the recreation facilities, so eventually even the whiniest among us caved.

I cover late mornings at the coffee bar, and I take care of keeping the pool clean and its water levels healthy. They’re both easy jobs. I could do a lot more. But any time I mention that, I’m told there’s nothing else that needs doing.

I fix a new pot of coffee to prepare for the midmorning rush. A lot of people stop by for a cup of coffee with their small morning snack. Then I sit on a stool and serve those who come by, chatting for a few minutes with everyone except the few men who give me the creeps.

Everyone is happy to talk to me.

No one stays very long.

The coffee bar is in a corner of the main community floor next to the lounge and down the hall from the movie theater, library, and the game room. There are always people hanging out, enjoying their downtime or looking for companionship. I watch groups. Families. Couples.

And wonder why it is I don’t have anyone.

My dad died. There’s nothing to do about that. And, unlike almost everyone else, I didn’t have any other family down here. But over the past three years, I’ve watched people hook up over and over again—sometimes casually and sometimes in long-term partnerships. I’ve seen married couples break up and then pair with new people. When we locked down, there were only six other teenagers around my age. Two died from the virus, three are girls, and the one guy my age is named Ben. I kind of liked him. I wasn’t crazy about him or anything, but he was nice and cute enough. For a while, I thought he might be interested in me. I definitely wouldn’t have turned him down. But last year he got together with one of the other girls.

I’m twenty now. I could go for an older man if I wanted. There are very few unattached men, however, and even fewer in an appropriate age range for me.

The only man down here I find really attractive is Grant, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t even like me.

Which is fine. I don’t much like him either. But it’s hard not to notice how hot he is when I’ve been alone for so long and no longer have even the slightest hope for a boyfriend.

I used to like to read romance novels, but I don’t anymore. They were making me want things I can’t have, and that made me too unhappy. Now I mostly read cozy mysteries.

We’ve had a few suicides over the years. Not enough for it to be an epidemic, but definitely more than was normal in our old lives.

People are doing their best to make a life down here. I’m doing my best. But it always feels like we’re in a holding pattern, waiting for the world to get better. We don’t belong down here with nothing but manufactured surroundings. We were made to feel the grass and the wind and the sun beating down on our skin. We were made to hear birds sing and to plant gardens and to scratch a dog behind its ears. We were made to not be trapped in an underground prison even if it’s the only thing keeping us safe.

Some people can’t take it. I understand the impulse, although I never considered taking that step even right after my father died. I’m not sure why. It’s just that I want to live.

I want to survive long enough to live a life better than this.

As we get toward noon, the coffee bar empties out because most people are focused on lunch. Ben, the one guy my age, stops by shortly before my shift ends.

He works in the hydroponic garden in the afternoons, and he’s been hanging out in the game room this morning. He grins and waves when he sees me, and he makes a detour to say hi.

He asks about my morning swim and about what I think will be for lunch today. I ask him about his girlfriend, Tara, and he tells me things are going well.

“You should get you one,” he teases with his warm grin.

I give a huff of dry laughter. “A girlfriend? Maybe. But honestly I’ve always gone for guys.”

“Then get a boyfriend.”

“I would, but where exactly would I find one?”

Ben’s expression changes. “Ah. Yeah, that is kind of a problem. But you’ll have your pick once we ever get out of here.”

“Yeah.” I say it to be polite. Not because I believe it.

“Are you upset about it? Do you get lonely?” His brown eyes widen in evident surprise. “You always seem to be perfectly fine on your own.”

“I am fine. But I’m not going to lie. It would be nice to have someone.”

“Yeah, I guess so. And I’m sure you will. You’re so pretty and such a great person. To tell you the truth, I might have made a move on you if it hadn’t been clear I wasn’t supposed to.”

As he’s talking, I notice Grant come down the hallway from the offices and head toward the main kitchen. He usually stops by at this time to pick up a packed lunch. Dinner is the only meal he eats at the community tables.

There’s nothing noteworthy about his appearance just now, although I do see him glancing over toward me briefly. He usually nods, and I’ll give him a little wave of acknowledgment. Nothing really. Just noting the other’s existence. When he sees me talking to Ben, he turns his head away as he’s nodding, like he thinks the gesture might interrupt my conversation. So I don’t even have the chance to wave at him.

The whole interaction consists of less than five seconds, but it distracts me enough from Ben’s words that it takes me a minute to process what he said. He’s already changing the subject, mentioning again how he’s hungry today and looking forward to lunch, when my mind catches up.

“What?”

Ben frowns. “What, what?”

“What did you say? Something about how you weren’t supposed to make a move on me?”

“Yeah. That was the understanding I always got.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” He makes a facial expression that’s as good as a shrug. “Just around. Everyone seems to know it.”

My heartbeat has accelerated. My cheeks are heating up. I’m breathing faster as I stare at his innocently bewildered face.

Like he can’t believe I didn’t already know this obvious fact.

“Everyone knows they’re not supposed to make a move on me?”

“Y-yes. It’s been like that for a while. Are you upset or something?”

I stare at him, suddenly terrified that I’m on the verge of exploding.

Exploding from something.

I haven’t been genuinely angry in almost a year. I’m not sure why. It just feels like I don’t have enough energy or emotional momentum left for anger. I’ve felt irritable regularly but not truly angry.

Not until right now.

It’s so foreign to my existence lately that I almost don’t recognize it as it swells, rises, fills me.

“I figured you knew,” Ben goes on, looking concerned. “I thought you kind of wanted the word out there so you wouldn’t get endlessly pestered. And that when you decided who you were interested in, you’d just ask.”

He’s so sweet and so clueless that I almost want to laugh, but I’m too distracted by the hot outrage pulsing inside me.

“I didn’t know,” I tell him, realizing he needs a response or he’ll keep checking if I’m all right. “I figured no one was interested.” When I see he’s about to object to this statement, I continue, “It’s fine. No big deal. There’re not a lot of options down here anyway.”

“That’s for sure.” He shrugs and smiles when he sees Tara, his girlfriend, approaching. “But it seems like our hearts adapt to circumstances and we end up falling for the people around us, whoever they are.”

It’s a surprisingly insightful comment, but I don’t have a chance to respond because he’s saying goodbye and walking over to meet Tara. Just as well. I’ve got too much to think about right now, and none of it involves Ben.

Someone put the word out that I wasn’t to be hit on or pursued. Maybe it was my father, trying to protect me, but it doesn’t really seem like him. He never tried to stop me from dating. After my mom died, he always told me, as awkward as it was, that I could talk to him about sex or boys or relationships. This underhanded strategy doesn’t feel like something he would do.

Plus it clearly continued a year after he died.

Which leaves who?

There’s only one viable option. It has to be Dave and the rest of the leadership in the bunker. No one else would have the authority to enforce that kind of prohibition.

In general, they let residents do whatever they want with their personal lives as long as no one gets hurt, it doesn’t use up resources, and it doesn’t take advantage of anyone underage. But I’m twenty now. An adult by any standard. And yet somehow I’ve been made off-limits.

The anger grows as I process this new knowledge. It intensifies even more until I’m sure it’s going to burst right out of me.

I’m only half-aware as Mindy Green arrives to take my place at the coffee bar. My shift is over, which is just as well. I’m not sure I could focus on pouring coffee at the moment. I manage to entertain a brief, distracted conversation with Mindy before I’m allowed to leave.

It feels like fate.

The first person I see is Grant, striding away from the kitchen with his lunch pack. Our paths cross in the hallway.

His eyes move toward me in automatic assessment, but I see his face change as he processes my appearance. “What’s wrong?” he asks in a gravelly voice, jerking to a stop.

I almost choke. This kind of anger is so unfamiliar to me lately that I hardly remember what I’m supposed to do with it. “How dare you?” I manage to spit out.

“What?” He’s clearly baffled by my attack. Always practical, he glances up and down the hall. It’s filling up with more people, coming and going to the kitchen for lunch. He wraps his fingers around my upper arm and gently pulls me into the empty library, which is the closest door to where we’re standing. He closes the door behind us. “What’s the matter?” His vivid blue eyes search my face urgently, his body tensing as if preparing for a crisis.

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” I have to clear my throat since emotion is filling it. “How dare you and Dave and everyone else do this to me?” I want to lash out physically. Shake him. Pound on his chest. Something visceral to express my fury. I don’t, of course. I’m not a violent person. “I’m not a child, and I’m not a princess in a tower. You can’t treat me like one.”

I see the recognition dawn on Grant’s face. It washes over the urgency, replacing it with something like caution. “What happened?” he asks in an almost gentle tone.

The gentleness feels like a slap in the face. “What happened is I found out that Dave put out the word that no one was supposed to get close to me. How could he do that? How could you let him?”

Grant has no authority over Dave. He appears to be in his confidence, but he’s definitely not in charge. I’m not sure why I assume Grant could have done something to stop this, but it feels like a betrayal nonetheless.

Grant takes a slow breath. I can see his shoulders rise and fall. “Dave didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, he did. No one else could have made this happen. I know it was Dave, and it was absolutely heartless.”

“He didn’t. I did.” His jaw is tight. His stance is tense. It looks like he’s bracing himself for an attack.

And no wonder. I stare at him, panting and nearly blinded by the fiery emotions clouding my vision. I finally manage to rasp, “W-what?”

“I did it. It was my idea. Not Dave’s.”

It’s not what I could have expected, and so my feelings are slow to catch up. “But… but… why… how could you…?”

Damn it, tears are filling my eyes. They always do when I get too angry.

I’ve never been close to Grant. We aren’t even friendly. I’m not sure why my instinct is always to believe he’s on my side.

“I’m sorry if it hurt you, but I’m not sorry for doing it. We’re responsible for protecting you, and this was the best way I could think of to do it.”

“I don’t need protecting like that!” For the first time, my voice rises. “Why me and no one else?”

“Because you’re entirely alone now.” He sounds like he might be getting angry too—but not a wild, fiery feeling like me. His voice is low and gritty and indignant. “You don’t have your father anymore. You don’t have any other family. You don’t have a partner. You’re young and beautiful and vulnerable and alone. I can’t guard you twenty-four hours a day to make sure you stay safe.”

I’m very briefly distracted by the way he called me beautiful, but it’s not enough to divert my outrage. “I don’t need to be guarded. I’m an adult, and we’re not living in caveman times.”

He reaches out to hold on to my upper arm again. He’s not squeezing. It doesn’t hurt. It seems like the gesture is mostly to hold my attention. “You don’t seem to understand this yet, but we’re not living in the world we used to know. Dave and I are trying to hold off the decline as much as possible, but the more precarious our circumstances, the less civilized people are going to act. So last year after your dad died, yes, I made the best decision I could to keep you safe. Better for men to understand you’re off-limits than for there to be a free-for-all to get you.”

His words make a certain kind of sense. I know very well that the world down here isn’t the world we came from, but it doesn’t feel that dangerous. People still mostly act like people. Not animals. But the logic of his words slices into my fury. I picture the eyes of those men who have always creeped me out. I take a step back, forcing him to loosen his grip on my arm. “It’s not… it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Not yet. But it’s getting worse. We put out a lot of fires we don’t publicize. The old rules that held our society together are pulled so thin now that it doesn’t take much to snap them. So yes, I acted in a heavy-handed manner that wasn’t entirely fair to you. And I wish I hadn’t had to do it. But we’re not in a world where an unprotected woman can live on her own and be safe. Even down here. You would have been too big a temptation, and not everyone would have cared about your consent. Things are changing and not for the better.”

His words and his tone and his expression are intense, almost fierce, and it cools off the rest of my anger like a wave.

What I’m left with is a formless anxiety that makes me tremble. I hug my arms to my chest.

I want my dad so much my shoulders shake.

“Shit, please don’t cry.” He reaches out like his first instinct is to comfort me, but he drops his hand before it touches me.

“I’m not crying,” I tell him, speaking mostly the truth. I clear my throat and take a raspy breath. “Okay. I guess I kind of get it. I’ve still felt safe here, but maybe that was ignorance more than security. But you’ve ensured that I’ll never be anything but alone. How can I ever find a partner and be less vulnerable if you’ve made sure no one will ever dare to get close to me?”

He blinks. It’s one of the few unguarded responses I’ve seen from him. “Is there someone you’re interested in? If there is, let me know, and I’ll make sure he knows it’s okay.”

There isn’t anyone I’m interested in. Not even Ben anymore. It’s more the principle than the practicalities at stake here.

But maybe I’m grasping for trivialities when the stakes are actually life and death. Maybe I really am the foolish, spoiled princess I’ve tried so hard not to be.

“I don’t like any of this,” I whisper. It feels like an admission. Like a risk.

“I know,” he murmurs, more gravel in his soft voice. “I don’t either.”

It takes me a minute to pull myself together. I breathe deeply. Tighten my arms across my chest. Close my eyes and try to get back to the bleak, calm stupor I’ve been living in for the past year. It wasn’t good, but it was basically safe.

It doesn’t come back.

It won’t return even as I mentally reach for it.

Grant said earlier that I’m entirely vulnerable, and that’s exactly how I feel right now. Like I’m perched on a ledge, threatened with a devastating fall in every direction. I can’t live like this. I have to do something to answer it.

“Can I ask a favor?” I’ve thought of something and need to say it before I chicken out.

Grant has been quietly waiting for me to pull myself together. He straightens up at my question. “Of course. What do you need?”

“Can you teach me how to defend myself?”

He studies me closely without answering immediately.

“Please? I don’t like feeling this way. I don’t want to be this vulnerable. But I don’t know how to shoot a gun or punch someone or get away if someone grabs me. Can you teach me? Please?”

I don’t know why he hesitates. It seems like something he’d want me to learn. My being stronger would certainly make his job easier. I’m relieved when he finally gives a slow nod. “Yes. I’ll teach you.”

“Good.” I give him a little scowl, feeling more like myself than I have for ages. “It’s the least you can do after ruining all my dating prospects.”

I meet Grant at seven thirty that evening at the shooting range. He’s got a small gun picked out for me already, and he shows me the basics of using and taking care of it. I don’t get very far in our first lesson, but I do manage to pull the trigger and hit the general vicinity of a target.

Then we go to a private room the guards use for drills. Grant lays down a mat and starts teaching me self-defense.

I want to jump into some actual moves, but he thinks it’s better to start with a strong foundation of fighting skills. So we spend forty-five minutes practicing basic punches, blocks, and kicks.

I’m in great shape from swimming, but this is repetitive and tiring, and it doesn’t feel like I’m getting anywhere. When I mention this, Grant asks me curtly if I thought I could learn an entirely new skill in one sitting.

Of course he’s right.

But this is going to take forever. And all that time learning, I’m going to have to be in close quarters with Grant.

He’s polite and businesslike through most of it. There’s nothing friendly or soft about his behavior. But I have the strangest reaction to being this close to him.

I can’t think of anything but his body. He’s wearing old sweats and a white T-shirt, and the more we work the sweatier he gets. It doesn’t bother me. I’m sweaty too. And the sheen of perspiration seems to highlight the carnality of his physical form.

He’s got powerful arms. Thick thighs and a deliciously tight butt. He has dark hair on his forearms and bristles on his jaw, and his brown hair becomes more and more mussed since he likes to push his fingers through it when he’s feeling impatient.

Most of his impatience is aimed at me. I know it even though he never says anything to express it.

My preoccupation with his physicality gets worse as the practice continues. Until finally he comes behind me to show me how to position my arms better for a jab. He presses his front into my back and reaches around my body with both arms to move mine the way he wants them. It feels like he’s embracing me. The hard, hot shape of him fitting snugly against mine.

My blood throbs. In my throat. My ears. My fingertips. And arousal pulses between my legs.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like arousal, and it comes on so quickly it almost hurts.

It scares me. I take a quick step forward. My back immediately feels cold at the absence of his body.

Cold and empty.

“Sorry,” he mutters, evidently reading my reaction. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eye. He obviously recognized I needed to get away from him, but maybe he doesn’t know why. Please, please, please don’t let him see I’m turned on right now.

“I think we’ve done enough for tonight anyway,” he says, sounding brusque and efficient again while I’m still washed with hot waves of arousal and mortification. “We can pick it up again tomorrow. Assuming you still want me to teach you?”

“I do.” This is important. Too important to give up. Which means I need to make sure I don’t feel like this again. “Same time?”

“Same time.”

“Okay. See you then.”

I grab a towel to wipe perspiration off my face and arms, take a swig of water from the bottle I brought, and then head toward the door.

I need to get out of here, but I’m planning to come back.

A random physical response isn’t going to keep me from doing what’s necessary so that I don’t feel so vulnerable again.

3

SIX MONTHS AGO

“SO WE’RE ACTUALLY COMING out of lockdown?” I ask the question breathlessly but not because of the intensity of the topic. Grant and I have been training now for thirty-five minutes, and I’m sweating and panting from the effort.

Automatically I make note of Grant’s stance—poised with feet apart, knees bent slightly, hands up in a defensive position. He’s been teaching me to fight and defend myself now for a year and a half. I know what I’m doing, and he tells me I’ll be able to hold my own with most attackers. But I still can’t get the better of him.

His eyes never stop moving, taking in the smallest flicker of my arms and legs and the tiniest twitch of my expression, but he has no trouble answering my question. “Pretty soon, yeah. Not sure of the exact day, but we can’t hold off so many people who want out for much longer.”

The mood in the bunker has been getting increasingly tense for the past year, with more and more people wanting to get out of here and take a chance on the outside world. According to the latest readings, the air quality isn’t quite back to what it was before the asteroid hit, but it’s not a serious health risk anymore. So the main dangers we’d be facing would come from other people. I’d love to get out too, but I trust Dave and Dr. Willoughby and Grant and everyone else who knows better than me about the likely risks when we open the door. So every time we’ve had a vote about the issue in the past year, I’ve sided with them.

“But those people are still being outvoted,” I say.

“Sure, but it’s almost neck and neck now. And once you have that many people who want out, they’re going to make it out one way or the other. We don’t want them trying to go around us and putting everyone in danger. If we take charge of it ourselves, at least we can control how it happens and make sure everyone stays as safe as possible.”

“How would you do that?” I wait until it looks like he’s going to answer, and then I take a quick jab toward the left side of his jaw, hoping he’s distracted enough for me to get a blow in.

He’s not, of course. He never loses his focus. He blocks my punch and uses the momentum to grab me around the waist. I just barely manage to slip out of his grip before he gets me to the ground. In the scuffle, I do manage to trip him up with a quick kick toward his ankle. It won’t hurt him, but he has to back off to catch his balance.

“Nice one,” he murmurs, which is a high compliment from him. “We’d set up camp on the surface with easy access to the bunker. We’ve got the equipment to put up an electrified fence around the perimeter, and with guards stationed we’ll probably be safe enough. We need to send scouts to check out the region. We think a lot of the population has moved away from here, but we need to know who’s out there and how much of a threat they might be. Our supplies might be running low, but we still have a lot of resources that desperate people would happily kill us for.”

We’re circling the mat on the floor of the private training room we still use for practice, both of us scrutinizing the other, looking for an opportunity to advance. We do this almost every night, also practicing on the shooting range a couple of times a week. I’m proficient now with various kinds of guns, although I still don’t like them, and I’m much more capable of defending myself than I was eighteen months ago. Because of our daily training, I spend more time with Grant than anyone else in the bunker, but I’m still not sure if he considers me a friend. I know him better, but in a lot of ways he’s still completely unreadable. “Well, that sounds like a good plan. Surely we’d be safe behind that kind of perimeter.”

“We’ll be safe from people on foot. We won’t be safe from tanks or trucks.”

This startles me so much it distracts me, and as always Grant offers me no leeway. He kicks out at me, using one leg for leverage against the back of my knees. I fall backward, but roll away immediately, managing to elude his arms and jump to my feet before he can follow up on his advantage.

“Very nice,” he mutters, giving me a brief nod. “Your mistake was getting too involved in the conversation.”

“I know that,” I reply with a snarl. “But what did you mean about tanks or trucks? You think we’ll be attacked by an army or something?”

“It’s not likely. Fuel production had to have come to a standstill after the asteroid, and I doubt there’s still enough gas around to fuel tanks and trucks. But the thing is, we don’t know. We only have a few surface cameras still working, so we only see what they pick up. There used to be huge armies of dangerous people moving through the area. They’d be able to wipe us out in a matter of hours. We haven’t seen them lately, but we don’t know for sure whether they’re still around. If they are, I’m not sure what we can do to defend ourselves except get back into the bunker as fast as we can.”

“We should do emergency drills, just to practice our response if something like that happens.”

“That’s in the plans. We’ll do the best we can, although it’s going to be a huge gamble. But it’s one we’ll have to make eventually since our supplies aren’t going to last forever. And the last thing we need is a revolt down here.”

There’s been a lot of angry debate in the past year, but no one has tried to take physical action to get what they want. We’ve been lucky in that way. I can imagine all kinds of nightmare scenarios, prompted by desperation and discontent, that we haven’t had to deal with.

Grant and I are circling each other again. “So how soon do you think we’ll be opening up?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say within the next month.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know if I should be excited or terrified.”

“Both are probably legitimate.”

Before I can respond, muffled voices come from the hallway outside the room. Probably just a couple of people passing by, but Grant turns his head to look, evidently thinking they might be coming into the room.

He’s trained me well. I know how to take advantage of momentary distraction. I run toward him while his head is turned, convinced I can finally knock him off his feet.

I’m wrong. It’s always wrong to underestimate Grant. He reaches out with one arm before he even gets his head turned back in my direction, and he grabs me by the waist, using the momentum of my run to swing me onto my back on the floor.

He softens the landing intentionally so the impact on the mat doesn’t hurt, but I’m briefly winded and can’t roll away even though my brain is screaming that I should.

So Grant has the chance to pin me down with the weight of his body. I push against his shoulders as hard as I can, trying to free myself enough to get a blow or a kick in.

It doesn’t work. He’s too big. Too heavy. Too all over me. He manages to grab one of my wrists and then the other, and he forces my arms to the ground spread-eagle, leaving me completely helpless.

I’m angry and frustrated that he got the better of me—angry with myself and frustrated with him—but that’s not the only reason I’m suddenly hot all over.

His hard body is pressed against the length of mine. I can feel every inch of him. His firm thighs against mine. His chest pushing into my breasts. His breath against my damp skin. His strong fingers gripping my wrists.

And his cock against my belly. He’s hard. Fully erect. He’s wearing old sweats, so his pants provide no concealment.

It’s not the first time he’s been turned on around me. It happens regularly, and he always acts like it’s nothing, like he barely notices, so I’ve grown to assume it’s a meaningless physical response that doesn’t faze him. After all, if he wanted to fuck me, he’s had every opportunity to act on it, and he never has.

At first, noticing it made me self-conscious, but it doesn’t anymore. If it doesn’t bother him, then it shouldn’t bother me.

But this is different. His erection is pushing against my lower belly. I can feel the shape of him very close to my groin. And it makes me throb with heat. Aching arousal. Deep need.

I feel his body. I want his body—like I’ve never wanted anything before. It’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around him and pull him down closer to me. Twine my legs around his waist so I can feel his cock exactly where I want it most.

I don’t do either of those things. I can’t make a move on a man who’s never given me the slightest indication of that kind of interest.

Grant might not be a real friend, but he’s as close as I have right now. Emotionally I’ve been doing a lot better than I was the year after my dad died, but if I didn’t have these training sessions, my life would be a whole lot emptier.

“Get up,” I mutter, my voice raspy with something akin to desperation. “Grant, get up. Now. Now.”

He started to move at my first word, and it’s only a couple of seconds until he’s on his feet, several feet away from me. He’s flushed and sweating, but his face is as stoic and unreadable as ever. He’s eyeing me closely.

It should be a relief to be freed of his weight, but it’s not. It feels horrible. Empty and cold and aching. If I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to jump him. I know it for sure. It feels like my body is barely under my own control.

I turn my back to him and take a few steps toward the door.

“Olivia.”

The one word from him stops me, but I don’t turn back around. I stand staring at the doorknob, panting.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He obviously knows what prompted my reaction. He’s always been blunt and honest like that with me.

“I know,” I manage to respond. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if you’re running away right now. I try to control it, but I can’t always help it. It’s a physical response.”

“I know it is. It’s not a big deal.” I still haven’t turned around. I can’t.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to make a move on you.”

I give a very slow blink as I try to process what he just said. I can’t. “What?”

“I’m not going to make a move on you,” he repeats. He’s taken a couple of steps closer to me. I’m still not looking in his direction, but I can hear his voice is closer. “So don’t start keeping your distance.”

He’s saying that. He’s actually saying it. Something so preposterous it can hardly be tolerated.

I whirl around. “You think it scares me? That I’m all trembly about the idea of sex like some kind of naive little girl?”

His blue eyes widen. “I don’t think you’re a little girl. That much should be obvious.”

“But you think I’m leaving now because I’m upset?”

“Aren’t you?” He’s frowning. Still searching my face.

“No. How can you not know what I’m feeling right now?”

After another few seconds, his gaze turns suddenly hot. Now he knows. I can see it. He holds himself perfectly still.

“I’m twenty-one years old. And I’ve been trapped in this bunker for four and a half years without ever having the chance to get close to a man because you’ve insisted on treating me like some kind of princess on a pedestal.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly saying this. Completely shameless. “I’m not a princess, Grant. I’m not. And occasionally I’d like to be touched.”

His hands have clenched into fists, and I’m almost shuddering. Neither one of us says anything as we stare across the few feet of distance between us.

Then he finally mutters, “We’re coming out of lockdown in the next few weeks. Everything will be different then.”

“I know.”

“We’ve been living in a weird limbo down here. What you want now isn’t going to be what you want when you’re back in the real world.” His voice is full of gravel, but he doesn’t sound bossy or condescending or resentful or disappointed. Mostly just matter-of-fact.

“I know that too.” I’m telling him the truth. I don’t doubt a word of what he’s saying. Arousal is still pulsing through me, but I know that he’s right. It would be foolish of me to act rashly right now, compelled only by a random, passing impulse, and make a potentially life-changing decision when our whole world is about to change.

I did some hand stuff with my high school boyfriends, but I’ve never had intercourse before. And having sex for the first time with a man who doesn’t love me—one who still sometimes feels like a stranger to me—is likely something I’ll later regret.

I no longer live in a world where I feel safe taking chances, so I don’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, I just walk out.

I take a shower when I get back to my room and stay under the spray until the hot water shuts off automatically after ten minutes (which is one of the built-in methods of preserving the facility’s power and resources).

Then I dry off, brush out my wet hair, and pull on a tank top and black cotton pajama pants. I look at myself in the mirror for a long time. My skin is clear and pale—since I haven’t had a suntan in years. My mouth is a little too big for my face. I like the long curve of my neck and shoulders. My body is tall and slim with lean muscle development from swimming and training with Grant. My breasts aren’t terribly impressive, but they’ve got a nice shape, and I can see the outline of my tight nipples beneath my top since I’m not wearing a bra. I look almost sexy despite my worn clothes and wet hair.

I’ve never noticed myself looking sexy before.

I’m still pulsing with lust. Simple, visceral lust. My body didn’t get what it wanted. It doesn’t follow common sense and logic like my mind.

Shaking my head at my reflection, I brush my teeth and then get into bed. It’s a little early, but nothing I might do is going to hold my attention right now.

I lay in the dark for fifteen minutes, telling myself to relax and let it go. I made the right decision. The wise, mature one. The one Grant knew I would make.

He might find me hot, but I’m not convinced that he cares about me much. He’s never been soft with me. Never let down his guard even in the smallest way. That’s not the kind of guy you just randomly decide to fuck one evening, not unless you’re asking to get hurt.

It doesn’t matter how much I still want to.

Everything will change when we come out of lockdown. Nothing will feel like it does right now. This bleak, lonely half-life in the bunker will finally be over.

It’s that thought—more than anything else—that compels me out of bed and to my feet. I slip on flip-flops and leave my apartment since my pajamas can probably pass for regular clothes. I take the elevator down to the staff level and look down the empty, dimly lit hallway.

I know where Grant’s apartment is. I’ve never been there before, but I took note of its location a couple of years ago. Just a random detail there was no reason to remember, but I did anyway. So I’m able to walk right to his door and knock on it.

I’m not even thinking anymore. Just existing in a hot, needy blur.

He opens the door after my knock and blinks in surprise. He’s obviously taken a shower too because his hair is damp and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a white T-shirt. He steps back automatically to let me in.

Closing the door behind me, I turn to face him, opening my mouth because now is the time I’m supposed to say something. Explain why I’m here. Tell him what I want.

No sound comes out. Just a weird, ragged gasp.

Grant’s breathing has picked up too, and his eyes have taken on that fierce heat I saw briefly back in the training room. The vivid blue of them seems to darken as he gazes at me, like his pupils are getting bigger.

He doesn’t say anything either.

I’m not sure how long we stand there. Probably no more than a minute. Then everything inside pushes me into action. I grab the bottom of my tank top and pull it off over my head. The motion causes my naked breasts to jiggle.

Grant’s eyes rake over my body, and he’s already grabbing the back of his own shirt with one fist and yanking it off the way I did mine.

I’ve seen his bare chest before when he swims, but it seems different now. More naked somehow. Firm muscles and tight flesh and a scattering of dark hair. I’m watching as he drops his shirt on the floor and then shucks his underwear too.

He’s fully erect again. His cock bounces slightly with his motion. I can’t look away even as I push my pajama pants and panties down into a messy heap on the floor with my flip-flops.

When both of us are naked, I close the distance between us, lifting a hand so I can stroke the rough texture of his chest. Slide it down until I can curl my fingers around his cock.

His breath hitches. A small reaction, but I hear it. It sends a slice of sharp pleasure between my thighs.

I’m really turned on now. The raw pulsing of arousal seems to reach my fingers and toes.

Without warning, Grant reaches an arm out and propels me off my feet, the way he does in training when he’s trying to get me to the floor. But this time he swings me onto the bed. It happens so quickly I gape up at him, winded and disoriented. I’m sideways, my legs hanging over the edge, but he lifts my legs and turns my body the right way as he climbs onto the bed on top of me.

Then he’s all over me, the way he was on the mat earlier this evening. But this time both of us are naked. His hard cock is folded between our bodies, and he’s holding himself up on straightened arms. He’s staring down at my breasts.

I’m not sure what he’s going to do next, but he doesn’t kiss me. He scoots down, lowers his head, and gives one of my nipples a hard lick that makes me gasp out a wordless exclamation.

Then he takes my other breast in his mouth and sucks it hard.

I squirm and make silly whimpering sounds since every touch on my breasts seems to tug a cord that goes straight to the hot ache between my legs. I reach around and dig my fingernails into the back of his shoulders since I desperately need to hang on.

He’s still working on my breasts when he moves his weight to only one of his hands and uses the other to push my thighs apart and stroke my pussy.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he mutters, lifting his head to watch the way I’m tossing my head back and forth and wriggling my hips as one of his fingers slides inside me.

Everything is feeling so good now. It’s almost too much for me to process. My face twists as I try to keep from making too many embarrassing sounds.

He adds a second finger and pushes both of them inside me, rubbing my inner walls in a way that threatens to blow off the top of my head. I make a weird sobbing sound and flail my arms out, fumbling for the covers beneath me.

“Don’t fight it, princess.” He pumps his fingers harder, the move generating a sound of wet suction. “You’re almost there. Take a couple of deep breaths.”

I do what he says without hesitation, and on the second exhale the pleasure erupts in hard spasms. My intimate muscles clamp down around his fingers, and he pushes against the contractions. It feels so good I hear myself making a helpless, gasping sound on every pulse of sensation.

“There you go,” he’s saying as I ride out the length of my orgasm. “Good girl. That’s what you needed.”

It is exactly what I’ve needed. As the pleasure starts to subside, every muscle in my body loosens until I feel soft and warm and limp and sated. He strokes me a few more times before he pulls out his hand.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I started to come, and only now do I open them. He’s still poised above me. Still staring down at me with those hot blue eyes.

“Did you like that?” he asks in a rough voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, I liked it so much.”

“Good. I think you’ll like this next part too.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I’m both embarrassed and excited by how I’ve been responding. I never knew I could be like this, feel this way.

He repositions himself, lifting himself up to his knees above me. He’s still hard, his cock bouncing as he moves. I reach up eagerly and take it in my hands, wanting to feel him again in the most intimate way.

I want him to gasp and squirm when I touch him the way I did when he touched me.

His breath hitches again as I stroke him, but he holds himself very still. He’s liking it though. I can see it on his tense face. After a minute, his head jerks to the side.

He reaches down and gently moves my hands, and I don’t object because I’m anticipating what’s about to happen. He gives his erection a few hard squeezes with one hand before he says, “Part your legs for me.”

I bend my knees and pull my thighs apart, the air feeling cold against my warm, wet flesh. He moves over me again, settling between my legs. He lifts my bottom up and moves me a little closer to him. Then he props himself above me on one arm again, pulling my thighs farther apart.

“I’ve never done this before,” I tell him.

“I figured.” The hand on my thigh softens.

“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m going to break.”

He’s still and silent for a moment. Then he mutters, “Got it.” He takes his erection in one hand and lines it up at my entrance, slowly guiding it inside me.

I breathe intentionally as the penetration gets deeper. It’s full and tight and aching. Really aching but not sharp. I gasp when he pushes farther in because it feels so good and so intensely tight at the same time.

“Too much?” Grant’s voice is slightly breathless. The arm he’s holding his weight on is shaking just a little.

I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “No. It’s good.”

“Tell me if—”

“I said it’s good.” My vision is blurring over. I close my eyes and move my head back and forth as my body relaxes around the penetration. “I like it. I like it to feel this way.”

“Okay. Just tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, and I’ll stop.”

He’s saying that to make me feel safe, and I know it comes from a good place in Grant. But I don’t really want to feel safe right now.

I want to feel like this.

As the pressure eases, the other sensations deepen. It’s not a sharp, quick, exploding pleasure like when he used his hand. It’s different. Deeper. Slower. More. I pump my hips slowly against him. I moan low in my throat because I really like how it feels.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, drawing his pelvis back just a little and then thrusting forward again to match one of my pumps. “Do it just like that.”

I hear myself making a pleased, humming sound at his encouragement. I rock my hips more intentionally as he begins to thrust for real.

He goes slow and steady, and it helps me figure out what to do. My body begins to move of its own accord, matching his rhythm and chasing the intense sensations that spiral out from the friction we’re creating between us.

I’m making huffing sounds as we move together. Both effort and pleasure. When I hear myself, I try to stop them, but there’s no way I can control it. They keep coming. Carnal. Primitive. Completely shameless.

I get so into it that I speed up, falling out of rhythm and trying to ride him from below. I want more. I want to come again. I want to feel everything. All of it. Right now.

“Slow down some,” Grant rasps. He’s been making grunts of his own as he fucks me. Rougher and more animalistic. “Don’t want this over too soon.”

He readjusts his position so he can cup my bottom with one hand and guide my speed with it.

Being slowed down like that is frustrating. It aches, but in a tantalizing way. I whimper and let him move my body to his rhythm.

“There you go. Just like that.”

I’m whimpering now with the delay of my orgasm, but it feels so good to do it this way, to follow his lead. I’ve been clawing at his back, but my hands lower now until my fingers are clenched in the tight muscles of his ass.

“Please,” I gasp, arching my neck and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. “Please. I need it so bad.”

“I know. You’re almost there.” He hasn’t picked up his speed. His thrusts are steady and strong and angled just right.

Tears start streaming out of my eyes as the pleasure builds and builds but doesn’t break. “Oh fuck. Oh please. I need…”

I come before I get another word out, sobbing out my pleasure in messy gasps as my body shakes through the spasms.

Grant starts to say something, but my intimate muscles have tightened fiercely around his cock, and it evidently snaps his control.

He lets out a stretched, throaty sound as his hips pick up their pace. He’s suddenly fucking me fast and hard. Much harder than before.

And it feels even better, rawer. I whimper and pant as the aftermath of my climax starts building into something new.

As he fucks me, he moves my legs one by one until they’re wrapped tightly around his back. I wish I could stay quiet, but I can’t. Together, we’re banging the bed against the wall and making a carnal, slapping sound as our flesh connects.

This position is aching more than it did earlier, but even the ache feels good. I need it. Want it.

Something unspoken—unacknowledged—inside me desperately needs to be taken this way.

I come again just before he does, my sob of pleasure broken as he pulls out of me abruptly and comes in several sloppy spurts all over my stomach.

It ends as quickly as it started. I’m sore and raw and drenched in sweat and completely sated, and I lie limply on his bed as my body continues twitching with little afterquakes.

Grant strokes himself through the last of his climax, moaning a couple of times as he catches his breath and stares down at his semen on my stomach. His face for just a moment is satisfied. Almost soft.

Then he returns to himself again. His features fall back into his typical stoic control. He gets up and grabs a towel, wiping off my stomach and between my legs. I manage to sit up, self-conscious for the first time. While we were having sex, he felt different, but now he’s Grant again.

And I just showed up in his room to fuck him without invitation.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks at last, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

He did a little, but it was what I wanted. “I liked it.”

“Okay. Good.” He pauses before he admits. “I did too.”

We sit and breathe heavily for another minute.

Someone needs to draw this to a close, and I have no idea how to do it.

“We probably shouldn’t do this again,” he says at last.

“I know.” I knew from the beginning this would be only one time. I stand up and tell him what I also know to be true. “But if everything is going to change when we come out of lockdown, I wanted to get what I want down here. At least once.”

4

YESTERDAY

THE ONE CONSTANT in my life has always been swimming. No matter where I am or what’s happening in my world, I’ve been able to get up early, put on my suit and goggles, and dive into cool, chlorinated water. My body knows what to do without thinking. Kick my legs. Shape strokes with my arms. Sync my breathing. And make myself move. Fast. Smooth. Powerful.

I’m in control of everything in those moments even as the rest of the world falls apart.

Five months after coming out of lockdown, everything else is different, but I still swim every morning. Eventually we’ll run out of chemicals or the power needed to maintain the pool (or both), but it hasn’t happened yet. So on a Friday morning I get up at six o’clock in the one-bedroom apartment in the bunker that’s still mine, and I head down to the pool level.

It’s empty, as it always is now. Grant has an early-morning shift, guarding the perimeter of the camp on the surface, so he’s never swimming when I do anymore.

I swim for only an hour because my work shift starts earlier than it used to. I hurry back to shower and change into jeans, a fitted V-neck T-shirt, and hiking boots that my dad had included in my bunker wardrobe but I hadn’t used at all until we came out of lockdown. I pull my wet hair back into one long braid since I don’t have time to do anything with it and then take the elevator up to the surface where most of our community are busy with their morning activities.

There are only sixty-six of us left. Out of the two hundred who went into lockdown five years ago.

As soon as we opened up, several families took off, leaving to do their own thing, no longer under the thumb of the bunker leadership. I knew and liked a lot of those who left, and I have absolutely no idea what happened to them.

If it’s anything like what’s happened to us over the past five months, most of them are no longer alive.

In the first couple of months, before we knew enough to take rigorous precautions, we had multiple scouting and hunting parties attacked, the vehicles stolen and our people killed. It might look like there are very few people around anymore, but if we end up in the wrong areas for any reason, we become targets of roving gangs whose only purpose seems to be harming the innocent. We now know better how to avoid the most dangerous areas, so it’s been more than a month since any of our people have been attacked.

But we’ve had other problems. Two months ago, an illness hit our bunker. Dr. Willoughby thinks it was probably a virus that developed while we were underground, and so we’d had no exposure or immunity to it. It killed thirty-eight of us.

I was horribly sick from it, but I was one of the lucky ones who got better.

So all in all, our numbers have been decimated since we came out of lockdown. Some people think it was a mistake, but we would have run out of supplies eventually, so it’s not like we could have stayed down there much longer—hiding forever from what our world has become.

My life is no longer safe and boring like it used to be, but I’m also not as lonely as I was. People act differently, as if they’ve accepted that we’re out of the limbo of the bunker. That this is what life is going to be from now on. I feel like I have some friends now, when I didn’t before, and I actually like having jobs to do that aren’t just passing out coffee.

We traded our entire stock of remaining coffee for some chickens from a nearby farm, the first friendly people we met on the surface. So now at least we have eggs.

But no more coffee.

My morning duties are in the dining hall, one of the new buildings we built in our camp. Every morning, I work with Dave’s wife, Mary, to organize the day’s rations and divide them into packs. In addition to the ration packs, we also try to make a big pot of soup or stew from any fresh meat available, so each person gets a ration pack and a bowl of soup for the day. Today Tara is cobbling together some sort of fish stew nearby where Mary and I are working.

Mary is a friendly, dimpled woman in her fifties. She loves to laugh and loves to gossip, and she’s now one of my favorite people. We make up the day’s packs with fresh bread baked this morning from flour we got from the farm, vegetables from our gardens (the hydroponic and the new surface one), a protein bar from our old supplies, and some pork jerky. She chats with me about everything that happened with our people yesterday (she knows all of it) and teases me about letting my hair out of the braid so I’ll look really pretty for any cute guys who might stop by to pick up their rations.

She’s convinced every unattached man we know is interested in me even though this is obviously not true. I just laugh and tease her back (only halfway sincere) about how I’ll have to venture out into the hinterlands to find a man for me.

“Oh, I think you’ve got at least one right here who’d gladly take on the job as your boyfriend.” Mary’s deftly wrapping up a pack as she talks.

I pause and glance up at her. Then I shift my eyes in the direction she nods.

For no good reason, I expect to see Grant, but I don’t. It’s a silly impulse. An irrational flicker of feeling. I see Grant around almost every day, but I hardly ever talk to him anymore.

We ended our daily workouts as soon as we came out of lockdown.

Instead of him, I see Noah, the youngest of the men originally employed as guards. He’s probably only six or seven years older than me. He isn’t particularly handsome, but he’s cute enough and appealing with warm brown eyes and a lopsided grin.

He comes by every day to pick up his rations and lingers to chat. I thought at first it was because of Mary since he would mostly talk to her. But she insists he hangs around for so long because of me, and I’m starting to think she might be right.

Today he takes the pack I offer him and shifts from foot to foot. “How are you today, Olivia?”

“I’m pretty good.” I smile back at him because I like him and also because it’s a new and strange feeling to have a man show interest in me.

At seventeen, I was starting to get used to it, but in the bunker I received nothing except some creepy looks from random men and one unexpected night of sex with Grant.

“Did you swim this morning?”

He always asks this whenever he’s talking directly to me. “Yep. I did. For about an hour.”

“You sure look pretty today.” He’s smiling and leaning toward me a little.

This is the most direct he’s ever been with me, and it makes my cheeks flame with heat. I glance down at myself, genuinely surprised. Mary was just telling me I need to let my hair down, but maybe the hair doesn’t matter. Noah’s eyes keep dropping to my chest although he’s clearly trying to keep them on my face. “Thank you.” I look over at Mary for help, but she’s pretending not to hear.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asks.

My heartbeat has picked up, but it’s more of a panic response than an excited one. A twenty-two-year-old shouldn’t be so inexperienced, so scared of simple dating, but I am.

I definitely am.

“I don’t really know,” I manage to reply, sounding as natural as I can manage. “I work here all morning. Then I usually help in the garden or look around for something else that needs doing.”

“Well, I’ve got guard duty until five, but this evening if you have any downtime, come find me and we can take a walk or something.”

If possible, my cheeks get even redder. “Oh. Yeah. Maybe. I will if I have time.”

There. That wasn’t too bad. Not rude or dismissive. But also not committing to something I have no idea if I want to do.

Noah seems perfectly pleased with my response, and he saunters off, saying hi and smiling at everyone he passes.

“Why didn’t you give him more encouragement?” Mary asks as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“I didn’t know if I’ll be able to.”

“He’s a cutie-pie. I thought you’d be excited.” Mary gives me a sharp look. “Is there someone else you’re holding out for?”

“No! No, of course not. I like Noah just fine. I just haven’t… done that sort of thing before.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess you were only seventeen when we moved into the bunker, so you missed out on a lot of normal life experiences. But there’s no reason you can’t have some of them now. Don’t you want a man?”

I shrug, having no idea how to answer that. “I… guess so. If it works out. But I don’t want one just to have one, if that makes sense. I want him to be the right one.”

“That does make sense. But unfortunately we can’t be too picky anymore. We’ve only got a certain number of guys to choose from, and who knows if we’ll ever meet any more. If you want someone, better to pick the best of what’s available than hold out for nothing.”

She’s right, of course. Absolutely right. It’s silly for me to hesitate about starting a relationship with a good guy when I may never have another opportunity.

Maybe it was that night I spent with Grant. There was nothing about it that was romantic or hopeful for the future, but it still sits in my mind like a weight. It’s somehow warped my natural instincts for sexual attraction and romantic affection.

However weird and winding that path is, it’s one that’s clearly going nowhere. And I have a nice, easy path opening up for me with Noah.

I give Mary a nod. “You’re right. I do like Noah. I’ll make sure to go find him this evening, and we can take a walk and just… see.”

“Very good. I think that’s a fine idea. You’re always so serious and thoughtful and hardworking. Those are good things, but you’re only twenty-two. You need to have some fun occasionally. I think a boyfriend would be good for you.”

A boyfriend.

Maybe it would be nice.

I’ve lived a long time with it never really being a possibility for me. I assume the fact that Noah almost asked me out means that Grant lifted the dating embargo on me.

Everything is different now, and I guess that means I have to be different too.

When my morning shift is over, I get a bowl of the fish stew and sit down to eat it at a table with Dave, Mary, Dr. Willoughby, and a few others. Then I grab my own ration pack and plan to take it down to my apartment before I return to help in the garden.

Despite the new buildings they’ve built on the surface, we all still sleep in apartments in the bunker. I walk into the fortified garage that houses the elevator when it’s lifted to the surface. Either the strength of the structure or our remote location worked as intended because no one destroyed the garage in the five years we were locked down or stole any of the vehicles.

Several of them are gone now, stolen when our parties were attacked or else taken by the folks who left our group. But we still have a few pickup trucks, a couple of Jeeps, two motorcycles, and a small prop plane as well as a decent supply of fuel.

When that runs out, our vehicles will be worthless because there doesn’t seem to be anywhere to access gasoline anymore.

Because we’re so cautious about conserving our fuel, I’m surprised when I hear an engine start in the garage as I come in. I hurry over to investigate out of curiosity.

It’s Grant. He evidently just turned on one of the Jeeps—it looks like the same one he drove me here in from my dad’s private jet so long ago—and now he’s leaning over the back to rearrange whatever he’s got in there.

“Where are you going?” I ask as I approach. The hunting parties leave early in the morning, and we haven’t done any scouting lately since we pretty much know the lay of the land in our immediate region now.

He jerks visibly, his head still bent over the back of the vehicle. Slowly he straightens up. “New Haven. It’s that farm about an hour away.”

“Oh. Are we trading more supplies?”

Grant’s blue eyes run up and down my body quickly before they return to my face. “Yeah. We need more chickens and more flour. And we’ve got plenty of stuff that they don’t, so we can trade.”

I step over beside him so I can see into the back of the Jeep. Inside the carefully packed compartment are bags of clothes, boxes of mechanical parts, and a few rifles.

“What are the parts in those boxes?”

“It’s a small solar generator. We’ve got several, and we don’t need any of them right now. And the clothes all belong to people who died.”

“Oh. Wow. We should get a lot of flour and chickens with all that stuff.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.”

This is the longest conversation I’ve had with Grant in months. He nods and says hello whenever we see each other, and he’ll answer a question if I ask him something, but he doesn’t chat.

Not that it means anything. He’s never been a chatter. The only reason we spent time together before was because he was teaching me to defend myself. He doesn’t need to do that anymore.

When I was feverish and sometimes delirious from that virus a couple of months back, I vaguely recall him hovering. He might have talked to me then, but those days are too fuzzy for me to know.

Being with him now makes my stomach flip-flop in a weird way. It’s not a comfortable feeling. Which is why it makes absolutely no sense when I hear myself asking, “Can I come?”

“What?”

“You heard me. I asked if I can come with you.”

“It’s not safe out there. You know that. Do I need to list everyone who has died when they were outside our fence?”

“No. You don’t need to list them. But you’re going by yourself, so I assume you know a route that will avoid the dangerous areas. Plus I can take care of myself. You made sure of that.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just eyes me closely.

“You’ve got nothing in the front seat, so there’s room for me. And an extra gun will surely make it safer than just you.” I pat the pistol I always carry now in the holster at my hip.

I didn’t need it in the bunker, but everyone seems to agree we need to stay armed on the surface.

Grant still hasn’t answered. His jaw tenses slightly. I know because I can see a few little muscles in his face rippling.

He’s thinking of a way to argue, which for some reason makes me say, “I never get to go anywhere. I hardly ever get the chance to even be outside the fence. I’m not seventeen anymore, and I’m not helpless, but I’m still being sheltered like I am. I’m a competent member of this community, just like everyone else. So either give me a good reason I shouldn’t go, or else get out of my way.”

He lets out a short breath and then gives a curt nod toward the passenger seat. “When we’re out there, you do what I say. No arguments.”

“I’m not going to slow you down.” I’m scowling at him, but I’m secretly thrilled. My breathing has picked up and my heartbeat accelerated. I get to go. Do something. See more of the world outside our camp.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Grant mutters, sliding behind the wheel.

I want to stick my tongue out at him, but I manage to suppress the silly impulse.

Instead, I wave and smile at a few of the people we pass as he drives to the gate and waits as the guards open it for us.

I’m still smiling as Grant drives us over the dilapidated country roads that head west. He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t expect him to. I’m enjoying the wind on my face from the open window and the new sights.

There’s a lot of dusty blue sky. And the sun blazing down from above us. Overgrown woods, brush, meadows of long, untended grass. Random battered buildings and broken road signs—echoes of a world that used to be.

It doesn’t feel like the same world. I never saw it change. It was one thing when I went into the bunker and another thing now that I’m out. I wonder what it would feel like to have been out here the whole time. To see the old world razed to the ground and transformed into this unfamiliar one. Maybe it would make more sense then. Maybe it wouldn’t seem like we’re on an entirely different planet the way it often feels to me.

After about twenty minutes, Grant slows down as the road leads through the ruins of what used to be a small town. I feel his eyes slant over to my face as I stare.

“What?” I demand, looking over at him.

“Is this not what you expected?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what I expected. It’s good to be out of the camp for a little while, and the woods and pastures are what I thought. But this…” I wave my hand in a gesture to take in the destroyed town. “This just makes me kind of sad. Look. That used to be a McDonalds.”

The hint of faded yellow arches under the rubble makes my chest ache for some reason. My eyes burn. I have no idea why.

“Yeah,” Grant murmurs softly.

I swallow hard. “I guess we never really had time to process it all. What was happening to the world on the surface. I mean, we knew it in theory, but it’s different to see it like this. Everything that used to be… just gone.”

“Yeah,” he says again.

I check his face, but he doesn’t look impatient or condescending. He’s never soft, but I’d swear he understands what I’m saying. “What could have done this to a town?”

“Some of it is time and neglect, but it would take more than that for the whole town to be flattened like this. Those big armies of violent people we used to talk about—evidently they called them droves—they’d pass through towns like this and decimate them. Scavenging anything they could pick up, killing or kidnapping everyone they could catch, and destroying the buildings for no reason except destruction. I’d guess that’s what happened here.”

I put a hand on my stomach, trying to imagine what it was like. That kind of senseless violence. It makes me sick to even think about. “Are those droves still around?”

“I don’t think so. At least, everyone I’ve talked to says they fell apart once most of the resources got used up. The one in this region broke up into those gangs that still hang around. Wolf Packs.”

“Wolf Packs?”

“That’s what the people at New Haven call them. The violent gangs. They’re dangerous too, but at least they’re smaller.”

“No wonder there are so few people left around.”

“Yeah. Between the violence and the lack of food and the lung problems from the dust in the air, the population has reduced to maybe a quarter of what it was, if the estimates from the people I’ve talked to around here are accurate. And a lot of the people who survived have moved away from here, toward the middle of the country.”

“Why do they do that?”

“It was safer there early on. Fewer natural disasters. So there’s more civilization there now. The larger cities have organized and built up infrastructure again. They’ve got power and water and schools and hospitals. At least that’s what the rumors say.”

“Wow.” I think about it for a minute. “Should we move there?”

“I don’t know. There’s some talk about it. But traveling is dangerous, and we don’t have any definite reports on what it’s like there. My guess is the communities in the middle might be safer, but they’re probably militantly controlled. We still have the bunker with its power and water. And here we have our freedom. Self-determination.”

I nod, relaxing slightly since I don’t like the idea of leaving the bunker. “Where are you from originally?”

His eyes widen, like he’s surprised. “North Carolina.”

“Did you have much family?”

“No. Just my mom. She raised me alone, and she died a couple of years before we locked down.”

“So there’s no one left up here that you’d want to try to find?”

He shakes his head, staring at the road in front of us. We’ve made it through the town, so he can pick up his speed. “I had some friends, but… It was a different life. This is the life I have now.”

“That’s how I feel too, now that my dad has died. The folks in the bunker are my people, so I’m going to stick with them.”

In another half hour, we make it to New Haven Farm, which is a sprawling property surrounded by a fortified, makeshift wall.

It’s well guarded, which is the only way to survive in the world these days, and the people who greet us seem efficient and competent but also friendly.

It’s nice to see new faces. Grant introduces me to someone named Faith, who looks to be about my age but also seems to be in charge. She already knows Grant and appears happy to meet me. She walks us around the main house and into the yard behind that leads to the barn, introducing us to various people we pass.

There are too many of them, and it’s been too long since I met new people. I can’t remember anyone else’s name.

“We’ve already crated up these chickens for you,” she says, gesturing toward stacked crates of loudly discontent poultry. There’s a lot of flapping and clucking and feathers, so I can’t really tell how many chickens we’re getting.

But it looks like a lot. We can use them. We need to have enough to breed and also to produce enough eggs for our community.

Grant eyes them stoically. He always looks like he knows what he’s doing, so I’ve always assumed he does. “That’s good. But if we’re giving you the generator, we’ll expect more than just this.”

“Yep.” She gestures for us to follow her. Faith is one of those ultracompetent people like Grant is. She’s very pretty with strawberry blond hair, plus boobs and hips I can’t help but envy. But she has a brisk manner like she’s used to getting stuff done and doesn’t waste time.

I can respect that. I wish I was able to give off the same air of innate authority. Maybe then I wouldn’t still be treated like a princess.

Grant and I follow Faith to another outbuilding where we find sacks of flour and dried beans and boxes of canned fruits, preserves, and tomatoes. My mouth waters at the look of some of them.

I can see Grant assessing the amount. The trade looks like more than fair to me since none of the things we’re giving away we’ll need to use anytime soon.

He finally nods. “Looks good. Thanks.”

I’m relieved. I’d bet Faith is a tough negotiator, and we definitely don’t want any hard feelings with these people.

With the business done, Faith smiles. “Do y’all want a snack before you head out? It’s still plenty early for you to get back before dark.”

I perk up at this but glance over at Grant before I respond. He meets my eyes and gives a little nod.

“Thanks,” I reply. “That would be great. I’d love to see more of the farm too, if you don’t mind showing me. Or I can just wander around if you’re busy.”

“I’m happy to give you the tour,” she says, glancing over at Grant. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind making sure Jackson knows how to put that generator together? He’s pretty good at mechanical stuff, but just to be safe…”

“Sure. No problem.” Grant heads over toward a couple of guys who are lifting out the parts of the generator from our Jeep.

Faith and I are left alone. I’m still smiling at her. It’s been years since I’ve met anyone new—especially someone around my age.

I have a good time as she shows me around the house and farm. They’ve got impressive facilities—including well water and manually pumped plumbing. The place is comfortable and productive, and everyone looks busy and content.

Hopefully, we can turn the camp and bunker into something like this. There’s no reason we couldn’t.

We’ve finished the tour and are sitting on the front porch, eating bread with jam and tart, juicy apples when I ask Faith, “So do you have a boyfriend?”

She smiles, her face looking even softer than before. “Yeah. Jackson, who Grant is talking to over there.”

I look over and see the man she’s indicated. He looks to be in his late twenties. He’s got dark, wavy hair and a strong, rough look that certainly has its own appeal. I can see why she went for him.

My eyes move over to Grant automatically. He’s a little taller and exudes a different, cooler kind of power.

Jackson is attractive, but he’s a stranger to me and he feels like one. Grant is different.

He feels like mine.

It’s a ridiculous thing to think. To feel. To even flicker through my mind. I brush it away immediately the way I do all other inappropriate stray thoughts.

When I turn back to Faith, she’s watching me. “What about you?”

My eyes widen in confusion, momentarily disoriented by what she’s asking.

“How long have y’all been together?” She inclines her head toward Grant to make her meaning clear.

My cheeks grow hot. “Oh. No. No, it’s not like that. We’re not together. Like that.” If it’s possible for me to sound any goofier, I’m not aware of it.

She chuckles. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Of course. We’re not… a couple or anything.”

“I see.” She pauses. Then slants me a teasing look so much like the way my school friends would look at me that it triggers a ripple of pained nostalgia. “Do you fuck him?”

This is not a normal topic of conversation between two people who just met, but things are different in the world now and it doesn’t feel intrusive to me. I’m self-conscious but not because she’s asking. “N-no.”

“No?”

“Well, we did once. But it wasn’t… I mean, it was a while ago and it didn’t mean anything. We’re not together now.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. I have no idea how to answer her.

“Does he know you’re still interested?”

“I don’t… I don’t think I am.”

She gives me an eye roll to show how little she believes this.

“I mean it. I wouldn’t mind having sex with him again. I’ll admit that much. But I want a relationship. A… a good one. Romantic. A commitment. The whole thing. And he doesn’t… I mean, maybe he’d have a relationship like that in the old world. But now…” I shake my head, thinking it through. “All he’s interested in is getting things done and taking care of our people. He’s not a guy who can give me what I want. This world is hard enough. I don’t need to ask for more pain by wanting something from a guy I can never get.”

She nods and reaches over to put a hand on my forearm briefly. It’s a kind gesture. One of understanding, empathy. “That makes sense to me. I only asked because I thought I picked up vibes, although I could definitely be wrong about those. But I will say this. I used to fuck Jackson. That’s all we did. Just sex. Nothing romantic. And it wasn’t supposed to mean anything—until it did. And then one day I opened my eyes and realized we were in love, and I had no idea how it had happened. And now we have the whole thing even though a year ago I would have laughed my head off at the idea of it. Sometimes what you think means nothing actually does.”

“Maybe.” I appreciate what she’s shared with me, so I don’t want to argue too much. But whatever her situation was with Jackson isn’t mine with Grant.

Grant and I don’t have a sexual relationship. We don’t even have a friendly one. Whatever we do have is probably just in my mind—a result of loneliness, neediness, a helpless desperation for the kind of human intimacy I no longer have.

If he wanted the same from me, he would have asked for it a long time ago.

“Anyway, if you want to find out, maybe you should just make a move on him,” Faith continues in a softer voice since the men are now walking toward the porch where we’re sitting. “Just jump him. See what happens. I used to just show up in Jackson’s room. It’s not a bad strategy if you can’t make anything else work.”

I can’t help but laugh since that’s obviously what she’s going for now. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for the advice.”

My voice must not have been low enough. Grant is frowning as he draws near. “What advice?”

“Just girl talk,” Faith replies quickly before I can search my mind for something appropriate to say. “Did you get things figured out with the generator?”

Jackson leans down to give her a quick kiss and then squeezes in to share her seat. The conversation turns to other things.

Despite the friendly, casual conversation, it feels like Grant is still watching me, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.

And that’s something I really don’t want him to discover.

We hang out for another hour, and I honestly can’t remember when I’ve had a better time, but then Grant says we need to get back. The last thing we want to do is get caught outside our fence after dark, so I don’t object. I hurry to use the bathroom while he checks that all our new supplies (and the chickens) are secure in the back of the Jeep.

When I come out of the house again, I expect him to be sitting behind the steering wheel, waiting impatiently for me to get into my seat, but he’s not. He’s leaning against the vehicle, talking to a pretty girl I haven’t met.

The girl is young—maybe even younger than me—and she’s flirting with him big time. I can see it immediately after taking no more than two steps out the door.

She must be one of the residents on the farm. She’s got dark, curly hair and a tank top that makes the most of her curvy figure. A smile that’s wide and winsome and thick eyelashes she knows how to use to good effect. She’s probably a very nice person, but a surge of anger rushes through me at the sight of her with Grant that way.

It’s a ridiculous reaction.

An embarrassing one.

I’m aware of that much even as I want to snap my teeth and show my claws. Grant isn’t mine. No one is mine. And Grant is almost smiling—which he rarely does—so he obviously doesn’t mind being the object of this girl’s attention.

That fact upsets me even more.

I stride over to the Jeep and get into the passenger seat without saying anything or acknowledging their existence. If he keeps chatting with that girl while I’m sitting here waiting, I’m seriously going to start laying on the horn.

Fortunately I’m saved from that particular humiliation because Grant tells the girl he needs to get going and then climbs into his seat.

He shoots me a quick, questioning look before he turns on the ignition. I studiously avoid meeting his gaze.

He drives us to the gate, and then we start off on the small road that leads away from the farm. After a few minutes, he turns his head. “What’s going on?”

“With what?”

“With you.”

“Nothing is going on.” I’m still trying not to meet his eyes. Don’t ask me why. It just feels like something I need to do.

“Why are you lying to me? Something is wrong with you, and I want to know what it is.”

“Nothing is wrong with me. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Did someone bother you back on the farm?” His voice is filled with gravel in that way it gets sometimes.

“No. Of course not. They’re all very friendly.”

“Did someone make a move on you?”

“No!” I’m getting annoyed by this interrogation since pretty soon he’ll figure out exactly what triggered my mood, and I really don’t want him to know. If I’m smart, I’ll change the subject to something safe. I need to reroute this conversation so I don’t reveal anything else. But evidently smart isn’t always me. Because, to my mortification, I hear myself continuing. “No one was making a move on me.”

His frown deepens. “Are you talking about Heather?”

“I don’t know who Heather is.”

“Heather is who I was talking to by the Jeep when you came out.”

Oh. Her name is Heather.

“I’m not talking about her or anyone else. I said that no one was making a move on me.”

“That’s not exactly how you said it. Heather was just being friendly.”

“Oh please.” There’s no sense in pretending now. He’s obviously figured it out. And I’m still bristling with resentment for no reason that makes any sense. “That wasn’t just friendliness. She was totally into you. She was practically pawing you. I’m sorry if I got in the way of it.”

It’s one of the rare times when I can see genuine feeling on his face. He looks surprised. Impatient. Rather baffled. “Are you being serious?” he asks in an even gruffer voice.

“About what? I’m just saying. If I wasn’t here, you could have taken her up on her offer.”

“And what? Had a quick fuck behind the barn?”

“Nothing would have been wrong with that if it’s what you wanted.”

He doesn’t answer. He stares at me for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

“Watch the road,” I tell him, gesturing toward a section of pavement that’s been torn up. If we drive over that, it might wreck the undercarriage.

He pulls off the road and drives on the grass until we get around the bad section. Then he turns to look at me again.

I know what he’s silently asking, and I have no answer for him. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I should just shut up. I do it all the time. Stay silent so I don’t say something stupid. For some reason, I can’t right now. “It’s just sex,” I tell him. “People have it all the time, for all kinds of reasons.”

“I realize that,” he says slowly.

“So if you wanted a quick roll in the hay with that girl, then I definitely got in the way.”

“Do you really believe, after knowing me this long, that I’m in the habit of letting my dick make decisions for me?”

I’m surprised by the question. And I’m also surprised by his almost offended tone. “N-no. Of course I don’t think so.”

“Sure, I like sex, but these aren’t normal times, and other things have been a lot more important. I’ve been trying to keep people alive.”

“I know you have. You’ve done an amazing job taking care of all of us. Seriously. I really wasn’t trying to insult you. But you can keep people alive and also have sex. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He meets my eyes again, and this time the intensity cracks. He chuckles dryly.

I can’t help but laugh a little too. “That sounded a little weird, but I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. And you’re right. But it’s not like I can go to a bar and pick someone up. My options have been limited.”

I hadn’t thought about it before. It just seemed like there were plenty of women in the bunker, and any of them would be happy to fuck Grant. But there really aren’t that many women in their twenties and thirties who don’t already have partners. He could, of course, hook up with an older woman, or he’s probably capable of winning a woman away from her boyfriend or husband. But he hasn’t appeared to do either thing.

“Well,” I say at last, “your options aren’t limited anymore. After all, Heather will be there at New Haven, hoping you’ll come to see her again.”

He curls up his lip in a little snarl, like he’s annoyed with me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!”

Of course I am, and clearly he’s realized it. I’m flushed and breathing too fast and unable to stop fidgeting my hands.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. We drive in silence, and I sincerely wish the earth would swallow me whole exactly now.

Then Grant finally darts me a quick look before his eyes return to the road. “I thought you and Noah were a thing.”

“What?” I can’t keep the astonishment out of my voice.

“You and Noah. Aren’t you a thing?”

“No. Why… What… Why would you think that?”

“He asked me about it. He’s a good guy.”

“He asked you—?” I break off the words, trying to process exactly what this means. I can’t stand the idea of Grant being involved in any conversation like that regarding me. I desperately search my mind for some way to pull myself out of this emotional mess of a discussion, but I can’t think of anything. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Of course.”

We don’t talk about anything after that, but the silence is better than before. I spend the rest of the drive back trying to figure out exactly what’s happening, but I’m no clearer on things at the end of the trip.

Faith said I should just jump him. Show up in his room. See what happens.

I did it once, and it led to the night I still can’t forget. Maybe I should do it again.

I might end up humiliating myself, but at least I’d have some answers. Anything would be better than this weird, unsettled, baffling, nauseating tangle of questions in my mind.

Faith is smart and experienced. She seems to know what she’s talking about. I clearly don’t know anything at all.

Faith said I should jump him.

Maybe I will.

5

TODAY

MY MOTHER WOULD ALWAYS TELL me to trust my instincts. If everything inside me is screaming, there’s always a reason for it. If something feels dangerous, it probably is. If it feels wrong, then don’t do it. And if my inner self wants to take a certain step, then I should. She explained that often we know the right thing deep inside, but it can be clouded by the mess in our minds.

So clear the mess away first. Then listen to yourself.

All night I try to clear the mess away in my mind so I can decide what to do. Part of me wants to show up at Grant’s room like I did six months ago. That time, I didn’t have to talk or explain what I wanted. I simply knocked on his door, and he knew.

I’m pretty sure he’d know this time too.

I want to do it. I mentally rehearse the scene over and over again. Get out of bed. Put on my slippers. Head down to his apartment. Knock on his door. And then…

But questions and fears and insecurities keep clouding the issue for me. Is that really the smart thing to do? Sure, he’d probably fuck me if I ask him, but do I want a man who isn’t interested enough to pursue me? Faith said she picked up vibes between us, but maybe those vibes were all from me. After all, I made the first move once. It’s his turn now.

Isn’t it?

He said we shouldn’t have sex again. Why shouldn’t I assume he meant it?

So instead of following through with my plan, I stay awake for most of the night, tossing around, brooding over choices, and even getting up twice and starting to leave my room before I change my mind.

In the morning, I’m groggy and exhausted and have that sick weight in my gut that tells me I made a mistake. I didn’t follow my instincts. I failed.

Staying in bed and moping isn’t a choice for me anymore, so I get up to swim like normal, and I feel a little better afterward. Both the physical exertion and the intentional breathing required for swimming always help to clear my mind.

I need to stop asking questions about Grant. Even if he rejects me or hurts my feelings, it won’t be the end of the world. I need an answer on this, or I won’t be able to move on, so tonight I’m just going to do it.

It’ll be scary, but I’ll do it anyway.

With this resolved, I’m able to join Mary for my morning duties without dreading it. Although I’m tired as we organize the daily ration packs, I’m able to get into my social mood and smile and chat with everyone who stops by.

I just need to get through today. Then we’ll see.

Noah stops by and accepts my explanation about why I didn’t go find him the day before. He asks me about the trip with Grant and seems genuinely interested in my descriptions of New Haven Farm.

He tells me the invitation stands to come find him and hang out anytime I want, and I thank him and say we’ll see.

It’s a dismissal but not a rude or a permanent one. After all, if I can ever get over this thing with Grant, then maybe I can fall for Noah for real.

But not right now. There’s no room inside me for anyone else at the moment. That much has been made clear.

After lunch, I head back into the bunker, planning to rest for an hour or so since my lack of sleep is starting to catch up with me. But I pause before I reach the elevator when I hear a familiar engine turn on.

I walk over to where we left the Jeep the day before. Sure enough, Grant is sitting behind the steering wheel. The door is still hanging open, but he could close it any second.

“Where are you going today?” I ask him, hurrying over since it looks like he’s about to start off.

“I’m dropping off a message,” he explains curtly, as if the words will mean something to me.

“What, now?”

“I’m going to drop off a message.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but since he seems a little impatient, I don’t pursue it. “How far away is it?”

“Less than an hour. Same direction as New Haven.”

“Oh. Okay.” This time, when the instinct starts to speak, I don’t question it or let it get drowned out by insecurities. I stride over to the passenger side and open the door. “I’ll come with you then.”

His lips part slightly as he stares at me. I’ve clearly surprised him.

“Is this something you need to do alone?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows and pleased by how lofty I sound.

“No, but I don’t need company. Surely you’ve got something better to do.”

I’m already settling myself in the seat and buckling my seat belt. If he wants me out of this vehicle, he’s going to have to come around and drag me out himself. “Nope. Not a thing. Just finished my work for the day.”

There’s always more work to do, but I’ve completed my required duties. Anything else I do in the afternoons is because I want to fill the time or be helpful.

He narrows his eyes and gives his head a little shake, but he doesn’t argue.

I’m both pleased and surprised by his easy acceptance. “So what exactly is this message you’re leaving?”

He explains to me that Jackson told him yesterday about some kind of loosely connected help network that people have set up in the region. There are drop spots for messages as well as safe houses. People in need can ask for assistance, and those with resources can offer help.

“So someone comes by to check the drop spots?” I ask, fascinated by this new development.

“That’s what he said. Someone will get the messages and then make connections to match up needs and resources.” He’s more talkative today. Spending the afternoon with me yesterday must have loosened him up.

“That’s kind of cool. So is our message asking for help?”

“No. We don’t have any urgent needs right now. It’s offering help.”

“Oh.” I smile as I process this. “Oh, that’s great. I guess we have a lot of things that other people around here don’t have.”

“I talked to Dave and some of the others yesterday, and they’re not willing to give away too much of our stock. But what we do have is plenty of spare rooms in a very safe bunker. If people are looking for a safe place to live, we can help them with that. Plus it would help us since we could use some new folks in our community. The more people we have, the more we can do and the safer we’ll be.”

“Faith yesterday was showing me the new bunkhouse they built on the farm. It added like forty new beds, and they’ve almost got it filled already.”

“Exactly. There’s no reason we can’t do what they’ve done.”

I’m actually excited about doing something good, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way. “If the network is really big, we might get deluged with people pouring into the bunker.”

“Yeah, we thought of that. I don’t actually know if that would happen, but I don’t think it’s safe to send out a general message saying where we are and what we have. Dangerous sorts could end up hearing about it too and try to take what they want by force. So I wrote out the message saying we’ll accept people on a case-by-case basis, meeting up with them at an arranged location and then taking them to the bunker ourselves if they’ll be a fit.” We’ve already cleared the gravel path that leads through the woods from the bunker, and now Grant turns the Jeep onto the first paved road.

“That sounds like a good idea. You think bad people are likely to attack us?”

“I know for sure they would. The only reason they haven’t yet is because they don’t know what we have and where we are. But Jackson said the word is starting to get out about the bunker. People are going to be looking for it.”

“Ugh.” The thought makes my stomach churn, but I try not to dwell on it. We’ve got guards posted. We’ve done drills ever since we came out of lockdown. If someone attacks, we’ll get warning from the guards and we’ll all run into the bunker as fast as possible. The locked bunker door is basically impenetrable. It would be bad to be trapped down there again, but we’d be okay. For a while at least.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Grant says in a softer tone. He’s giving me a sidelong look. “It just makes sense to play it safe and be prepared.”

“Of course it does. I wasn’t scared.”

“Uh-huh.”

I make a face at his dry tone and don’t reply.

It takes about fifty minutes to get to the drop spot, which is in the ruins of an old gas station quick shop. I help Grant lift a toppled beverage cooler so he can slide his note underneath it, and then our mission is accomplished.

“Well, that was easy enough.” I wipe away a light layer of perspiration from my forehead with the back of my hand. It’s warmer out today.

“I told you it was a one-person job.”

“Maybe I just wanted to go. You think I enjoy being trapped in one place for the rest of my life?”

“No. I’m sure you don’t enjoy it.” His tone and his expression are quiet. “But it’s safer that way.”

“We have to balance safety with quality of life. I’d be safer if I never left my apartment in the bunker, but you think that would be any way to live?”

“No one is expecting that.”

“I’m just saying. There has to be a balance. And maybe it’s not all that safe for you to up and leave whenever you want without any backup or protection.”

“I always take this Jeep. It’s armored. Bulletproof. I wouldn’t go by myself otherwise.”

I scowl at him, mostly because it’s annoying that he always has reasonable responses to my legitimate reproaches.

He almost, almost smiles.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

“What’s gotten into you today?” He doesn’t look angry or annoyed. His face is questioning and faintly amused. It’s a softer feeling than I normally see in him, and I can’t help but like it.

We’ve been walking back toward the Jeep, and now he leans over to grab two bottles of water out of the back. He tosses one to me, and I catch it gratefully.

After I take a big swallow, I reply to his question. “What do you mean, what’s gotten into me?”

“I don’t know. You just seem…” He shrugs. “You’re not normally so aggressive.”

“Aggressive?” I’m not sure why I take it as an insult, but it feels like one.

“Feisty?”

“That’s even worse! Kittens are feisty. Not me. Anyway, I’m not really acting different. This is the normal me. Maybe I’m just starting to lose patience.”

He’s leaning against the Jeep, periodically drinking from his water bottle. He’s even sweatier than I am. There are a couple of perspiration stains on his gray T-shirt. His worn jeans are riding low on his hips, and his blue eyes are glinting with something. Something that feels to me a lot like a challenge. “You’re losing your patience with what?”

And that’s what does it. That question. That look.

“With you.” I stride across the distance between us, reach up to drag his head down, and kiss him hard.

He stays still for a few moments—clearly taken by surprise—but it doesn’t take long before he’s responding. He tenses up, wraps one arm around me, and curves the other hand around the back of my head to hold me in place. He deepens the kiss almost fiercely, and it leaves me breathless and buzzing with feeling.

Then suddenly he releases me, drawing back a step and staring at me. He’s panting just as loudly as I am.

Neither of us says anything for a moment.

“You really want this?” he asks at last, soft and rough. His body is so taut I can see muscles rippling faintly in his jaw and in his arms.

Instead of answering with words, I pull my little white shirt off over my head. I’ve got a well-worn bra on underneath it, but it does little to hide the shape of my breasts and the pale expanse of my skin.

He devours my body with a hot gaze before he returns his focus to my face. “Not out here. I’ll be too distracted to keep an eye out for danger.” He nods toward the vehicle. “Passenger seat will have to do.”

He walks around to open the passenger side door, clearly expecting me to follow him. Then he grabs the back of his T-shirt and yanks it off over his head. I don’t have much time to admire the sight because he’s unhooking his gun holster and undoing his jeans.

“Take off the rest of your clothes, princess.”

I don’t know why, but the gruff authority in his tone really gets me going. Arousal tightens so quickly between my legs it almost hurts.

“Sorry,” he adds when I don’t move immediately. “But if you want it slow and gentle, we’ll have to wait until we have access to a bed.”

“I don’t want it slow and gentle.” I unhook my bra and pull it away from my breasts, and then I toe off my shoes and shimmy out of my jeans. It’s strange doing it outside, in the open air, but it’s also ridiculously arousing.

He’s already down to his underwear, and he climbs in to sit on the seat. When I’ve got my clothes off, he reaches an arm out toward me. “Climb on top of me. I’ve got to shut this door.”

I do what he says, letting him pull me into the passenger side of the Jeep before he closes the door and locks it.

It’s stuffy inside because the windows are up, but it doesn’t matter right now. It takes me a minute to settle myself on top of him, straddling his hips with my legs.

“There you go,” he murmurs. His big hands are cupping my bottom, guiding me into position. “Just like that.”

I’m thinking about kissing him again since his face is very close to mine, but he lifts my upper body enough to get his mouth on one of my breasts.

I gasp when he tweaks the nipple with his lips. Then arch my back as he twirls it with his tongue. He keeps teasing it with a rough kind of skill, the stimulation sending tugs of intense pleasure straight to my pussy, before he moves and does the same to my other breast.

Soon I’m making embarrassingly helpless sounds and squirming on his lap, trying to get friction where I need it. “Please,” I beg, when the arousal gets too much. “Please, Grant. Please.”

He lets my breast slip out of his mouth and gazes up at me with a greedy, possessive look that thrills me. “Shit. You’re the hottest little thing I’ve ever known.”

It’s not the most graceful or romantic of compliments, but it works on me anyway. I’m flushed with pleasure and heat—all the way down to my chest.

He keeps holding my ass with one of his hands but uses the other to feel between my legs. He strokes me open and slides one finger all the way inside me, making me arch back again and let out a lingering moan.

“You’re so wet. So hot and wet and tight.”

“Yes,” I hiss, letting my head drop back and shamelessly trying to ride his finger.

“Look at you. About to come already.”

“Yes.” I make a silly sobbing sound as he pumps his finger more intentionally, pushing against my g-spot. “Yes!” Before I know to expect it—before I even know that it’s possible—I’m coming with a wave of pleasure and a series of shuddering spasms.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, still pushing against my contractions with his finger and tightening his hand on my bottom. “You want this so bad, don’t you?”

I try to answer with a whimpered, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” as I shake above him, working through the climax and then falling forward as my body softens deliciously. He frees one arm so he can wrap it around me until I’ve caught my breath and straightened up.

He looks very pleased with himself as I check his face.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I tell him.

“I didn’t say a word.” He’s not quite smiling, but he might as well be as he adds, “But I did make you come pretty hard and very quickly.”

“I’m the one on top, doing most of the work here. So you can keep your smugness to yourself. Do you want to do the rest of this thing or not?” I’m already reaching down between our bodies so I can get my hands around his cock.

He’s still wearing his underwear so I have to push it down and pull out his erection. He’s hard. All the way. He feels warm and firm and big against my fingers.

“We are definitely going to finish this thing,” he mutters, moving his hands back to my butt so he can help me into position.

It isn’t exactly spacious in the passenger seat like this, and the enclosed air is getting hotter and hotter. But I couldn’t care less about any of that. All that matters is his big, strong body beneath me and the way his cock feels in my hand. Together, we’re able to guide him inside me as I lower my hips over the length of him.

It’s tight again. Very tight. I gasp and gasp again at the intensity of the penetration.

“Yes,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he arches his neck. “That’s good. Fuck, you feel so good.” Then he pauses as I make a small, stretched sound. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“If it’s uncomfortable, we can—”

“It’s good.” I’m finally starting to relax around him, my body stretching to accommodate his. “I want it to feel like this. Exactly like this.”

He seems to accept this response, but he doesn’t get us going right away. He leans forward and presses a few kisses against the side of my neck. Then trails down to tease the pulse in my throat.

The touches feel good. Distract me. A little moan escapes my lips.

His kisses intensify until he’s sucking hard on my pulse and nipping the tender spot on my shoulder with his teeth. I’m so turned on again now that I start to rock over him without even realizing what I’m doing.

“There you go.” He leans his head back so he can see me. “Ride me just like that.”

I do because it’s feeling so good and because I need to answer the growing ache at my core. He thrusts up to meet my motion, and we build up a fast, steady rhythm together. My body shakes. The loose strands of hair that have escaped my braid fly around. My breasts jiggle. I can feel them bouncing, and for some reason I love how wild and dirty it feels.

This is me. Olivia Vincent. Naked in a Jeep with a very hot man. Bouncing eagerly on his lap.

He’s grunting loudly as our fucking accelerates, sounding primal, animalistic. The truth is I’m kind of grunting too, making soft, wordless sounds every time our bodies slap together. I can’t seem to help it. The sounds just come out.

My fingers are clenched on his shoulders. The tension inside me is rising to its breaking point. I fall out of rhythm with a sobbing sound.

“Slow down, princess,” he rasps, tightening his hold on my bottom and guiding my motion more intentionally. “You’ve got it. Don’t force it. You’re almost there. Just let it come.”

I sob again and arch my spine, but I don’t fight against his direction. His thrusts from below are still steady but more forceful. We’re actually rocking the Jeep now, a fact that’s both thrilling and embarrassing. “Please,” I gasp, just before I surge into climax.

It’s deep and intense and messy and overwhelming. I shake wildly as the spasms of pleasure rush through me. It lasts so long and feels so good that I’m hoarse and aching all over when the waves start to subside. My inner walls have clamped down all around him, and now Grant falls out of rhythm too.

He lets out a bellow as his body tightens like a fist. Then he’s clumsily pulling me up so that his cock slides out. He takes it in one hand and squeezes as he comes in several hard spurts on my belly.

I fall forward afterward, limp and exhausted. He holds me for just a minute before the stuffy heat in the vehicle and the discomfort of our cramped position finally compel me to move.

It’s a little awkward afterward. Untangling our bodies. Getting out. Putting back on our clothes.

It feels like Grant is watching me, but every time I check, he’s looking at something else.

“Well,” I say at last since someone needs to say something.

He rubs his damp, messy hair with one of his hands. “Yeah.”

I’m nervous now, so I can’t think. I end up laying it all out there. “If you tell me that we shouldn’t do this again, I’m going to need a better explanation than it’s complicated.”

His blue eyes are sharp and observant, despite the deep satisfaction I can still see on his face. “Is this really what you want?”

“Yes. And I think that should be pretty obvious. We’re good together.”

“Yeah. We are.” He rubs at his scalp again, an unusually restless gesture for him. “All right then. Anytime you want to make a move on me, I’m never going to say no.”

This isn’t exactly what I want to hear. I want a clearer understanding of what he’s actually feeling. But he never shows me that. He never shows anyone. And at least this is better than nothing.

It will make it easier. Safer. Sex and nothing more.

I’m sure I can manage that. Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I have a lot else going on in my life. If I have a willing sex partner, why not make use of him when I want?

“Okay. Good. That’s settled then.”

Since we seemed to have come to an understanding—at least for now—we get back in the Jeep and head home.

We chat occasionally on the drive—about the changed landscape, about the wildlife in this area, about how many people we think are likely to take us up on the offer of moving in with us. It feels as comfortable as it’s ever felt between us, more like it was when we were practicing fighting skills every evening, and I’m generally pleased with my decisions today. So I’m in a decent mood as we turn down the gravel path that leads to the bunker.

But halfway there, Grant applies the brakes. His body visibly tightens.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He tilts his head up toward the tall trees edging the path. “There. It’s a guard post. Noah should be there right now.”

I have to peer closely, or I’d never be able to spot the perch where one of our guards should be posted. There’s no one there now. No one in sight. “What does it mean? Where is he?”

“Something’s wrong,” Grant mutters.

I’m trying to take this in—imagining horrifying possibilities—when Grant suddenly makes a move. He does a three-point turn, repositioning the Jeep so it’s pointing away from the bunker. Then he pulls a rifle out of the back before he climbs out. “Come on,” he says. “We’ll need to stay out of sight to check it out.”

I get out without hesitation or argument. My heart is hammering painfully, and the sated leisure I’d been feeling after sex vanishes in rising panic. “We just leave the Jeep here?”

“Yep. Don’t want to risk the sound of the engine. We’ll come back for it if we can.”

If we can…

The words terrify me more than anything else.

Grant wraps his hand around one of my forearms to pull me off the path and into the surrounding woods. I don’t draw away from his grip because it’s strangely comforting, but he eventually drops his hand.

I follow him without a word, every nerve on edge and acutely conscious of every stray sound. We walk through the woods toward the clearing around the bunker.

The closer we get, the more I’m convinced that Grant was right.

Something is definitely wrong.

6

AT SOME POINT, after Grant lets go of my arm, I reach for the holstered pistol on my hip and pull it out. My hand is damp from the sudden flood of nerves, but at least it doesn’t tremble.

For a year and a half, I trained with Grant nearly every evening. To use this gun. To defend myself. To fight if I must.

I’ve never actually used any of those skills before.

We’re still in the woods as we draw nearer to our camp, so I can’t see anything but trees and the back of Grant’s body. His dark hair is slightly mussed at the nape of his neck, and there’s a damp spot on his shirt below his shoulder blades. I’m starting to hear things, however. The roar of engines. Rough, muffled shouts. Then the crack of a gunshot that makes me jump.

Grant props his rifle on his shoulder, aiming it in front of him as he steps forward.

I try to move as silently as he can, but I don’t have any practice at this. I occasionally rustle leaves or step on a twig.

We’re reaching the edge of the trees now. I see light beyond them. It’s late afternoon on what was supposed to be a regular day. I had sex just over an hour ago, and now I’m in a cold, weirdly calm panic.

Without speaking, Grant signals behind him with his hand in a clear sign that I should stop. I do as he indicates while he takes a few steps forward.

He’s trying to see what’s happening out there.

Something in his body changes as he peers out at our camp. When he comes back to me, I’m sick to my stomach even before he whispers, “The gate is down.”

The gate is down.

Someone attacked our camp and got through.

I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now. This isn’t a situation I’ve been prepped for.

The gate is down. Maybe everyone else I know is already dead.

Grant inclines his head in a signal to follow him, so I do—taking step by step in a frozen blur. When he stops again, we’re still hidden by the trees, but we’re on the back side of the camp.

He turns to face me, opening his mouth to speak, when he seems to notice something on my face. He breaks off whatever he was going to say and gives his head a brief shake. “You’re dead white. It might not be that bad. If the camp was attacked, then our people would have locked down in the bunker.”

His matter-of-fact words are like a balm, a warm breeze. I take a ragged breath and exhale it slowly. “You think they’re all right?”

“Maybe not all of them, but we’ve been drilling for months now. Most should have gotten into the bunker before that gate came down. But I need more details on the situation so I can figure out what to do.”

This makes sense and sounds doable. Much more feasible than him and me attacking an unknown number of intruders on our own, which was the only option that occurred to me.

I’m about to respond when there’s a loud rustling from the trees to our left. I automatically raise my pistol toward the sound. Propping up his rifle again, Grant starts walking toward the sound.

He probably wants me to stay put, but I don’t. For one, I’m not about to be left alone right now. For another, I’m not going to let him wander off and get killed. So I follow him a few steps behind.

I nearly squeal when I hear the sound of another shot. Then a figure suddenly breaks through the trees. The man is moving at a clumsy run and nearly collides into Grant.

I recognize the shirt he’s wearing before anything else. “It’s Noah!” I gasp a little louder than I should because I don’t want Grant to shoot him.

Grant has already lowered his rifle. He reaches out with one arm and catches Noah before he slumps to the ground.

There’s blood on his face. And all over the back of his shirt. “They…” Noah’s voice is weak and raspy, but he clearly knows who we are. “They got in.”

“How many?”

He gives an awkward headshake. “Don’t… know. Dozens. I tried to… but they were on me.”

“Were you able to sound the warning?” Grant asks him tersely. He almost sounds mean, but I know he’s not. “Were the others able to lock down?”

“Y-yeah. Most. A bunch of us… killed.” His features twist in visible pain that makes me want to whimper.

“He needs help, Grant.” I speak softly, although I’m pretty sure we’re too far away from the camp for regular voices to be heard. “We can ask him more questions later.”

Grant looks like he’s about to snap back an answer, but then he evidently changes his mind. He looks at Noah. Then looks at me. Then gives a curt nod. “Okay. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

I’m surprised but relieved at this decision, and I move to help Grant support Noah as we make our way back to the Jeep. It’s not an easy or a pleasant journey, but luck is on our side because we don’t see anyone else and our vehicle is still untouched where we left it.

Grant dumps Noah unceremoniously in the back before he and I climb into our seats. “Where will we go?” I ask him.

“I know a shelter nearby. It won’t be comfortable, but it will be safe.”

That sounds good to me. I don’t need luxury right now. I need a space where it doesn’t feel like we’re about to be attacked from all sides. And we need to treat Noah’s injuries as best we can.

Grant is silent as he drives us back down the gravel road and then about a mile to a dirt path that’s barely wide enough for the Jeep to fit through. He forces it through anyway. It goes uphill for a while and then around a steep, rocky edge. The vehicle jerks to a stop there. I have no idea why. I see nothing that might constitute a shelter.

I don’t question Grant, however. He obviously knows more about what he’s doing than I do. I scramble out and move to help support Noah as we pull him out of the back.

He’s still conscious. Sickly white and drenched in sweat and blood.

Grant leads us to what looks like a solid wall of rock, but then I realize there’s an opening there. A shallow cave, nearly out of sight from the dirt path.

“How did you find this place?” I ask as we lower Noah to the packed dirt ground.

It’s an irrelevant question. An idle one. But Grant answers me anyway. “Luck. I was looking for somewhere nearby to stow some emergency provisions and managed to find this.”

I gasp as I see there are a couple of cases against the back wall. There will be stuff in there that we can use. Grant stashed them there probably months ago in preparation for exactly such an emergency.

He really is good at this kind of thing.

“Wow,” I murmur.

He shrugs off what’s obviously a compliment and focuses on tending Noah. He opens up one of the cases and pulls out some first aid supplies. He cleans him up, finds and binds the bullet wound in his back, and gives him some pain medication.

I help as much as I can, even though the blood and Noah’s pain make my stomach churn dangerously.

When we’re done, Grant thrusts a bottle of water at me. “Drink some of this.”

“I don’t—”

“Drink it.”

I make a face at him, but I do take a few sips. Small ones since I’m still kind of queasy.

After a minute, I feel better. I let out a slow exhale. This was evidently what Grant was waiting for. He pulls me a few feet away from Noah, toward the exit of the cave, and he says, “You stay here with him. I’m going to scout the camp and figure out what we’re up against.”

My spine stiffens with a jerk. “You can’t go! They’ll see you. Noah can just tell you—” I break off the words as I glance back. Noah looks better than he did, but he isn’t even conscious anymore.

“He can’t tell me anything right now, and I’ve got to learn as much as I can.”

“Then I’ll come—”

“Someone needs to stay with Noah.”

“But what if he needs help? I don’t know enough about first aid to—”

“Olivia,” he says thickly, reaching out to cup one of my cool, damp cheeks. “He’s going to die. There’s nothing you can do for him anyway.”

“What? No! We—”

“We made him as comfortable as we could, but he’s got a bullet in his back. I’m not a surgeon. I can’t get it out. And he’s lost too much blood anyway. We’d have to get him back to the clinic in the bunker to save him, and even then we might not be able to. He’s not going to make it, princess, but I don’t want him to die alone.”

My eyes burn. My lips wobble. My throat closes up painfully.

“I’m sorry,” Grant adds in a gentle voice. “I know you really like him.”

“I do.” I swallow hard. Make myself focus on the most urgent thing. “But you can’t go off by yourself. They’ll find you and kill you! You can’t, Grant.”

“I’m not going to get killed. I’ll stay out of sight.” He holds my gaze with a strange sobriety. An earnestness that’s not at all like him. “I’m not going to do something stupid and leave you here alone. I promise.”

I nod. I believe him. And I also know he’s right that we need more information before we can figure out what to do.

Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Maybe our people will be able to fight back and retake the camp. Maybe we can even get Noah into the bunker in time and save him.

There’s no reason to expect the worst.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m holding you to that promise. Come back as quick as you can. I can’t do this without you.”

He opens his mouth like he might say something but then closes it again. He does that so often. Like he’s always stopping himself from saying what he wants to express, and it’s never made me more frustrated than it does right now.

Instead of speaking, he leans forward and gives me a brief, hard kiss. Then he’s gone before I can even process what happened.

I have nothing to do but return to Noah.

He’s still mostly unconscious, but he’s shifting restlessly. He looks even paler than he did before. He needs surgery. A blood transfusion. And there’s no way we can give that to him.

I reach over to grab the remains of the bloody shirt we tore off him. I find the cleanest scrap of fabric and tear it off. Then dampen it with water and wipe the perspiration from his face.

It’s not going to do anything worthwhile, but I need something to do.

After several minutes—or maybe longer since I’m too dazed to keep track of time—his eyes flutter open.

“Olivia,” he murmurs hoarsely.

I smile. “Yeah.”

“You doing all right?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot.”

“I was trying to… see if I could save anyone. But they were all in… bunker… or dead.”

My throat tightens again. He looks so weak and pale now. I wipe his face with the damp cloth. “You did great. You sounded the alarm. You saved most of them. You did really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Glad you’re okay.” He takes a breath so raspy it terrifies me. It sounds like his lungs are full of fluid.

He’s not going to make it. Maybe not even for another whole minute.

“You were always…” Noah coughs, and I whimper when I see he’s coughing up blood.

I try to wipe it away as best I can. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s going to be okay.” It won’t be. Not for him. I know it for sure now.

His body softens suddenly, but not in a good way. It’s like he goes limp. Can’t move. His eyes are still focused on my face with almost—almost—his sweet smile. “You were always the prettiest girl I’ve ever known.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I keep wiping at his cheeks and mouth. It doesn’t matter though. His eyes are falling shut.

He doesn’t open them again. He doesn’t move. After another couple of minutes, his chest stops its raspy rise and fall.

He’s gone.

I’ve been sitting on my knees beside him, and I stay there for a long time. So long my feet go to sleep and start to prickle. My shoulders keep hunching, and the lump in my throat keeps growing, and then without warning I buckle, falling forward with sobs that actually hurt as they tear through my throat.

I haven’t been sobbing for very long when I’m faintly conscious of the sound of an engine approaching. Then footsteps behind me.

It’s Grant. I know it is. I try to straighten up and stop crying, but I can’t.

“Shit.” Grant kneels down beside me and lifts up my head and upper body so he can see my face. He gives me a quick scan and then reaches over to feel Noah’s pulse.

He quickly assesses what I already know. Noah is dead.

“I’m sorry.” He’s looking at me again. Still holding me with one hand curved around the nape of my neck. “There was nothing you could do for him.”

“I… know.” I have to choke the words out. I’m still sobbing helplessly, and I don’t like it because I’m not normally like this.

He draws me toward him until I’m burying my face in his shirt and wraps an arm around me tightly.

I haven’t cried like this since my dad died. I’m not sure why I can’t seem to stop now. But it feels better for Grant to hold me like this. His hand is strong and hard at the back of my neck, and his other arm is almost bruising as it’s wrapped around my middle. It’s exactly what I need to feel right now.

After a couple of minutes, the sobs start to fade—from exhaustion more than anything else. I stay pressed against him limply. I don’t want to move, and I’m honestly not sure I’m capable of it.

Grant smells strongly. Like sweat and dirt and the faintly ashy outside air. It’s not a pretty fragrance, but I like it anyway. It feels safe and strong and familiar.

It smells like him.

“Y’okay?” he asks in that gravelly voice that proves he’s feeling something.

“Yeah.” I sigh and make myself straighten up. “I’m okay.”

He finally loosens his arms. His blue eyes search my face. “I’ll bury him as well as I can. Then we’ve got to get somewhere safer than this for the night.”

“Where will we go?”

“New Haven, I guess.” He rubs at his face and the back of his neck. “If there isn’t a bed for us, we can sleep in the barn. At least it will be safe there as we figure out what to do.”

“What did you find out?” I ask, realizing there are important things that completely slipped my mind. “Are our people safe in the bunker?”

“They seem to be. I think most of them got down there. I saw about twenty bodies.”

I squeak at this number.

“Not all of them were our people,” he goes on quickly. “Our guards took a lot of the attackers out. It looked like a Wolf Pack, but it was too big for just one. Maybe a few of them got together because it was so tempting a target. I don’t know. But I’d say we probably lost Noah and about five or six others.”

Part of me wants to ask who he recognized among the bodies, but the rest of me doesn’t want to know. Not right now. Not on top of everything else. Losing Noah is hard enough.

Grant seems to realize this because he goes on, “They’re camped out there. Right above the bunker. But they don’t have the capabilities to get into it, so I think the rest of our people are safe for now. So let’s get to New Haven tonight, and then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

I nod, licking my dry lips and glancing back toward Noah’s body.

“I’ll do my best to bury him for now,” Grant murmurs. “And when we’re safe, I’ll come back and bury him better.”

“Thank you.” I’m not sure why I say this. Just that he made it sound like he was doing it for me.

The sun is low by the time we’re able to start back toward New Haven, and it’s completely dark when we get there.

We’re lucky their guards don’t shoot us as we approach, but one of them recognizes us. They make us wait until Jackson comes out from the house and gives permission to let us in.

I’m too tired and drained to pay much attention to what comes after. We’re invited to the house to get some dinner and explain what happened. Faith and Jackson say we can stay as long as we need to. There’s some more talk as Grant and Jackson speculate about the possibility of Wolf Packs getting together and what that means for security in the region.

Then finally Faith says, “We can talk more about this tomorrow. It’s late, and y’all have had a really hard day. Get some sleep.” She gives me a little smile. “I’m glad you two are all right.”

I smile back at her.

Grant puts his hand on my back as Faith shows us to an outbuilding where she says there’s a spare room for us. I’m not sure why he keeps his hand there—right in the middle, beneath my shoulder blades—but I like the feel of it.

It feels like I need it.

The room is very small, and it only has one cot and a small table with a washbasin and a couple of pegs to hang up clothes. Faith slants us a quick look. “Will you be okay in here?”

“It’s fine,” I tell her.

“It’s fine,” Grant says at exactly the same time.

She gives a huff of amusement and tells us good night before she leaves.

“I can sleep on the floor if you want,” Grant murmurs.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I’m already taking off my shoes, socks, and jeans. Then I maneuver out of my bra so I can sleep in my panties and top. I peed in the outhouse not long ago, so I just splash water on my face and drop into bed.

It’s not nearly as nice as the beds in the bunker, but I really don’t care right now.

I’m vaguely aware of Grant getting ready for bed too. He leaves for a few minutes—I assume to go to the bathroom—and when he comes back, he strips down to his underwear and climbs into the bed beside me.

There’s really not much room. The only comfortable way to sleep is to scoot right up against his body. Since that’s what I want anyway, I don’t hesitate to get close. He wraps both arms around me.

“Y’okay?” he asks huskily, rubbing his jaw against my messy hair.

“Yeah. Really tired.”

“Well, get some sleep. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

“Okay.” My body is already softening against him. I feel better right now than I have in hours. Like maybe the world isn’t falling apart.

Like maybe he can help me hold it all together.

“It’s okay.” He sounds just as tired as I feel. He’s speaking now in a soothing whisper. “It’ll be okay. Just get some sleep. I’ve got you.”

He does. He has me.

I fall asleep on that thought.

It’s several hours later when I wake up, and I have no idea where I am or what time it is. It’s pitch-black in the room. It smells faintly like a barn and a lot like Grant.

I’m still clinging to him, but I’ve somehow scooted down as I slept, so my head is resting on his belly.

I can feel it rising and falling. I squeeze his side and shift a little.

We’re at New Haven, I finally realize. The camp was taken over. Our people are trapped in the bunker. And Noah is dead.

Grant is awake. His hand has been tangled in my hair, and he moves it slightly, trying to extricate his fingers.

I sniff and lift my head, trying to see him in the dark.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yeah. I need to pee.” I manage to sit up without poking him in the gut with my elbow. “I don’t really want to go out there by myself in the dark.”

It’s safe at New Haven. We’re behind walls that are closely guarded, and Faith and Jackson don’t let anyone in here if they can’t be trusted.

But still…

“I’ll come with you.” He groans slightly as he heaves himself up.

“Are you all right?” I ask, suddenly worried about him. It sounded like something was hurting him.

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t injured, were you?”

“No. Of course not.” He’s rustling through the bag he brought with us, and then the pale light of a flashlight suddenly fills the room. “Just a little sore.”

“Sore from what?”

He gives me a narrow-eyed look in the faint light. “From life. I’m not as young as you are, you know.”

I surprise myself by giggling. “How old are you anyway? I know it’s kind of hard when you get up toward forty.”

He sucks in a breath. “I’m thirty-four.”

I giggle again but try to stifle it as we head outside so I can use the outhouse.

I feel better when we return to our tiny room and climb back into our tiny bed. It’s still the wee hours of the morning—far too early to consider getting up. I can sleep some more.

And maybe things won’t seem so bad tomorrow morning.

“You think they’re all right in the bunker?” I ask into the darkness after we’ve settled back into the bed.

“Yes. I think they’re fine. Better off than us for now.”

“But they don’t have provisions to be down there for a long time. We need to get rid of that Wolf Pack.”

“So we will. We’ll figure out something to do before they run out of food. They still have the hydroponic garden and the rest of our stock stuff. They’ve got plenty of time.”

“Okay. Good.”

“I’ll keep you safe until we can get back to them again.”

“I know you will.” I move against him. He feels even hotter and warmer than he was before. I like how his bare skin feels against mine. His chest hair brushes against my cheek. I kiss just beside his left nipple.

His hand was stroking my hair, but now it moves down to my back. He rubs in slow circles over my tank top before he moves even lower to cup the soft flesh between my bottom and the back of my thigh.

I trail a hand down to feel the front of his underwear. He’s starting to get hard. He gives a quick, ragged breath as I stroke him.

I try to think of something to say to make what’s happening seem normal, natural, but there’s nothing. I have no idea why I want to do this right now. I’m not even feeling all that sexy.

Just needy.

So needy.

And something in him can answer that need.

I stretch up to nuzzle at the crook of his neck. His thick bristles scratch my skin. His hand is getting more presumptuous. It’s playing at the edges of my panties.

“Grant, please,” I breathe when he only teases. I’m squirming. Can’t seem to help it.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.” The last word comes out as an extended hiss.

He makes a throaty sound and pushes me over onto my back. He drags up my top so he can get his mouth on one of my breasts. I gasp as he tugs with his lips at the nipple.

It’s dead silent and very dark. I can’t see him above me, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He gives my breasts some rough attention and yanks my panties down all the way.

Then he slides two fingers inside me and fucks me with them, lowering his mouth back to my breast. The dual sensations tug on the same cord deep at my core. I whimper and gasp and try to ride his hand as an orgasm builds quickly.

It breaks before I’m prepared for it, and I make a loud sobbing sound that cuts through the silence.

He keeps pumping as my inner muscles contract around his fingers. He rubs his face against mine, muttering, “Good girl. So good. Come for me just like that.”

He pants hotly against my neck and shoulder as my body slowly relaxes. His fingers are still curled inside me.

When I’m completely still and my breathing has evened out, he kisses my shoulder. Then the side of my jaw. Then the corner of my mouth. “You want more, princess?”

“Yeah.” I’m strangely embarrassed by the admission. I had a terrible afternoon. I shouldn’t be wanting sex like this right now. But my pussy tightens around his fingers as I speak, and I know he’ll be able to feel it.

“Tell me again.”

“I want more.” Once again, my pussy clamps down around his fingers in excitement as I admit the truth.

He shifts positions and his fingers slide out.

I whimper. “Please.”

“Part your legs more for me. And hold on to your knees.”

The words are matter-of-fact directions rather than sexy talk, and in a different context I’d be annoyed by his bossiness. But I do what he says, arousal throbbing intensely. I don’t know why I like the way he tells me what to do in bed, and I don’t know why I instinctively obey. But I do.

He must be able to see in the dark a little better than me because he knows when I’m holding my legs so my knees are drawn in toward my shoulders. I’m not sure I like the position. It leaves me exposed. Undignified. Helpless.

I’m wondering if I want to change positions when he moves so he’s hovering over me. I can feel him more than see him. Then he slides his fingers inside me. It’s got to be three this time. It’s tighter. Fuller. I make a silly, extended groan as he penetrates me.

“How’s that?” he asks soft and gruff.

“G-good.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I like it!” I arch my neck deeply, my eyes closed and my mouth falling open with another long, shameless moan. My position is rather uncomfortable. I have no idea why it’s making me so hot.

“Good. Hold yourself just like that. Don’t try to force it this time.”

I whine wordlessly and toss my head as he starts to fuck me again with his hand. This time it’s tighter. Harder. Rougher. It makes a wet slapping sound. It feels so good it aches.

Because he’s not working my breasts at the same time, the climax takes longer. My clit and nipples throb. My hands tremble as they clutch at my shins. One of his hands is holding my bottom, almost lifting me off the bed as he pumps hard and fast with the other one.

If I could move my hips or rub my clit, I could get there sooner, but I can’t do either thing. I huff and toss my head and dig my fingernails into my own skin as I try to take what he’s giving me. After a while, my huffs turn into more of those sobbing sounds. They get louder and louder as I climb toward climax.

Without warning, his hand stops. “Am I hurting you?”

“No! No, please. Don’t stop. I need it.” My cheeks are blazing hot, and a few tears stream out of my eyes. “I want it to feel like this.”

I’m telling him the naked truth, and he must believe me. He fucks me again with his hand, pushing hard against my g-spot until the orgasm finally breaks.

I shake and cry and gasp through the spasms of pleasure, and they keep coming longer than I know to expect. Finally the contractions slow down and then dissipate. I’m panting hoarsely, occasionally making a little moan. I’m wet all over from sweat and even wetter between my legs. I can feel moisture on the sheet beneath me.

Grant gives me a few gentle strokes before he removes his hand and falls down onto the bed beside me. He pulls me toward him, hugging me tightly again. He’s breathing just as heavily as I am.

“You did so good,” he murmurs against my hair.

“I can’t believe how hard I came.” I’m still snuffling, my eyes and nose running. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No. I told you. I needed it like that.”

“Okay.”

My body is deliciously relaxed, but his is still tense. I reach down to his boxer briefs and feel how hard he is. Fully erect. I squeeze him through the fabric, and he groans.

“If you don’t feel like doing more,” he begins. “I can just—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I feel like more. And I’m not going to leave you like this. I want you to fuck me.”

“How do you want it?”

Again, I’m almost ashamed of the confession, but I tell him anyway. “Hard. Like before. I need it hard.”

His body tightens palpably, and his cock twitches against my hand. He clearly wants it like I do. “Turn over onto your stomach and lift your ass.”

I do as he says without question, arousal starting to pulse inside me again as soon as I raise my bottom into the air. He gets on his knees behind me, parts my butt cheeks, and edges his cock into my slightly sore pussy.

I hide my face in the mattress and groan long and loud.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks when he’s buried inside me.

A little, but not much. And the ache is so, so good. “This is how I want it. Please.”

He starts to pump his hips, slow and rhythmic for a minute, but he can’t sustain that pace for long. Soon he’s rutting like an animal, pushing into me so hard I can barely brace my body. He’s grunting loud with every instroke, and I’m muffling my helpless cries into the mattress.

It feels like he’s going to come at any moment. He can’t last very long like this. I’m not quite there yet, but I don’t even mind. I love the way he’s about to lose control.

From me. From fucking me. Such a strong, reserved man about to completely lose it over me.

He makes a long, stretched sound and lets go of my butt cheek, which he’s been holding in a bruising grip. Then he smacks the side of my bottom with his palm, making a sharp slapping sound.

The unexpected sensation of the spank pushes me immediately into orgasm. I come in an intense rush just before he yanks his cock out. He comes in hard spurts on my back and bottom, making rough, broken noises that don’t quite form words.

We both collapse back into the bed, wet and messy and boneless and exhausted. After a few minutes, he’s collected himself enough to gather me back into a loose hug. “Y’okay?” he rasps, the same way he asked me before.

“Yeah. Better now. I needed that.”

He pauses before he admits, “Me too.”

I burrow close to him, finally feeling sated, like what I craved has been answered.

It doesn’t really make sense to want that kind of sex right now. I should want gentleness. Softness. Comfort. Not rough sex in the dark with no romantic words or tender caresses.

With a man who’s never once admitted he cares for me even a little.

But he gave me what I needed tonight. He’s never not been there when I need him.

Maybe it doesn’t matter if he loves me or not. Maybe that’s not the world we live in anymore, and maybe it’s naive to want or expect it.

Maybe none of that means what it used to.

I do realize one thing as I lie against his warm, relaxed body and listen to his heavy breathing.

Things might change tomorrow. Or the day after. Or a week from now.

But, at this moment, all I have left in the world is him.

7

WHEN I WAKE up later that morning, the world feels strange and almost painfully bright.

I’m not disoriented. I know exactly where I am, and I remember everything that happened yesterday. But something is off. Wrong. Uncomfortable.

After I pry my eyes open, I realize what must have woken me up. Grant has just walked into the tiny room we’re sharing. He’s fully dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday, and he smells like dirt and grass and sun.

Sun.

That’s why the world feels so weird right now. It’s late in the morning, and I normally get up at dawn.

“What time is it?” I ask in a croaky voice. It’s like my voice has forgotten how to work.

“Eight thirty or nine, I’d guess.”

Not since vacation days in high school have I slept in so late. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s late! How long have you been up?”

He gives a brief shrug. “Few hours. You feel okay?”

“No.” I’m scowling as I sit up on the side of the bed, trying to pull my scattered thoughts together. “I overslept, and I never do that. You should have woken me up when you got up.”

“Like hell, I should.” He’s frowning back at me as he sits on the bed beside me. “You needed the sleep, and you didn’t miss anything important. I was just helping out with some chores.”

“I could have helped too.” I’m making too big a deal about this. I know I am. But I’m feeling so off-kilter I can’t seem to stop myself. “I didn’t need to lie around in bed all morning like a lazy teenager.”

He gives me a mild eye roll, but his voice is a little softer as he says, “You had a hard day yesterday and a long night. You needed the sleep.”

“You needed it too.”

“I don’t sleep much. Not anymore.”

Maybe it’s the way he says the words. Matter-of-fact. Like an unquestionable statement of his reality. Or maybe it’s the culmination of everything I’ve learned about him in the past five years. But I suddenly realize something—in one of those flashes of insight that sometimes hit without warning.

Everything I assumed was cold or unfeeling in him isn’t that at all. It’s him desperately tightening his grip around a world that’s always spinning out of control. He’s always fighting to hold it together—so much that he won’t even let himself sleep.

The revelation hurts my chest. I can barely breathe for a few seconds around the weight where my heart should be.

Finally I say the only thing I’m capable of getting out. “You need sleep as much as I do.”

He must hear something in the hoarse whisper of my words. He takes a quick, thick breath.

I reach over to pick up his hand, which he’s holding in a loose fist on the bed between us. I gently unclench each finger and massage the palm with my thumbs.

Neither one of us speaks for a few minutes. The only sound in the room is his slightly ragged breathing. I want to say something that expresses how I’m feeling right now. To let him know he can trust me. That he can let go with me. He doesn’t always have to exist in this hard, endless suppression.

But I don’t know how to say all that, and he might not want to hear it from me.

So I don’t say anything. I just rub his hand.

Finally he shifts slightly on the bed and pulls his arm away.

It hurts as much as anything, but the moment—whatever it was—is clearly over. “So what’s the plan today?” I ask, pleased and surprised that I sound almost natural.

“Yeah, Jackson and I were talking about that. We think it’s worth waiting a few days to see if the Wolf Packs move out on their own. Most of our supplies are in the bunker, which they can’t get to, so they’ll go through the stuff on the surface pretty quick. Maybe they’ll move on afterward.”

I don’t like that he’s been talking this through and making plans with Jackson. He should be doing that with me. I’m the one who’s actually involved. But all I say is, “That makes sense, I guess. So we’ll just stay here for a few days and then go see what’s happening?”

“Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“And if they don’t move on?”

“Then we’ll have to do something.”

“You and me?”

“More than that. It’s not just about our people. It’s about the safety of the whole region. We can’t let those Wolf Packs get more power than they already have, and if they all band together, they will. The bunker won’t be their only target. They’ll come here to New Haven. And there are fortified towns they might decide to attack. There are individual homesteads scattered around. People who are trying to make a life here can’t just let the gangs come together into another drove that will gobble everything up. So if they’re still camped out there and building up their force, it won’t just be you and me trying to take them down.”

I nod slowly, thinking through all this. It makes sense. And it’s reassuring that we won’t be alone. But it’s also clear that, if that happens, Grant won’t be relying on me for help.

He won’t even really need me.

Maybe nobody will.

“Are you all right?” he asks in a different tone. He pushes back the curtain of hair that’s fallen forward to hide my face.

“Yeah.” I lick my lips and smile at him. “Fine. I don’t mind staying here for a few days. And of course I’ll do anything I can to take care of our people and keep it safe around here.”

I mean it. I’m not going to be selfish. Or childishly petty.

But it would be nice to be needed. To be seen as something other than a sheltered princess. For a few minutes earlier, it felt like it could happen, but now that moment is lost.

The next days pass quickly and are better than I would have expected.

Grant and I both work hard. He helps guard the perimeter and assists with the construction projects, and I pull weeds in the garden and learn how to bake bread. There are more people my age here than I’ve encountered since I locked down in the bunker, and I start to make some friends. And I enjoy the sense of community. Eating meals together. And gathering to read out loud from books in the evening.

I don’t spend a lot of time with Grant during the days, but every evening we have sex as soon as we get into bed—and sometimes again if we wake up in the middle of the night. It’s always hot and rough and urgent. A carnal meeting of needs that neither one of us can speak out loud.

On and off, I worry about our people trapped in the bunker, but they have plenty of supplies for a few days, and it makes sense to give the Wolf Packs a chance to splinter or move on their own. Overall, I’m not unhappy, and it’s the morning of the fourth day before I realize so much time has passed.

I miss swimming every morning although I’ll never admit it because it feels so selfish. Instead, I wake up early to work in the large farm garden before the sun gets too hot.

This morning, I’m working with a freckled, gangly guy that everyone calls Ham. I like him a lot. His smile reminds me of Noah, and he always makes me laugh. Today he’s been telling me about a girl he’s interested in, and I’ve been trying to give him advice. Not that I’m an expert, but at least I have experience being a girl.

“Your boyfriend wants you,” Ham says after a while, breaking into my suggestions about how to show the girl that he likes her.

I straighten up with a jerk and turn to look in the direction he indicates. Sure enough, Grant is standing near the back door of the main house. He makes a curt summoning gesture with his hand.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say for no particular reason. It’s true. Boyfriend is not at all the right word for Grant. I’m not sure what exactly he is to me.

Ham snorts. “Okay. Whatever you want to call him. He always looks pissed when you hang out with me, and right now he’s getting impatient and blaming me. So go talk to your man before he decides to punch me for the sheer hell of it.”

I can’t help but laugh at his wry words although they also make me blush. I push myself to my feet, wipe some of the dirt off my jeans, and then head over to where Grant is waiting.

He’s frowning as I approach.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, suddenly getting worried. He usually doesn’t come find me while we’re working during the day.

“Nothing. Just that we’re taking off. It’s been more than three days, so we’re going to drive out to the bunker and scout out what’s happening.”

“Oh, okay.” I glance down at my dirty clothes and wish I had something clean to change into. “Just let me wash up real quick, and I’ll be ready.”

“I’m going with Jackson. You can stay here.” The words come out clipped but not hard. More like a simple passing of information.

But they feel like a blow to me anyway. I actually take a step backward. “What? What are you talking about? Of course I’m going to go.”

“There’s no reason for you to. It’s just a scouting trip. We’ll be coming back here to figure out our next steps.”

“But those are my people in the bunker. Not Jackson’s. I have more reason to go than he does. I’m not going to be left out of this.”

“You’re not being left out, Olivia.” He only says my name like that when he’s getting annoyed with me but trying to keep his cool. “We’re going to drive an hour. Get out and look around. And come back. There’s nothing you need to do on this trip.”

“So you’ll be back in three hours?”

“Maybe.” His face tightens just slightly. “We might need to stay longer if we can’t get a good sense of things right away. But the most it will be is overnight.”

“Overnight!” I gasp, so upset now I’m almost shaking from it. “I’m definitely going with you. What the fuck did you train me for if you’re never going to let me use it?”

“I trained you to protect yourself when you need to,” he grits out. “That’s not right now. If you go, I’ll have to worry about you.”

“I don’t need you to worry about me. I’m perfectly capable of doing what needs to be done. Why the hell won’t you ever let me?”

His jaw tightens. For a moment, I think he might actually lose his temper, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asks coolly, “And what exactly could you contribute to this trip? I don’t need you getting in the way.”

I stare at him blindly for a few seconds, my body throbbing as if from physical pain. That’s how much the words hurt. My throat closes up, and my eyes burn.

It would be nice if there was something I could say in response to the way he just wounded me, but I can’t shape a single word. Not without bursting into tears.

And I’m not about to let him see that.

So I don’t respond at all. I turn around and walk away from him.

He and Jackson don’t get back that night. I wait all evening after the chores are done and while we’re eating dinner and afterward at the evening gathering. I sit through it all and keep listening for the sounds of them returning.

They don’t. So I have to go to bed alone.

It’s a terrible night. I toss and turn and mentally imagine everything I should have said to him during our argument and then visualize all the awful things that could be happening to him. Right now. At this very moment.

He might die. I might lose him forever. I don’t know how to even wrap my mind around that thought.

I’m sick and exhausted and trying not to fall apart the following morning. I work in the garden for several hours, and then I wander around, looking for something else to do. I’ve got to keep working, or I’ll have an emotional breakdown.

Faith is in the kitchen washing dishes, so I go to help her.

She slants me a quick look and evidently sees my mental state on my face. “They’ll be fine. They’ll be back anytime now.”

“I hope so.”

“They know what they’re doing, and they’re not going to do anything stupid. Jackson knows what he’ll have coming to him if he does.”

The ice-cold warning in her voice makes me huff. “I don’t have that sort of faith in Grant. He’s likely to do something stupid. He won’t care if it means I’m left all alone.” My voice quavers just slightly on the last word.

Faith pauses in rinsing the plate she holds. Her expression softens slightly. “He’ll care. He’s not going to leave you alone.”

“I hope not.” I stare down at the dishrag I’m using to dry the dishes she passes me.

“They’ll be back soon.”

We’re silent for a minute as we work. Then Faith says in a conversational tone, “I don’t really know how you manage to deal with Grant. I used to think Jackson was hard, but he’s a big teddy bear compared to Grant. Doesn’t the man ever unclench?”

This time, when I give a breathy huff, it’s with real, if tempered, amusement. “Not really. He’s always wound so tight. Almost impenetrable. I don’t know how to…” I trail off, realizing what I’m saying and wondering if I even have the right to give voice to it.

Maybe it’s not my job to be there for Grant that way even though it’s what I want.

“I don’t think anyone really knows. They just feel it out and do the best they can.” Faith turns her head to give me a little smile. “I see it a lot now. People who in the old world might have been the strong, silent type but would still be soft with the people they loved, don’t really know how to do that anymore. Be soft. Open up. Because the world feels so much like a war zone where you always have to be on guard. Jackson was kind of like that before. And honestly I was even more like that than he was. I was so afraid to let go—even a little, even with him. It took time, but we managed it. I think you and Grant will too.”

The words make me feel better. Deeply. But a rush of self-consciousness warms my skin. I stare down at the dishrag again. “I don’t even know… if he wants to… I mean, we’re not even… that.”

Shit, I can’t even get that much said.

Faith laughs softly. Wryly. “Oh please. You two are definitely that.”

I’m not sure what I would have said after that. Maybe I would have finally admitted a few things—even just to myself. But someone comes striding into the room just then. He heads straight for Faith.

She’s barely managed to turn around when Jackson is scooping her up in a big hug and spinning her around with the momentum of his warm greeting.

She laughs and hugs him back.

My heart leaps. Because if Jackson is back, that means Grant must be too.

“Is Grant—?”

“He’s fine,” Jackson says, thankfully recognizing my worry despite his preoccupation with Faith. “He’s still out by the Jeep.”

The first thing Jackson did was run in here to find Faith. He clearly didn’t like being away from her even for less than twenty-four hours.

Grant evidently didn’t give a shit about being away from me.

He didn’t follow me when I walked away after our argument yesterday. He didn’t try to make it better or say goodbye.

He just left me. And now he apparently doesn’t care enough to come see me and let me know he’s still alive.

It’s silly to be so upset about it. It’s hardly the most important thing happening here. People’s lives are in jeopardy, which matters a lot more than the state of my heart. But I feel like crying anyway. And also shaking him at the same time.

I go out to the porch and see the Jeep parked right out front. A couple of others have come over to talk to Grant, evidently interested in getting a report on the trip.

And he’s talking to them casually. Calmly.

Not even glancing around for me.

At least he’s alive. Still dressed in worn, dirty jeans and T-shirt. His brown hair burnished almost auburn by the sun.

His back is to me. He doesn’t know I’m standing here. And he doesn’t care.

Despite everything Faith just told me and the glimmers of hope it gave me, reality hits me hard.

If the man doesn’t care enough to find me after being gone the way he was, then how much feeling can he really be hiding, no matter how tightly wound he happens to be?

Tears are pulsing behind my eyes, and my throat aches painfully. I don’t head for Grant. I walk to the left. Ham is out there, working on cleaning out one of the outbuildings. I might as well go help him.

At least Ham likes to have me around.

I’ve reached him and managed to say hello and pick up a rake to help him clear out hay when I suddenly feel a strong grip on my left shoulder. Ham grins and shrugs as I turn around to see an unsmiling Grant standing a few inches away from me.

My heart jumps. It actually jumps at the sight of his familiar face, big body, and deep blue eyes. “So you’re back.” I’m not sure how my voice reflects such disinterested irony. It’s not at all a reflection of how everything inside me is struggling to leap out of my skin right now.

His eyes narrow slightly. The tension in his expression is almost fierce. Without a word, he propels me forward with that hand on my shoulder, walking me out of the barn and across the yard.

“What the hell?” I grumble, although I don’t try to get out of his grip. I walk with him willingly, soon realizing he’s taking me to our room in the bunkhouse. “Are you still mad about yesterday? Because I’m not sorry about that. You were shitty to me, and I don’t deserve to be treated like that even if in your own obnoxious way you were trying to protect me.”

We’ve gotten to our room. He guides me inside and then closes the door before he turns us both around so my back is to the wall and he’s standing right in front of me.

I scowl at him. “And I don’t appreciate being manhandled. If you want something, just ask for it like a regular human being.”

The funny thing is I still have no idea what’s about to happen. I can feel intensity radiating off him. I can see that primal look in his eyes. My heartbeat has accelerated instinctively in anticipation for whatever is coming next.

But I still think it’s going to be a fight.

So I’m stunned when he grabs my face in both hands and kisses me hard. I just stand there for a minute, hands trapped between our bodies, as his lips move roughly over mine, his tongue pushing all the way into my mouth. He steps into me with the kiss until my back is pressed against the wall.

It hurts my shoulder blades. And awakens everything else inside me.

When my mind finally processes what’s happening, my body and heart are already responding. I wrap both arms around his neck and try to draw him closer, opening my mouth wider for him and letting out a low, throaty moan.

He’s urgent. Almost needy. One of his hands curls around the back of my head while the other slides down to feel me all over. It ends up cupping my ass over my jeans. He applies pressure, easing us together snugly until I can feel the bulge of his erection in the front of his pants.

Arousal pulses between my thighs. I lift one leg, shamelessly trying to wrap myself around him. He’s rocking into me now, and I desperately want to feel it even more.

He’s still kissing me. He can’t seem to stop. He lowers his other hand so he can heft me up a few inches, holding me between his strong body and the wall as I wrap both legs around his middle. In this position, I can feel the pressure of his erection directly against my pussy. I grind myself against him, not even caring how embarrassingly eager I’m acting.

We’ve both still got our clothes on, but it feels like we’re having sex anyway. I grunt into the kiss as he pumps his hips against me. I might be able to come just from this.

But he moves before I do, carrying me over to the bed. He strips off my jeans, panties, and shirt before he climbs on top of me. I’m fumbling with his pants, trying to free his cock, when he kisses me again.

I lose myself in the kiss. I stop fighting with his zipper. It feels like I’m melting and about to explode at the exact same time, and I don’t know how my mind can contain all those feelings at once.

I’m breathless and so turned on I can’t stay still when he finally drags his mouth away from mine. He rears up on his knees and unfastens his pants, gazing down at me with that same intense ferocity. “Take off your bra, princess,” he says thickly. “I want to see all of you.”

I reach around to unhook my bra and toss it over the side of the bed. My breasts jiggle from the motion, and he makes a low sound in his throat. Almost like a growl.

There’s no way to express how the sound makes me feel. That the sight of me naked provokes that reaction in him. It’s more than physical. The pleasure goes all the way down to the core of who I am. I lie naked on the bed, panting frantically, my legs sprawled open. I whimper when he pulls his cock out of his pants and underwear.

“Did you miss me?” he asks in a rough murmur. He repositions himself on his knees and reaches out to grab me by the hips, raising my lower body so my groin is aligned with his.

Despite my enthusiastic arousal, there’s a little part of me that still wants to fight. “Not that much.”

He nudges my wet pussy with the tip of his cock, making me whimper. “Did you miss me?”

“I already answered that.” I’m so desperate to feel him inside me that I arch my spine and try to wriggle my hips. He’s got complete control of my body, however, so all I can do is fumble for purchase on the covers. “And you were an asshole.”

He pushes in about an inch but then withdraws before I can feel enough of him. His arms are shaking just slightly, but it’s from emotional tension and not because he can’t handle my weight.

I’m not a small woman, but he always makes me feel like I am. He’s so big. And strong. And everything.

“Did you miss me?” he grits out again.

Maybe on another day, I could have outlasted him, but today I really don’t want to. All I want is him, and I almost, almost have him. “Yes,” I gasp, so needy I move my hands to fondle my own breasts. “Yes, I missed you.”

He pushes his cock inside me, slow and full and tight.

I groan at the penetration and rub circles on my nipples. Everything is feeling so good. And achy at the same time. I toss my head. Stray strands of my hair get into my face. “I missed you so much.”

When he’s buried inside me, he holds us completely still. His hands are clenched on my bottom. His eyes rake up and down over my naked body, from my hot face to the place where we’re joined.

It’s exquisite torture. Having him so deep inside me but not being able to move. I could squirm. Try to pump my hips. Make it happen. But instead I relax and feel it. Feel Grant. The slow, deep, wordless force of him.

When he finally moves, it’s hard and fast and exactly what I need. He fucks me so good my body and the bed shake with the power of his thrusts, and I make loud, ragged sounds of helpless pleasure that keep rising higher.

I’m gripping his forearms as I fall into an orgasm, and my nails dig into his skin as my body clamps down and then releases in a series of wild spasms. He’s fallen out of rhythm too. He’s grunting like an animal as he keeps pushing into me. He’s close. I can see it. I love to watch him lose control. It’s the only time I ever see him let go.

His head rears up. His fingers clench hard. I expect him to pull out like he normally does.

But he doesn’t.

He comes in jerky pushes, releasing himself inside me with several spurts. He lets out a long, stretched sound of naked satisfaction, and then his hold on me finally loosens.

Both of us are panting loudly, still shuddering with occasional aftershocks. He lowers me carefully back to the bed, causing his cock to slip out of me. “Shit,” he mutters. “I meant to pull out.”

“It’s probably fine,” I say, hoarse and drained and a little confused by everything that just happened. “Not the right time of month for me to get pregnant.”

My stomach feels weird. My hands are damp and trembling. My cheeks are blazing hot, but everything else is starting to get chilly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, falling down onto the bed beside me like he suddenly went boneless.

“Yeah. I… think so.” I check his face. I desperately need to know how he’s feeling right now, and it’s always so difficult to read him.

His body is limp. Tired like mine is. He reaches out and pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me in a loose embrace.

I sigh and settle there. It feels better when he holds me. It feels like he needs me.

As much as I need him.

He hasn’t even told me how the trip turned out. What he and Jackson found out about our camp at the bunker. He just showed up and dragged me to our room and fucked me, not even able to wait until evening. He momentarily lost control so much he forgot to pull out.

He demanded to know if I missed him. Like it was important to him.

Now he’s nuzzling my neck. My messy hair. He inhales deeply, like he’s breathing me in. One of his hands slides down to cup my bottom again. This time gentle. Possessive. Something tight and needy softens inside me because I’m sure I’m not making this up.

Then he murmurs against my hair, “I missed you too.”

8

THE WOLF PACKS are still camped out over the bunker, using the buildings we constructed and all the resources we left on the surface. At least four or five different violent gangs must have gathered there, combining their force into one. They’re trying to get into the bunker itself, since they evidently know what it offers, but so far they’ve been unsuccessful.

That’s what Grant tells me after his scouting trip with Jackson.

When working together, the packs are too dangerous to the region to let them remain even if we were willing to leave our people trapped in the bunker. A group like that will continue collecting stragglers and bullies and anyone else who’d rather take what they want with violence. So, on the day Grant and Jackson return, Faith and Jackson send out a bunch of messages trying to build a force to oust the Wolf Packs and take the bunker back.

We wait three days, and no one comes.

Faith doesn’t appear worried. She explains it takes time for news to spread without telephones and internet, but I get more and more anxious as the days pass.

There are quite a few competent fighters here at New Haven, but Faith and Jackson aren’t going to send them all out at one time. If it doesn’t work, there would be no one left to guard the farm. The most they’re willing to risk is eight or nine.

That many, plus me and Grant, isn’t nearly enough to take our camp back.

What if no one else comes? What if everyone is hunkered down, trying to protect themselves? It would be the natural impulse. I wouldn’t blame anyone in the world for doing that. It’s what disaster often does to people.

But this isn’t something we can do alone.

On the fourth morning, I wake up by myself in our bed. It can’t be much past dawn, but Grant barely sleeps, so he must already have gotten up.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My heart is already racing with that constant anxiety I’m living with now.

It’s not good for me. I need to swim—move my body, clear my mind, control my breathing. But I don’t have my pool anymore.

And I may never have it again.

For some reason the realization slices through my chest. It hurts so much I bend over toward my knees, covering my face with my hands. I shake in tight, tearless sobs.

“Fuck.” The hoarse voice comes from the doorway. “What happened, princess? What’s the matter?” Grant strides in and sits beside me, lifting my upper body so he can see my face.

My hands are still covering it. I force the emotion back down until my shoulders are still. It’s only then I lower my arms. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

“Don’t lie to me. You were crying. You’re still trying not to cry right now. Tell me what the fuck is going on!” His voice isn’t loud. He’s almost never loud. But it’s rough with what I understand now is real feeling. His expression is fierce and demanding.

“I’m not crying over anything important. It’s… it’s silly. Stupid and selfish.”

Some of the intensity fades from his face. “I don’t care if it’s silly. I still want to know what it is.”

I hesitate because I know how petty it sounds, but it feels like he cares about me right now, and I need that so much. So I choke out, “I just… I just miss the pool.” One ridiculous tear leaks out.

Grant very gently swipes it away with his thumb. He breathes, “Shit.”

“I told you it was silly. I know it’s ridiculous to get upset about it. I mean, things are literally life and death, and I’m having a little breakdown over… over that. But it’s been the one thing in my whole life that’s always been there. That’s… that’s grounded me. Even while the world fell apart, I could still swim every morning. It’s always shaped who I am. And now…” I’m trying so hard not to cry that I gasp raggedly. “What if I never have a pool again?”

He wraps one arm around me and pulls me toward his side. I burrow there, seeking comfort. Finding it. It’s a full minute before he finally murmurs, “Then I’ll find you a good lake, and you can swim in that.”

The words surprise me so much I pull away slightly, just enough for me to blink up into his face.

“A lake would work for you, wouldn’t it?”

I make the most absurd sound. Halfway between a giggle and a sob, and I lean against him again. “Yeah. Yeah, a lake would work just fine.”

“Okay then. So we’ll still be okay if anything happens to your pool. But I’m telling you right now, we’re getting the bunker back even if I have to do it myself.”

“You won’t have to do it yourself.” I straighten up, feeling much better now. “You’ll never have to do it by yourself because I’m going to be there with you.”

His eyes soften just slightly. “Yeah?”

“Of course yeah. What did you think? Did you imagine for even a second that I’d leave you?” I hear the words. Hear how they sound. And I’m suddenly terrified that I’ve exposed too much of my heart to a man who’s never done the same with me. So I hurry to add, “Those are my people too. In the bunker. I’m not going to abandon them.”

The clarification does what I wanted it to do. It protects me. But it also changes the feeling between us. He’s been idly stroking my back, but now he pulls his hand away. “I know you won’t.”

“Do you really think anyone is going to come to help us?”

“I don’t know. I have to assume they will since Faith and Jackson seem so confident.”

“How many people do you think we’ll need?”

“Well, the more the better, but I can’t see us managing it without about twenty. Even if we come up with the sharpest strategy, there’s simply too many of them. So less than twenty would be a pretty big gamble.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. Twenty is a lot. We’ll need at least ten more than we have right now. “All I know is if that many come to help with this, we’re going to have to be a lot more generous with what we have afterward. We’re already a lot more fortunate than most people. We can’t let them do this for us and then be selfish with what we’ve got.”

Grant nods. “I know. I’ve already thought of that. It’s the direction a lot of us have been wanting to go anyway, but we’ll have to get there more quickly. We can at least open up the bunker to people who need shelter. And share our supplies.”

The matter-of-fact nature of his words relieves me. I catch myself reaching over for his hand—just to hold it—but stop myself just in time. “Maybe we can be like New Haven. Taking care of our own and also being there for other people who need help.”

“Yeah. That’s got to be the goal.”

We sit in silence for a minute. When I shoot a quick glance over, I catch him gazing at me while he thought I wasn’t looking.

There’s something in his eyes that startles me.

Ever since the day he and Jackson returned from the trip and he admitted that he missed me, things have been a little different between us. He’s never going to be soft or vulnerable or emotional, but there have occasionally been moments when it’s felt like he let down his guard. Just a tiny bit. When he holds me after sex. When I first wake up in the morning. Yesterday when I was having trouble pulling out a stubborn weed from an expansion to the garden and he came over to help me with it.

He never says anything, but I’m sure I’m not imagining it. It feels like we’re together—more now than ever before.

But the look in his eyes—on his face—right now shocks and thrills me. It’s deep and awed and almost tender. Like something in his heart is spilling out.

I freeze. Hold my breath. Look again to see if I imagined it.

This time he sees me watching, and he stiffens his spine. His expression closes up so quickly I have to wonder if I made the whole thing up.

“Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… I mean, am I right in thinking that you…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to phrase the helpless question so it doesn’t leave me utterly defenseless.

“Are you right in thinking I what, princess?” His voice is just slightly thick.

I take a deep breath. Wonder if I’m brave enough to do this.

Before I figure out the answer, the sound of shouts outside diverts me completely. I cock my head, trying to listen.

Grant is already on his feet. “It doesn’t sound like an alarm.”

“No. It sounds like folks are excited about something.” I’m still wearing nothing but the panties and tank top I slept in, so I pull on my jeans, top, and shoes as quickly as I can.

Then we head outside to see what’s going on.

Someone is arriving at the farm, and whoever it is must have been traveling all night to get here so early in the morning. The gate is already opening when Grant and I make it down the drive toward the group that’s gathered to wait for the new arrivals.

The first thing I see is a Jeep driving in. Not a souped-up, armored one like Grant drives, but a beat-up old Wrangler with no doors. Behind the wheel is a white man with a look of tough competence, longish, light brown hair, and a shirt with torn-off sleeves.

My heart jumps with excitement at the sight of him. He looks like he knows how to fight. Surely that’s why he’s here right now.

I’ve barely processed his appearance when another man comes in behind him. This one is even more unexpected. He’s a big black man, and he’s riding a horse. And there are four more horses trotting in through the gate behind him.

Horses.

Horses.

I haven’t laid eyes on one in more than five years.

“What the hell, Mack?” Faith is calling out. She’s run out with the others to greet the newcomers, and she’s smiling as broadly as I’ve ever seen her. “We asked for reinforcements, and you’ve brought us a bunch of horses?”

The man slides down to the ground. The horse he was riding was the only one with a saddle. “Hey, I brought you Travis too. He’s got to be good for something—even without Layne.”

The other man has parked the Jeep and gotten out. He shakes Ham’s hand and claps his back like he knows him well and is glad to see him. “Layne stayed at home,” he says, predicting and answering Faith’s next question. “Too close to when the baby’s fixin’ to come. We’re tryin’ to be careful.”

“Of course,” Faith says. “I’d be happy to see her, but I’m glad she stayed home where it’s safe.” Then she turns back to the man who must be named Mack. “Now tell me about these horses.”

“I kept seeing them,” he explains. “They were running wild about fifty miles east, and every time I passed through the area, I’d spot a couple of ’em. I have no idea how they managed to survive on their own so long, but they were looking so skinny I thought they could use some help.” He pats the muzzle of the one he was riding. “They must have been left on an abandoned horse farm. Came right up to me when I offered them apples and carrots. Didn’t mind the saddle at all. I wasn’t sure how to bring the others, but they all just followed this one, no hesitation.”

“Oh my God.” Faith has come over, and she carefully approaches one of the others. It snuffles the hand she extends, clearly hoping for a snack. “They’re a mess, but they look like really good stock. None of our horses made it through the first year after Impact.”

“So you think you’ve got room for them?” Mack has closely shaved hair and a large, solid form. Even though he came riding up on that horse, he looks more like a soldier than a cowboy in his gray T-shirt and pants that look like Army fatigues. “I know horses aren’t exactly low-maintenance, but one day there won’t be any more gas to scavenge, and it’d be nice to have horses around then.”

Faith is looking up toward the guard posts, and I see why when I notice Jackson up there. He catches her eye and gives her a nod in what is clearly a silent answer to her silent question. Then she replies, “Yes. We can definitely take them on. It’s a good thought. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Mack is grinning. I’ve only known him for a few minutes, but I suspect it’s his most natural expression. “That’s my job. Roam around the countryside and find burdens to foist on unsuspecting people.”

For the first time, he seems to notice me and Grant, standing around with the others. He approaches us with an outstretched hand. “I’m Mack. You the folks from the bunker?”

Grant gives a curt nod as he shakes the other man’s hand. “Grant. And this is Olivia.”

I return Mack’s smile as he shakes my hand in turn. “It’s nice to meet you. So you and Travis are going to help us?”

“Yep. That’s the plan. And there should be some more coming tomorrow.” He turns back to Faith. “I got Cal and Rachel making the rounds and picking up volunteers from some of the towns we’ve settled. I think we’ll collect enough to manage—with what you’ve got here.”

“Any chance of Maria and her crew pitching in?” The question is called down by Jackson, who is still in the guard perch but is obviously paying close attention to the conversation. “When do you next see Anna?”

“Not for a couple of months,” Mack says. “So they won’t be able to help us this time. But Cal and Rachel will, as long as you’ve got something to pay them with.”

“We do,” Grant says before I can say the same thing. “If you think they’re worth having with us, we’ll give them what they want. And the rest of you too. With our thanks.”

“Cal and Rachel are as good as it gets. And Travis and I don’t need anything. We do this kind of thing because we want to. Some of the volunteers might appreciate some sort of donation though.” Despite his warm, relaxed demeanor, Mack’s brown eyes don’t appear to miss anything as they run up and down over first Grant and then me. “Your clothes are in pretty good condition. I know a lot of folks are short on that.”

“We’ve got plenty of extra clothes,” I put in. “And a lot of other things. They’re just all down in the bunker with the rest of our people.”

“We’ll get ’em out then. Tomorrow, when we see who we’ve got to work with, we can make a plan.”

I smile up at him, feeling excited, hopeful, for the first time in days. I glance up at Grant, feeling the instinctive need to share the feeling with him, but he’s not looking at me. His brows are drawn together, and I don’t know why.

It felt like we were so close to each other only ten minutes ago. So close I almost admitted how I feel about him. But now it seems different for some reason. Like he might be drifting away from me again.

That night, I go to bed alone because Grant volunteers to do the late perimeter check to make sure the guards are all in place and nothing suspicious is going on outside the walls.

I’m in bed for an hour without him, and I’m as tired as I always am when the sun goes down. But I don’t fall asleep. I lie there waiting for him.

We usually have sex before we go to sleep, and I want to again tonight. Not just because my body is used to it—although it definitely is. But because I want to feel close to Grant the way I was this morning. I’ve barely seen him all day. It’s been busy, but still…

I’m not going to fall asleep until he comes to bed.

The sound of the door opening is the first signal of his arrival. Then I feel a draft of air. Then I smell him come into the room.

It’s mostly dark, but he turns on the little lantern that was in his go-bag. It runs on a battery that’s supposed to last forever, and it illuminates the room enough for me to see him standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.

“Hey,” I say. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Don’t know. Couldn’t sleep. Why are you just standing there like that?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.”

“Then come to bed.”

He hesitates a few moments longer. I wonder if he’s actually going to refuse. Then he shakes off whatever he was thinking and steps over to pump enough water into the basin for him to wash up.

He takes off his shirt. Splashes water on his face. Then he uses our soap and works up enough lather to wash his arms, neck, and armpits before he rinses off.

It’s not a shower, but it’s better than nothing. He dries his skin with a thin towel and then toes off his shoes and unhooks his belt with the holsters for his gun and knife. He takes off his jeans before he climbs into bed with me.

He still smells like he had a long day, although it’s not as strong now, and it’s mingled with the scent of the soap. It’s not unpleasant. It smells like Grant. Safe and familiar.

There’s very little room on this bed, so I’m always trapped between the wall and his big body. I don’t actually mind. There’s a security to it. In bed like this, anyone who wants to get to me will have to get through Grant first.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask softly when he lies on his back and doesn’t pull me toward him for sex like normal.

“Nothing.”

“Something is. Did I do something?”

“Of course not!” He rolls onto his side so he’s facing me. “Why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know. Just that something feels off, and I don’t know what it is. Are you worried about something?”

“Am I worried?” He sounds vaguely astonished.

“Yes. Are you worried?”

“Of course I’m worried.” His voice is soft, slightly rough. “Our people are trapped in that bunker by those fucking assholes, and I’ve got to get them out.”

“We,” I whisper. “We need to get them out.”

He doesn’t argue, but it also doesn’t feel like he agrees.

“You can’t take all this on yourself, Grant. All these people are here to help us. We’re not going to have to do this alone.”

“I know that. And it’s even more to worry about. They’re strangers—here to do the job that’s supposed to be mine. What if something happens to them? What if some of them get killed? That will be my responsibility too.”

“No, it won’t!” My voice is cracking. He’s never talked like this with me before. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but it’s also so, so much. It terrifies me. Holding the weight of all the feelings he’s never put into words before. “Everyone makes their own decisions. So unless you kill them or purposefully turn your back when they need help, what happens to them isn’t your fault.”

He’s breathing heavily. Meeting my eyes in the mostly dark room. But he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not. It can’t be. There’s no way in the world it’s your fault. Or do you also think it’s my fault?”

He scowls. “No, it’s not your fault!”

“Why not? I’m part of the bunker too. I went on that drive with you. I was fucking you in the Jeep when the camp got attacked, so why isn’t it my fault too?”

“It wasn’t your job to keep them safe. It’s my job.”

“And you’ve done everything anyone could do for all these years, and you’re doing everything anyone could do right now. You’re not some sort of superhero. You’re a man like everyone else. You can’t do everything.” I reach out to palm the side of his jaw, feeling his bristles scratch my skin.

He doesn’t respond again. His breathing is still loud and ragged.

“No one can tighten their grip hard enough to hold the whole world together.” My voice is raspy with emotion. I’m almost crying. “No one can do it.”

He doesn’t answer with anything except a shaky inhale, but he’s almost leaning his face into my hand.

I have no idea what else to say, so I shift so I can wrap him in both my arms, holding him tightly against me. He returns the hug so that we’re holding each other, and very gradually I feel his body relax, soften, all the hard tension that’s defined him for so long slowly releasing.

It’s better than anything else I can remember—the feel of him letting go, even just for a little while. The weight of tenderness in my chest spreads down below my belly until it feels like all my female parts are clamped down tight.

Everything in me trying to hold on to him.

After a long time, he nuzzles at my neck. Then starts to kiss me there. I want all of what he can give me when he turns me over onto my back and kisses me hard and deep.

I cling to him with my arms, my lips. I wrap my legs around him, hooking my ankles so I don’t lose the hold. He fills my senses. The weight of him. The scent of him. The sound of his thick breathing.

He feels like mine—in all his tightly held angst, his guilt, his nearly impenetrable walls.

His cock has hardened between our bodies, and the shape of it pressing against me fuels my own arousal. So when he finally breaks the kiss and pulls his erection out of his underwear, I’m ready for him. He feels more urgent than normal, almost clumsy as he yanks off my panties, levers my thighs apart, and pushes his way inside me.

I make a mewling sound at the penetration. Wrap my legs around him again, hooking my ankles and trying to get them higher up on his back.

He usually talks to me some in bed. Changes our positions. Makes me come at least once before he loses control. But tonight he seems beyond that. He’s taking me hard and fast already, pumping his hips and grunting wordlessly.

I grip him tight with my legs and inner muscles. The friction is deep and intense—achy in that way that seems to speak to my innermost need. An orgasm is starting to build at my core, but it’s slow, and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen soon enough.

I don’t even care. Nothing has ever felt so good as being with Grant like this. With him all the way.

His face twists with effort as he fucks me. “Can you come?”

“No. Not now. But I don’t want to. I want you to come.”

“I can—”

“No, I want you to.” I squeeze around him even harder until he jerks his head to the side with a helpless guttural sound. “Come. Come now. Let go, Grant. Please.”

“Oh fuck!” He falls out of rhythm. Ducks his head down and jerks his hips. He’s about to come. I know it for sure. Which means he should be pulling out like he normally does.

But he doesn’t. He comes inside me with a breathless, carnal sound, continuing to push into me until the last of his climax has passed.

His weight rests on me fully for a few moments afterward in a way he never lets himself do. I keep holding him tight. I stroke his back. I love how his body has softened and relaxed so much it’s almost limp on top of me.

Then he finally straightens his arms and lifts himself up. “Damn it,” he mutters.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. I didn’t pull out. For a second time. What the hell is wrong with me?” He flops over on his back beside me, turning his head to face my direction.

“You just forgot. It’s got to be hard to remember when you get caught up in what you’re doing. It’s not that big a deal.”

“It is a big deal, unless you want me to get you pregnant.” There’s not a question in the words, but there’s a very faint one on his face.

I shake my head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be my first choice. I mean, not right now. But even when you pull out and even if we don’t do it when I’m most fertile, it’s not perfectly safe. I mean, I could still get pregnant. And this obviously isn’t the ideal time for that, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he asks softly, “Yeah?”

“Probably good for the human race, to tell you the truth. Since no one much is having babies anymore.”

He chuckles at this. Then reaches out and pulls me closer to his side, under the crook of his arm. “You could definitely do better than me for the dad.”

“What?” My whole body stiffens at this until I make it relax. “No way. You’d be a great dad. You’d just maybe need to work on smiling a little more.”

This time he laughs for real and tightens his arm around me. “I guess. I’d do the best I could. I’d take care of you. Both of you. I’d never leave you stranded.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” I’d rather have him stick around because he loves me, but I’d never dream of doubting his commitment and responsibility toward a child. And his child’s mother.

In all this time, for more than five years now since the day he showed up at my school, I’ve never had a single doubt that Grant would and could take care of me.

It’s just that I want to take care of him too, and he still doesn’t know how to let me.

“You all right otherwise?” he asks in a different tone. “I came way too soon just now. You want me to get you off?”

“No. I’m good. Getting kind of tired, if you want to know the truth.”

“Yeah. We got to try to put together a plan tomorrow. Not much more of this waiting. Try to get some sleep.” He’s still holding me against him but not as tightly now. It’s warm and close and comfortable, and I snuggle against him.

I try to stay awake because I want to see when he falls asleep. I want to see and feel him sleeping.

It doesn’t work. It’s been a long day in a long week in a long year in the aftermath of a global disaster.

I fall asleep in just a few minutes, so I don’t get to see Grant sleeping after all.

9

THE FOLLOWING DAY, more reinforcements arrive.

Cal and Rachel, who the others talked about yesterday, show up with a truckful of volunteers they collected along the way. Cal is exactly what I would have expected. His age could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, and he gives off rough, unfriendly mercenary vibes.

Rachel, however, is young and small and dark-haired and absolutely beautiful. I assume she’s his daughter since he treats her with dismissive entitlement, and she often looks annoyed by him. She’s not warm and friendly like Mack or confidently outgoing like Faith, but I kind of like her anyway. She’s interesting. Deep. Like there’s a lot going on beneath the surface.

In that, she reminds me of Grant.

By late afternoon, Jackson has sorted through the New Haven volunteers who will join us in taking back the bunker, and we all gather in one of the outbuildings to formulate a plan.

It’s clear almost immediately that Grant and Jackson have already worked out the details of a plan, and this meeting is primarily to review it and assign roles.

It makes sense. There are twenty-one of us. That’s way too many people for a productive brainstorming session, not to mention actual decision-making. But still… If Grant has known all this time what we’ll be doing, it would have been nice if he’d told me.

I’ve asked him more than once how we’re going to manage such a difficult feat, and he’s always brushed it off, saying we have to wait until everyone gets here to decide.

The realization that he’s known all this time and simply not told me hurts. Maybe it’s petty, but it does. I was standing next to him when we gathered, but he’s moved to the front with Jackson, and I gradually slip toward the back.

Rachel is standing alone, watching silently and probably thinking all kinds of things beneath her passive demeanor. That’s what I should do too. I’m not in charge of this. I wouldn’t have any idea how to formulate a strategy. This isn’t what I’m good at, and that’s fine. There are plenty of others here who are good at it. I’m happy to just do the job they tell me to do.

Even with this resolved in my mind, I still don’t like that Grant has been so clearly keeping me out of this.

“Sounds like this could work,” Rachel murmurs to me after the specifics of the plan have been laid out. “It’s smart.”

I think so too, although I’m not equipped to evaluate strategy effectively. Rachel looks like she might only be seventeen years old, and she still seems to know more about all this than I do. “Yeah,” is all I say.

“So he’s your man?” Rachel nods in the direction of Grant, who’s matter-of-factly answering someone’s question about weapons.

My cheeks warm slightly. I wish the perfectly natural question didn’t always make me feel so self-conscious. “I… uh, I’m… It’s kind of… complicated.”

Fuck. Is it possible for me to sound more immature and clueless?

Rachel gives a dry huff of amusement that makes me immediately elevate my estimation of her age. She sounds so sardonic. Almost jaded. Like she’s had far more experience with the world than I have. “You might want to figure it out pretty quick. Because that man is going to lose his shit if anyone questions who you are to him.”

I blink, trying to work out exactly what she means by that. Whatever it is, it makes me blush even hotter.

I don’t really know why I’m so embarrassed. Just last night, Grant and I were talking about my getting pregnant, him being the dad. Surely that means it’s understood that we’re together.

But even that discussion didn’t feel like things were settled. It just gave me more questions to stew about.

More conversation has been happening while I’ve been brooding about irrelevant relationship issues, so I force myself to pay attention. After all, people are volunteering for roles here, and I want to know what job I’m going to be doing.

It takes me a minute to catch up. When I do, Mack is saying, “I need two with me. Gail, you in?”

Gail is from New Haven. She’s pleasant and competent and not a big talker. She gives a thumbs-up as her answer.

Mack has been lounging against a hay bale as he eyes the group. His gaze lands on me and stays there. “What about you, Olivia? You’re coming on this mission too, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I say immediately, pleased that he’s picked me out as a good choice to be on his team.

At the exact same time, Grant announces gruffly, “No.”

I jerk and take a step forward. “I am coming. You expect me to stay here and do nothing?”

Grant meets my eyes soberly, evidently not bothered by the fact that everyone else is hearing this conversation. “We need twenty to make this work. You’re twenty-one.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m a part of this too, and I’m perfectly competent.”

Mack looks uncomfortable. He’s clearly the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy conflict between people who are supposed to be on the same side. I’ve always been exactly the same way, so I instinctively recognize the expression on his face.

Jackson, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to mind it at all. “More numbers are better, but only if they’re good fighters. If you can’t hold your own, better not to come.”

“I can hold my own.” I can’t believe I’m having to defend myself in this. I can’t believe Grant is letting this happen. “He trained me for years. I’m not some sort of helpless child.”

To my relief, Jackson doesn’t appear to question this statement. “In that case, there’s no reason not to add an—”

“She’s not coming,” Grant grits out.

I’m so angry I’m practically shaking with it. “That’s not your decision to make. I’m strong, and I know how to—”

I break off my declaration because an arm suddenly grabs me from behind. It’s completely out of the blue in a space I considered safe, and I’m so terrified by the attack that I react by instinct.

I do exactly what Grant taught me in this situation. I step backward into whoever is behind me and use the leverage and all my upper-body strength to flip the person right over my head so that he lands with a thud on the hay and soft dirt in front of me.

There’s a ripple of reaction through the gathered crowd, and I stare down in astonishment.

It’s Cal. Cal. Large and muscular and unfriendly and intimidating. And I just flipped him without even thinking.

I’ve practiced that move so many times with Grant, but I still can’t believe I actually did it.

“She’s comin’,” Cal announces from the ground, reaching out for the hand Rachel offers to help him back to his feet. “No more argument.”

“That was masterclass,” Mack says, grinning at me and clearly relieved that the conflict is over. “So you’re with me and Gail?”

“Yes. That sounds good.” I’m not actually sure what Mack’s role is supposed to be since I’d zoned out on some of the details, but I’m happy to do whatever if it means being with him.

I always assumed I’d be with Grant, but I don’t want to even look at him at the moment.

He’s glaring at me coldly. I can feel it. But I don’t meet his eyes, and he doesn’t say anything else.

He’s not happy, but neither am I.

And right now I don’t give a fuck about what he thinks.

We stay another hour, working out the final details. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.

I half expect Grant to catch up with me afterward to try to convince me not to come. I’m ready for the argument, but he disappears.

Instead, I fall into step with Mack as we walk back toward the main house.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, clearly reading my mind.

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. But he’ll get over it.”

“I don’t even know what his problem is. I mean, what the hell? He thought I’d just sit this one out? Those are my people in the bunker.”

“Sure, they are. But you’re his people, and he’s terrified of you getting hurt.” Mack shakes his head. “It’s not fair to you, and it’s stupid. But guys’ll do a lot of stupid things when it comes to the people they love.”

I start to argue with the word love but then decide against it. It’s too hard to explain my convoluted relationship with Grant, and I don’t know Mack that well anyway. Instead, I intentionally shift the subject by saying lightly, “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I always know what I’m talking about.” He’s usually good about making eye contact, but he doesn’t right now. “You’ll learn that pretty quick about me.”

His slight diffidence makes me curious. “Do you have someone?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and I start to think he’s not going to at all. Then he finally meets my gaze. “Sure, I’ve got a woman. She just hasn’t realized it yet.”

I go to bed alone again tonight.

This time it’s not because Grant is doing the evening perimeter check. I have no idea where he is right now. We’ve been avoiding each other since the afternoon.

If there was something to say that I thought would change things, I’d summon the courage to go find him and make him talk to me. But the man is like granite. Unmovable once he’s made up his mind.

And a long time ago he decided I’m fragile, made of crystal—and therefore no good for anything that takes courage and strength. He’ll take care of me. Protect me and make sure I get everything I need. He’ll even fuck me now that he’s gotten over whatever was holding him back in that for so long.

But he’ll never trust me as an equal. Not in any way that counts.

I can see that now. Which means all the hope and effort and feelings and desires I’ve poured into this relationship have all been for nothing. Tossed into a black hole.

I’ve been in a painfully blank daze all evening because of it, and I curl up in bed, facing the wall. All alone.

For a while, I wonder if he’s going to stay away all night, but he comes in after just a half hour. He’s silent as he walks in and starts washing up. Although I feel his eyes on me, I don’t turn over or even move.

It feels like something is going to happen. I’m so tense as I wait for it that I start to tremble.

After a few minutes, I stop hearing the rustle of his motion. He must have washed up and taken off his clothes for bed. Now I’m not sure. It feels like he’s just standing there staring down at me.

“You’re still mad at me?” he asks at last, a lot of gravel in his voice.

The question surprises me so much I turn over onto my back so I can see him. I was right. He’s looming over the bed, his eyes fixed on me. “Yes, I’m still mad! Did you think this was something small that I’d just shrug off?”

I give him a chance to respond to this, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

So I go on. “You belittled me, humiliated me, and treated me like a child—and you did it in front of everyone. Is there any world where you think I’d be okay with that?”

“No, I didn’t think you’d be okay with it.” For the first time, he glances away.

For some reason, that small, helpless gesture gives me hope. I sit up in bed. “Then why did you do it? Why did you do that to me, Grant?” Despite my best effort, my voice cracks just slightly as I say his name.

“I wouldn’t have done it like that if I’d been better prepared,” he says, sitting on the bed so he’s closer to me. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear. “I would have talked to you about it first. But I thought we would need you to make up numbers, so I didn’t think there would be a choice. Then when there was enough, I thought I could manage it somehow. I knew you’d want to go, and I thought I could grit my teeth and bear it. But I can’t. I was standing there, picturing it happen, and I couldn’t do it. I just… can’t. I can’t let it happen. That’s why I did it in front of everyone.”

Part of me recognizes he’s opening up more to me now than he almost ever does, but I’m too upset to be happy about it. “It’s not about you. What I do or don’t do is my choice, not yours. I understand that you don’t like the idea of me walking into a fight, but you don’t get to make that decision.”

“I know that,” he mutters. “The choice got taken out of my hands.”

“It was never in your hands to begin with! That’s what you don’t seem to get. I know when we first met I was only seventeen, and I was spoiled and kind of helpless. But I’m none of those things anymore. You fuck me like I’m an adult woman. You don’t get to also treat me like a child.”

“I’ve never treated you like a child.” He’s angry now. Not just defensive but angry in his soft, gruff way. “In anything. That isn’t what this is about, and you know it.”

I give him a reluctant nod to acknowledge the point because I know it’s true. Even on the first day we met, he didn’t treat me like a child. “Okay, fine. Not a child. But not like a capable human being who is in the same situation here as everyone else. I’m not a sheltered princess or a porcelain doll, Grant. I’m not. I don’t care that my dad was a billionaire. He did everything he could to get us through Impact, and he still ended up dying. All his money and resources couldn’t save him. We’re all doing the best we can to survive and make a life here. There’s no such thing as princesses in this world. You’ve got to stop treating me like one.”

He’s still angry. Breathing loud and heavy. But there’s more going on in his face now. Something deep and intense and angsty. It takes a long time, but he finally rasps out, “You’re my princess. You can’t be surprised when I do anything—absolutely anything—to keep you safe.”

My stupid soft heart. It cracks right in two at his words. My throat closes up, and my eyes burn. I love the sound of the words so much that I almost collapse in his arms, but something more important than sentiment is at stake right now. I manage to push back the tears. Since I can’t get any words out, I shake my head.

He makes a frustrated sound. “Damn it, Olivia, I’m never going to let it happen. I’m never going to let you get hurt if there’s anything I can do to stop it from happening. Why are you even questioning this now? It’s always been that way. On the first day I met you, I promised your dad that if anything managed to get to you, I’d already be dead. It’s been true ever since. Protecting you has always been my job.”

“I was seventeen back then! I couldn’t do anything to keep myself safe. But I can now. You know that because you’re the one who taught me how. It’s not your job anymore. It’s not your responsibility or your duty or your burden or your fucking job!” My voice is getting louder, and something like desperation is clenched in my chest.

“Okay, then fuck responsibility and duty.” His jaw is clenched, and the thick muscles of his thighs are visibly tense. “Fuck all that. It doesn’t change anything. Because I’m still going to do anything to keep you safe. What the hell do you think would be left for me in this world if anything happened to you?”

I’m flushed and tense and trembling and want nothing more than to shake sense into his obstinate head, but the hoarse question touches me anyway. My chest hurts so much I have to cover it with one hand.

“I’ll have nothing.” Grant’s hand is tightly gripping the covers like he’s using the clenched fist to channel everything he’s feeling. “Nothing. Without you.”

“And it never occurs to you that I feel the same way? I’m expected to let you rush into danger at top speed over and over again even if it means you get killed. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

Again he breathes loud and raspy for a long time until the words finally come. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Why the fuck not? Because you’re somehow invincible? Unbreakable? Unkillable? You’re not. You’re not! You could die tomorrow just as easily as me, and then what would I be left with?”

Something hangs in the balance for a minute. Something important. I feel it shuddering in the air between us as both of us sit on the bed, panting and glaring at each other.

Then the moment shifts. The air shifts. The planet shifts. Grant glances away from me and mutters, “I’ve made arrangements if that happens.”

“What?” My voice breaks.

“I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t be left unprotected.”

Nothing he’s said or done in five years has hurt as much as this does. My anger has been completely swallowed by something that feels more like heartbreak. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. “Protection?”

He makes a weird half shrug. He’s still not meeting my eyes. “And if you need more than that, there’ll be a line stretching more than a mile of men who want to fuck you.”

And that’s the very last straw for me. I fight back a sob so hard it comes out as a strangled whimper. I lower myself back to the bed and curl up into a ball, facing away from him. I don’t want him to see me cry.

“Princess,” he murmurs thickly. He puts one big hand on my shoulder.

I shrug away from his touch and don’t turn back toward him like I know he wants. “No. Just no.”

He’s silent for a long time. Then I feel him getting under the covers beside me and stretching out. He doesn’t touch me again. But after he turns out the lantern, he says, “I’m sorry. I really am.”

I believe him. But sorry isn’t going to touch what he’s just made clear to me. How things between us are never going to be what I need them to be.

So I huddle into myself and work on not crying until I finally fall into a restless sleep.

I don’t sleep well, and I wake up after just a few hours. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s pitch-black in our small room.

Tomorrow—or later this morning, depending on the time—Grant and I will get up before dawn and start on the trip to take the bunker back. I won’t be with him. Not in the same vehicle and not even on the same side of the camp.

He could die in a matter of hours, and I wouldn’t even be there to see it happen. I could die too, but that somehow matters less to me.

I’m still pained and exhausted and almost numb from the conversation we had in bed, but even that doesn’t matter as much as the thought of Grant dying later today.

In a lot of ways, he’s defined the shape of my life for the past five years. Even if he’ll never love me the way I need, I can’t stand the thought of him not being in the world anymore.

I shift in bed, feeling his big, warm body at my side. I hear him breathing. Slow and steady. Rhythmic. I reach over to rest my hand on his chest. He’s pushed the covers down to his waist so I can feel his bare skin. I find his heartbeat. Feel it slow and steady under my palm.

He’s asleep.

I sit up carefully, so as not to rouse him, and peer down in the darkness until my eyes begin to adjust. I still can’t see him clearly, but it’s enough. My hand is still lying on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

His body is relaxed. Warm. Human. Almost, almost vulnerable.

He wakes up with a sharp intake of breath. His body tenses up, and he immediately reaches down to where he keeps his gun right next to the bed.

“It’s just me,” I murmur, stroking his chest. His heartbeat has accelerated. He’s not asleep anymore. “It’s me.”

“What’s the matter, princess?” he asks, sleep still rough in his voice. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Come back to sleep for a little while. It’s too early to get up.”

“I know.” I can’t help it. I lean down to nuzzle his neck, his scratchy jaw. My hand still covers his heart.

His breath hitches. One of his hands moves to slide down my back until he’s cupping my butt. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I am.” I kiss the side of his mouth. His cheekbone. Just below his ear. I’m sprawled out on top of him now.

“Then what’s this about?”

I kiss him full on the lips. Then raise my head enough to say, “You could die today. And so could I. That’s what this is about.”

He makes a gravelly sound and claims my mouth again, tangling the fingers of his free hand into my messy hair. We kiss for a long time. His cock grows hard against my hip. He’s rocking beneath me, and I’m rubbing my breasts against his chest.

I really have no idea how much time has passed when I start to feel him pulling at my panties, yanking them past my bottom and down my legs. I move my knees to help him and fumble until I’ve drawn his erection out of his underwear.

“Straddle my hips,” he says breathlessly.

I make a whimpering sound because his instructions evoke a slice of intense pleasure. I lift myself up so we can work on getting his cock in position, and then I lower my hips down as he penetrates me.

I moan long and low as he fills me. I drop my head backward.

“Yes. Fuck, yes, you always feel so good.” He’s shifting restlessly beneath me, stretching his back and his neck. “Now ride me, princess.”

I do as he says, bracing myself with my hands on his shoulders and pumping my hips. I start slow and steady, but that rhythm doesn’t last long. I feel too much. Need too much. I chase it with my whole body, bouncing over him shamelessly until my hair flies into my face.

He’s making helpless, hungry sounds as I move over him. His hands are holding on to my butt cheeks so hard they might actually bruise. His grip helps to keep me in position, however, so his cock doesn’t slip out from our vigorous motion.

“Yes,” he mutters. I still can’t see him clearly, but I can tell he’s tossing his head like he can’t hold himself still. “Yes. Good girl. So good. Fuck me hard. Just like that. Take everything you want. Give me all of it.”

His erotic encouragement pushes me higher until I’m practically sobbing as I climax. He bucks up into me as my pussy clamps down, and he lets out a strangled bellow.

I think he’s going to come too, but he doesn’t. He hangs on enough to still be hard when I finally slow down, panting and pulsing with pleasure.

He finds my clit in the dark and rubs it until I’m arching backward and coming again while he murmurs about how good I am, how hot I am, how hard I’m coming, how no one else can come for him like I do. Either from his touch or his words, the orgasms keep coming until I finally can’t take anymore. I push his hand away and fall forward on his chest.

He wraps me in his arms. Kisses me again. I’m so wet now that his cock slips out from my change in position, so he lifts my ass and pushes his shaft back in.

Then we’re rocking together as we kiss, his tongue setting the rhythm our bodies follow. He’s grunting into my mouth, still gripping my butt cheeks, guiding my motion and slowing me down.

Eventually I can no longer focus on the kiss, so I pull out of it. Our faces are only a few inches apart as we both build up toward climax with a fast, carnal rutting.

“Yes,” he forces out in a final, choppy gasp. “Yes. You’re… everything… to… me.”

I come again—from the words as much as anything else. And this time he’s right behind me, his whole body convulsing as he jerks up a few last times into my weight.

He pulls me down against him even tighter as I feel the spurts of his release inside me. My pussy is still fluttering all around him, and I can feel the throbbing of sensation in my nipples and my fingertips.

It’s taken so much out of me that I can’t move for a few minutes. I lay sprawled on top of him, my cheek against his shoulder as I gasp wetly.

He’s panting too—hot and breathless and limp. His hands gently stroke my tangled hair.

I want to say something, but there’s nothing I can think of to say. Nothing that embodies both our argument last night and our lovemaking just now.

I want him to say something too, but he doesn’t either.

We just lie together, holding each other until it’s time to get up.

Our plan to take back the bunker is too nuanced and complicated for me to fully wrap my mind around, but the rough strokes are basically this. Set up distractions on two sides of the camp to draw them out and confuse them. Then pick them off one by one in a series of assaults by small teams.

If Grant were deciding my role, I’d probably be responsible for one of the distractions since those are the safest positions. But I’m with Mack instead, so I’m part of one of the assault teams.

Five years ago, on that morning I spent waging social war with Melanie Brubaker, the idea of my being part of an actual attack would have made me laugh my head off.

The world has changed. Everything’s changed.

And I’ve changed with it.

I’m nervous and restless and trying not to think about Grant on the drive to the bunker. Mack is driving a pickup truck. I’m in the passenger seat, and Gail is in the back with a gun at the ready, just in case we encounter anyone.

“You scared?” Mack asks after a stretch of silence.

“Yes. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You’ll do great. You might look like a movie star, but I can tell you know what you’re doing.”

I smile up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I don’t look like a movie star.”

“Sure, you do. Why do you think everyone stares at you when you walk into a room?”

“People don’t stare at me.” I’m frowning now, focusing on a spot in the empty air as I think about what he’s said. “They don’t treat me different than anyone else.”

He laughs, low and warm and relaxed. “If you say so.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not that… that…” I trail off, mostly because I’m too embarrassed to get anything more coherent out.

“All I’m saying is, gorgeous as you are, I don’t envy Grant. Talk about pressure. It’s no wonder the poor guy is running himself ragged trying to keep you safe.”

My mouth is still turned down, but it’s mostly from the way my mind is racing to catch up. “In the bunker, he put out the word that I was off-limits. For dating or anything like that. We weren’t together or anything back then. He just wanted to keep everyone away from me.”

“I’m sure that sucked for you, but it wasn’t a bad idea. How would you have felt if you’d been hit on by one person after another—everywhere you went? Especially since there are a lot of guys who wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Were you pissed with him because of it?”

“Of course I was pissed. Who wants to live in some sort of enforced bubble?”

“No one. But it was an unnatural situation. Not sure there were any good choices there.”

I sigh and slump back in my seat. “Yeah. I guess. But still…” I don’t finish the thought.

Mack glances over at me curiously. He’s got dark eyes that radiate warmth and intelligence. It’s impossible not to like him. “You still holding that against him?”

“No. I actually haven’t thought about it for a long time. But I spent years having absolutely no idea how he feels about anything, and recently he’s told me a little more. So I’m just trying to put all the pieces together.”

“Ah. Makes sense. Just don’t be too hard on him.”

I stiffen my shoulders. “I’m not too hard on him! But he’s got to trust me. Really trust me. Otherwise, how will we ever…” I don’t finish that thought either. It reveals too much.

It’s easy to talk to Mack, but I really don’t know him that well.

“Give him time. He’ll get there.”

“That’s what Faith said.”

“Faith knows what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” I give my head a shake and decide I want to change the subject. After all, we’ll reach our destination in less than thirty minutes, and then there’s no knowing what will come next. “What is Mack short for? Mackenzie?”

It occurs to me then, as I ask the random question, that I don’t even know Grant’s first name. On the day we met, he told me that Grant was his last name. So what’s his first? Why hasn’t he told me? Why haven’t I asked?

I shake the thought away to focus on my conversation with Mack.

“Nope.” He’s got almost a smile on his lips as he focuses forward on the beat-up road we’ve been driving on.

“Mack. Mack. Mack.” My mind goes blank as I try to figure it out. “I can’t think of anything else. Tell me!”

“Malachi.”

“Seriously? I’ve never met anyone with that name before.”

“Well, you have now.” He turns to grin at me.

“I like it. And I’m very happy to meet you, Malachi.” I mean it. I’m not sure anyone else could have managed to distract me on this drive and also make me feel better.

“I’m happy to meet you too. But don’t go around and tell everyone else my real name. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

10

WHENEVER I IMAGINE BATTLE, I see one of those epic fantasy movies where thousands of men or monsters line up in formation on opposite sides of a field. The leader bellows out a rousing speech, building emotional momentum until the armies charge at each other, screaming bloody death.

That feels like a battle to me.

Not this.

Our vehicle was one of the last to leave New Haven, so when Mack parks the truck on the side of a small country road, we only have a few minutes to wait. Mack focuses on his watch—it’s an old-style one you hand wind every day—and we sit in silence for three minutes.

Then he says, “Okay. Let’s go.”

The three of us get out of the truck and make our way through the woods that surround the bunker camp. I’m moving with the others. Doing exactly what I need to do. But I’m in a weird emotional stupor where I can’t even process what’s about to happen. My feet take one step after another. My eyes scan through the trees. My hand hovers near the gun in my belt holster. I breathe automatically. And I’m not fully aware of any of it.

It doesn’t take long until we’re approaching the edge of the woods.

According to Grant and Jackson’s reconnaissance, the electrified fence we constructed around our camp was knocked down by the Wolf Packs in three different places during the initial attack. One of the breaks is on the opposite side of the perimeter from the main gate, and it’s directly in front of us now.

We pause so Mack can verify our location. Then he gestures for me to position myself behind a large rock where the trees stop and the camp clearing begins. Silently he points toward one of two guards stationed at the break in the fence.

I nod and get into position, using the boulder for as much cover as possible as I line up my shot.

Mack gestures for Gail to target the second guard, and then he moves to hide behind a tree several yards away from me.

We won’t make our move yet. Not until the distractions are triggered. Since Mack is in my eyeline, I watch him as he keeps time on his watch. I’d guess it’s about five more minutes before he looks up, meets my gaze, and gives a silent hand signal.

The timing is perfect. Because just then I hear a loud explosion nearby and another one across the camp, followed by loud shouts of surprise and warning.

There’s suddenly a lot of motion and activity in the camp, and the posted guards start searching for the source of the attack. I check my aim and pull the trigger. My guard goes down at almost the exact moment as Gail’s.

It helps that Wolf Packs aren’t the brightest bulbs in the pack. They spend a lot of their time drinking and carousing, and most of them are still in bed this early in the morning. It’s a few minutes before they sort themselves out, but eventually several of them come rushing out the break in the fence, heading in the direction of the explosion near us. A few of them are shooting indiscriminately in all directions.

When Mack makes a hand gesture, all three of us fire on them. My hands aren’t as steady now as they were for my first shot, but I still manage to hit the guy I target. It’s at hip level and so isn’t a kill shot, but he still goes down and doesn’t get up.

There’s a lot more shooting now. Some of the guys are firing back at us. I do the best I can, but I have absolutely no idea whether I manage to get anyone else or not.

It doesn’t matter. They’re all exposed, and we aren’t, so we take them down quickly.

When it’s quiet, Mack signals for us to advance beyond the tree line. We need to get into the camp through that break in the fence. My heart is hammering so wildly it seems to swallow up my entire consciousness, but my body still follows direction. I trail Mack and Gail, keeping my gun at the ready. It’s the same pistol Grant gave me when he first started to train me. I’m using it instead of a larger weapon because I’m much more comfortable with it. I’ve lost the exact count of how many times I’ve fired, but I should still have plenty of rounds left before I need to reload.

We’ve almost reached the fence when there’s a sudden crack of sound. The air by my right ear whizzes.

I whirl around toward the men we already took down. One of them has lifted his head and his arm, and he’s aiming at me. He’s going to fire again, and this one will hit its target. I know it for sure. I won’t be able to shoot him before he shoots me.

All this passes through my mind in a matter of a few frozen seconds. Then there’s another gunshot that makes me jump, but I don’t feel the pain that should follow.

I’m not hit.

I’m fine.

I look behind me, from the direction the second shot came from.

Cal and Rachel are advancing toward our position. Cal’s assault rifle is aimed toward that guy on the ground.

I’m ice cold and shaking a little, but my eyes meet Cal’s as he approaches. He gives me a curt nod—a brief, unsmiling acknowledgment that he just saved my life—and moves past me.

I fall into step with Rachel as we move in through the break in the fence.

There’s a lot more going on now. Shouting and gunfire and scuffling in all directions. Our other teams are coming at the camp through the other two holes in the fence and hopefully having as much success as we are.

The best defensive position on this side is the dining hall we constructed, so we move into the building through the back door.

It should be empty, but it’s not. One guy is still sitting at a table, stuffing food into his mouth. He does have his gun out, but it doesn’t matter. Rachel takes care of him before he can swallow his mouthful.

Mack points Gail toward one window and me toward another. I slide the window down—since it’s good fiberglass and there’s no reason to destroy it unnecessarily—and lean out enough to see what kind of vantage point I have.

The first thing I see is a man running toward a motorcycle in my eyeline. I shoot him before he gets there. My hand is so shaky that I barely wing him, so he turns around and returns fire. I duck behind the wall for a moment and then try again. I get him down with the second shot.

There’s no one else in my sights. From this window, I’m covering one small corner of the camp, and most of the fighting seems to be happening on the other side. Mack and the others are shooting more than me, so they must have a wider range of vision.

I don’t mind. I’m trembling so much I can barely hold my gun. I take a minute to breathe slowly and wipe the perspiration off my palms. Then I check out my window again. There’s still no one in my sight.

I’m about to ask Mack if I should move to a different window when a motion outside draws my attention.

Grant.

It’s Grant.

As I watch, he runs toward the motorcycle, leans over, and deflates one of the tires.

His job is disabling all their vehicles so none of them can get away.

When I first heard he was going to do this, I was surprised because I thought he’d pick a job with more direct action. But now I understand why he volunteered for this one. It’s probably the most dangerous role of our entire plan. He must have entered the camp before anyone else, and he’s moving from vehicle to vehicle, spending most of the time completely exposed.

I’ve barely processed this reality when I see someone else. A big, ugly man moves out from behind the camp’s compost pile and aims his gun at Grant, who is still focused on the motorcycle.

I act on instinct, shooting the man before he can kill Grant.

Grant jerks and whirls around, aiming first at me and then at the man who’s now fallen to the ground.

When he looks back toward me, our eyes meet. Maybe it’s just a few seconds or maybe much longer. But I feel his gaze all the way down to my heart.

He knows I saved his life.

He checks his surroundings once more and then runs toward the door of the dining hall, joining us in the building.

“This side of the camp is under control,” Cal says, positioned at the front door. “Did you take care of the vehicles?”

“Yes. Not a single one of them is getting away.” Grant has come over to me and pulls me into a brief, one-armed hug. “They’re having a harder time on the north side. We need to head that way.”

No one has any objections to this plan, so we file out of the dining hall, moving north by taking cover behind any structure or vehicle we encounter.

Grant takes out a couple of guys, and Mack and Gail both shoot another, but I’m not as quick as them so I’m not much help in this part.

There’s a lot more gunfire ahead of us. There must have been many more from the Wolf Packs on that side. I’ve felt a strange sense of calm overtake me ever since Grant joined us, but now that ice-cold panic rises again.

We haven’t gotten through the worst of this yet.

Grant doesn’t leave my side. He moves me behind the cover of a beat-up pickup truck and gestures toward the other side of it.

I understand.

That’s where our targets are.

I peek out, trying to stay out of range of bullets while still seeing what’s happening out there.

It takes a few minutes, but I finally figure out where some of the shooting is coming from, so I aim in that direction. I have no idea if I hit anything or not, but I figure that’s the way this kind of fighting goes.

Shoot and keep shooting and hope for the best.

When it sounds like there’s a slight lull, I reload my pistol and then take the time to peer around again. This time I see Travis hunkered down behind a metal barrel about twenty yards away from us.

He’s got a rifle, and he obviously knows what he’s doing. He takes down two of the men in my range as I watch. One after the other.

But evidently I’m not the only one to see this. He’s suddenly the target of massive gunfire. The Wolf Packs must have some automatic weapons because he’s pummeled with bullets. That barrel provides very little protection, so he’s completely trapped. Unable to fire back. Unable to move.

A slice of terror for him cuts through my chest.

“Grant!” I scream to be heard over the roar of noise surrounding us. Grant has been stationed on the other side of the pickup from me, shooting and ducking for cover like I am.

When he glances over, I gesture toward Travis behind the barrel. “He’s trapped there. Can you help him?”

Grant comes closer and peers out so he can get his eyes on the situation. He assesses it quickly and starts to move. Then he pauses and looks back at me.

I know exactly what he’s thinking. He doesn’t want to leave me unprotected—even to save someone else.

“No way,” I grit out. “I’m fine. He isn’t. He has a pregnant wife at home, so you get him out of there, or I’ll do it myself.”

I see the shift on his tense face as he acknowledges the words. Then he nods and positions his gun on his shoulder. “Cover me as much as you can.”

I stand up and start shooting as Grant moves out of the protection of the pickup. Like before, there’s no way I can know whether I’m hitting anything, but simply shooting in the right direction should help.

It does. Between me and Grant, we give Travis enough cover to get out from behind the barrel. He runs and lunges behind the pickup truck beside me.

Grant is on his way back too when a big guy charges at him. The man must be out of ammunition because he doesn’t try to shoot. He comes out of nowhere at a dead run, and it looks for a moment like he’ll knock Grant right off his feet.

But Grant turns just in time, swinging out to catch the man with an arm right in the gut. Then he makes a move so quick I can’t quite track it, and the attacker ends up motionless on the ground.

I let out a breath. Grant managed that whole thing with one arm since he’s still holding his weapon with the other.

His eyes meet mine again as he starts back toward us, and I’d swear there’s almost a smile in his expression.

That’s when he gets shot.

I have no idea who did it or where it comes from. But I hear the crack. See Grant’s body twitch sickeningly. Then it slumps forward to the ground.

I try to scream but no sound comes out. My throat has completely closed up.

There’s no way I can make my mind work enough to assess what’s best to do right now. All my instincts are demanding to get to him, so there’s nothing to do but follow them. I dart out from behind the pickup, ignoring Travis who calls out, “Olivia, no!”

I race over to where Grant is lying on dirt that’s already turning bloody and kneel down beside him.

One part of my mind is aware that the gunfire around me has picked up. Travis and the others must be providing cover for me and Grant because I’m not immediately hit by a bullet.

I use all my strength to turn Grant over onto his back and almost sob when I see the gunshot in this thigh.

His thigh. He wasn’t shot in the chest.

“Get back,” he rasps out, sounding pained and angry both. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I can’t leave you out here. Can you move?”

“Get the fuck behind the truck!” His face is drenched and dead white. Despite my relief at the location of his wound, the way he looks right now terrifies me.

“I’m not leaving you, so you might as well just shut up. Can you get up?”

He groans—more in frustration at me than in pain—but he doesn’t argue anymore. With what is obviously a huge force of will, he pushes himself to a sitting position, his eyes moving behind me. There’s less shooting now than there was. Travis and Mack and the others must have taken some of the shooters out.

“Take this,” he mutters, pushing his assault rifle at me. “I’m going to be slow.”

I don’t care how slow he is, as long as he’s moving. With my help, he manages to get to his feet, and I start firing in the general vicinity of the hostile guns as he leans against my other side. We slowly trudge back behind the pickup truck.

“That was somethin’, girl,” Travis says when we finally reach him. He’s winded and sweating, but he’s also almost smiling at me.

Grant is heavy. He’s not doing well. He drops back to the ground as soon as we’re behind cover, panting in wet, hoarse gasps. “That was stupid.”

“Oh, shut up.” I find the hole in his leg and apply pressure. That’s the only thing I know to do.

“Think we’ve almost got them down,” Travis says, huffing with what sounds like dry amusement. “I got the last of the ones in sight here, and it sounds pretty quiet near the gate.”

“Oh my God,” I murmur, pressing down on Grant’s thigh and peering around at the camp. It’s the same camp I knew for six months, but it looks alien at the moment. Like the smoldering embers after a fire. “Did we actually do this?”

“Looks like it. Thanks for your help back there, by the way.” Travis’s eyes take in both me and Grant.

“Thank you. I’m pretty sure you saved our lives too.”

We wait for another minute until the gunfire stops completely. Then there are shouts but not scared or angry ones. They sound more like victory.

“We did it,” I whisper to Grant.

His eyes are still pained and are now getting a little fuzzy. It scares me as I see it, but his lips turn up just slightly at the corners. “You did good.”

I make a little sobbing sound. He looks like he’s about to lose consciousness.

Then I hear Jackson’s voice sound from not far away. “Check the buildings. Make sure no one is still hiding. I think we got ’em all.”

“Princess,” Grant rasps.

“I’m right here.”

“There’s a two-way radio on the wall of the guardhouse. Have someone get it when it’s safe. So we can… we can tell our people it’s safe to come out.”

“Okay. Okay, I will.” I’m still desperately pressing on his wound. He’s losing so much blood. It’s all over my hands, my forearms, my jeans.

“Don’t know…” His head turns to the side. His eyes close. “Don’t know if I’ll be able to… do it.”

Two hours later, I’m sitting in a chair in the bunker clinic, staring at Grant stretched out on a bed.

If we couldn’t have gotten back into the bunker, he might not have survived losing so much blood. But we’ve still got units of stored blood and the equipment to do transfusions, and the doctor told me he would be okay.

They drugged him up while they took the bullet out, so now I’m just waiting for him to wake up.

My body feels like it’s being dragged down by an invisible weight, but at least it’s clean again. I took a shower in my apartment and changed into clean clothes—a sleeveless white top with soft gray knit lounge pants. I didn’t braid my hair again after my shower, so it’s hanging long and loose over my shoulders and back.

It’s in the way, but I don’t really care. I’m not planning to do anything for a while except sit right here next to Grant’s bed.

Mary stopped by a few minutes ago to check on him and give me a fresh bottle of water. She tried to get me to eat something, but my stomach is still queasy.

Now Grant and I are alone in the small, sterile room. It’s a relief. I like it that way.

Eventually he starts to shift slightly in bed. He makes a sound in his throat. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, and he murmurs hoarsely, “Princess.”

“I’m right here.” I lean forward and put a hand on his left arm.

He clears his throat and opens slightly bleary eyes. He blinks a couple of times. Then his expression softens. “Hi.”

The smile I give him is probably quite sappy. “Hi.”

“Y’okay?”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t injured. You were.”

He adjusts restlessly, wincing when he moves his injured right leg. “Damn it.”

“The doctor said you’ll be fine. He got the bullet out and said it did minimal damage. Mostly it was the blood you lost that made it touch and go for a little while. But he said you should be good now. You’re supposed to stay off that leg.”

“We’ll see,” he mutters, glancing toward the door as if he’s already planning his escape.

“We won’t see anything. You’re going to stay off that leg for as long as you need to. The crisis is over now. You got shot, which means you have to take a break whether you want to or not.”

He curls his lip at me, but I can tell he isn’t really annoyed. Mostly he looks exhausted.

I can sympathize.

“How are our people?” he asks in a different tone. “Any problems in the bunker?”

“No. They stayed safe down here. They’re relieved to be out, of course. There were a number of injuries in the attack, but nothing serious except for you. No one got killed.”

He closes his eyes, and I can see his response to this news on his face, although he doesn’t say a word.

After a minute, I go on, “The New Haven folks are helping us put the fence back up right now.”

“Shit. I should be up there helping them.”

“They don’t need your help. They’re doing just fine without you bossing them around.”

His mouth softens again. “But you’re down here. I guess that means you want some of my bossing.”

I can’t help but giggle. “I can tolerate it better than most.”

My hand is still on his arm, and he reaches over with his other hand to cover mine, giving it a little squeeze. “So everyone is still here?”

“Cal and Rachel left.”

“We needed to pay them.”

“Dave took care of it. He put a bunch of stuff together for them, and Rachel took one of the Wolf Pack’s motorcycles. She said hers was on its last legs, so she was glad to get another.”

“That’s a good idea. Any of the volunteers should take whichever of the extra vehicles they want. We don’t need them, so see if Mack or Travis or any of the others could use them.”

“I will. But Travis has already left too. He was in a hurry to get back to his wife. But he said he might bring her back here since we’ve got such good medical facilities. They could stay here until she gives birth. It would be a lot safer than trying to do it by themselves at home.”

“Yeah. Good plan. Glad we can offer some help since they’ve done so much for us.”

“That’s what I thought too. Our medication isn’t going to hold out forever, but at least we’ve got equipment and some expertise. So we can act as a kind of hospital for the folks around here for a while.”

Grant nods, clearly agreeing but also appearing to have mentally moved on to something else. “We’re going to need something stronger than the fence pretty soon. Maybe more like the wall they built at New Haven. I need to—”

“You need to wait. It doesn’t have to be done today. They’re getting the fence back up for now, and we’ll work on everything else as soon as we can. What did I just tell you about your bossing?”

He relaxes back on the bed and scowls at me without any heat. “I’ve got to boss someone.”

“Then you can boss me.”

“Okay.” He breathes deeply, and I’m pretty sure he’s purposefully relaxing himself and clearing his mind. It doesn’t come easy for him, so he has to work at it. Then he shifts his eyes to me. “Come here, princess.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

I get up and step toward the bed. “Why? Did you just desperately need to get a little bossing out?”

He chuckles and reaches out his left arm. “No. Come and lie down with me. You’re too far away over there.”

“But your bad leg—”

“My bad leg is all the way on the other side of my body. You can lie down right here, and you won’t bother it at all.”

I’m a little nervous since I really don’t want to hurt him, but I also desperately need to be close to him. So I climb into the bed and settle myself at his left side. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me even closer so I’m snug against him.

“Just in case the idea of bossing me around got you feeling certain ways,” I say, burrowing against him and inhaling the familiar warm scent of him, “I’m not in a sexy mood right now.”

His body shakes with silent amusement. “Me either.” He pauses. When he speaks again, his tone is sober. “I know things aren’t right between us. We had that fight, and you were so mad at me, and there’s a lot of stuff to deal with. But can we put all that on pause for a while? I need to hold you right now.”

My heart throbs with feeling at the words. I snuggle in. “Yeah. It’s on pause for now.”

“You smell clean,” he murmurs, nuzzling my hair.

“I took a shower.”

“I’m going to get you all smelly.”

“I don’t care about that.”

I don’t. Not in any way. I rub myself against every part of him I’m touching, needing to feel his heat, his strength, his life.

We lie together in silence for several minutes. I rub his flat stomach, and he strokes my loose hair.

Then he says softly, “I can’t believe you ran right into gunfire like that.” He doesn’t sound angry or disapproving or annoyed. He sounds almost affectionate.

“Well, if you didn’t want me to do that, then you shouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“You should have stayed behind cover.”

“Then you would be dead, and I wasn’t having that. I saved your life.” My mind can barely return to the intensity of the firefight. It’s easier if I just keep it out of my mind.

“I know that. You saved my life twice.” He presses a kiss against my hair. I can’t see it, but I feel it.

“Because you insist on doing all the most dangerous things. Someone’s got to have your back.”

I wait, expecting the normal protestations about how I need to stay out of danger, about how his job is to protect me. But they don’t come. Instead, he mutters in a voice so soft I can barely hear it, “Thank you.”

I tilt my head up so I can see his expression. “No lectures?”

“No lectures.” He lets out a long, thick exhale. “You were amazing. The whole time, you were amazing. Makes me feel pretty stupid about trying to stop you.”

I would have thought the words would make me feel better. I would have thought they were exactly what I wanted to hear. But for some reason they make my heart ache, my throat tighten. I hide my face against his chest and mumble, “I didn’t do that good.”

“Yes, you did.”

I hesitate since it isn’t something I want to admit after I was the one who insisted on being part of the assault team. But I need to share it with someone, and Grant is that person for me. “I was… I was terrified. The whole time. I felt frozen with it. I somehow managed to move, but I did it in this weird numb stupor—like it wasn’t really me doing it. I don’t know how I was able to get anything. I missed more times than I hit. I… didn’t do good.”

He combs his fingers into my hair and curves his hand around my scalp. “That’s how everyone feels in that situation. And it has nothing to do with how well you did.”

I’m starting to tremble now. I thought I was fine. Calm. In a decent emotional state. But now everything I’ve been holding back is rising up. “I didn’t want to… want to kill anyone. I can’t believe I did. I had to completely zone out in order to do it.”

He makes a sound in his throat and keeps caressing my head and back. “You did what you had to do. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone either. I go into a zone too.”

“You do?” I lift my head since I want to check to make sure he’s telling me the truth.

He is. I can see it in the sincerity of his expression. He’s being open with me. Completely vulnerable. His eyes are very soft. “Yes. Stop questioning yourself, princess. You were right, and I was wrong. You did so good.” His breath gives an odd little hitch. “I’m proud of you.”

For some reason, that’s the thing that does me in. Everything I was holding together inside myself cracks right in two. My shoulders shake. I bury my face in his shirt. And I sob.

He tightens his arm and moves his right arm to hold me as well, wrapping me completely in him. I cry for a long time, and he doesn’t try to stop me or reason me out of it. He occasionally murmurs, “It’s okay” or “I’ve got you.”

Finally I’ve cried myself out. My shaking has stopped, and I’m still cradled in his arms. I sniff and say, “I’m okay.”

“I know you are.”

“Sorry I got your shirt all wet.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the shirt.”

For some reason, that triggers my sense of humor. I gasp out a broken laugh.

“Was that funny?” he asks with a smile in his voice.

“Yes. For some reason, it was.” I’m finally able to pick my head up and gaze down into his face.

“Come closer,” he says thickly. “I want to give you a kiss.”

I readjust so our mouths are aligned, and he lifts his head to kiss me. It’s gentle. Tender. It seems to put my heart back together.

I’m pretty sure he’d keep going, but I’m not about to risk any sexy times. I’m not going to be responsible for holding back the healing of his leg even a little. So I pull away and snuggle more comfortably at his side. He keeps one arm around me but holds me more loosely.

And it’s not long before I actually fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I doze, but I don’t wake up until I hear Mack’s voice in the room.

“Hey,” he’s saying as I’m trying to get my eyes open. “Just checking to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” That’s Grant. I feel his soft voice rumble slightly through his body. “But she’s sleeping. Don’t wake her up.”

“I’m awake,” I announce rather groggily. I still can’t seem to open my eyes.

Mack laughs. “You look very awake to me. Sorry to interrupt.”

I’ve finally managed to pry open my eyes. I don’t bother trying to sit up. “I’m glad you stopped by. You’re not taking off right away, are you?”

“No. The New Haven folks will be leaving in an hour or so, but I think I’ll stick around for a day or two if y’all don’t mind. I’ve got nothing pressing, and that swimming pool and theater are too tempting.”

“Please stay as long as you want,” I tell him. “You can live here if you’d like.”

“I travel around most of the time, but I’ll definitely stop by when I can.” He’s already heading back toward the door of the room. “I’ll leave you alone now since you’ve clearly got something going on.”

I start to object, but Grant says, “Thanks for stopping by.”

Mack turns to scan us together in the bed for a few seconds before he leaves. I hear him saying, maybe to us and maybe to himself, “Next time, I gotta work on getting shot. That must be the way to get the girl.”

11

A WEEK LATER, I carry a bowl of stew down to Grant’s room because he’s still not supposed to be walking.

Overall, it’s been a good week. We’ve been putting the camp back together after the Wolf Pack attack and fixing up our garden there since it saw a lot of damage. Fortunately, we’ve been keeping all our chickens down in the bunker until we could build a proper coop for them outside, so they weren’t all killed or injured during the assault. The area feels safe again, and the mood in our camp is better than ever.

I should be happy. More secure. And I would be if I weren’t so distracted by my relationship with Grant.

The doctor said that in another week Grant can start limping around, but for now he’s confined to his apartment. To my surprise, he hasn’t complained. He hasn’t tried to ignore the doctor’s instructions. He hasn’t grumbled about the forced inactivity.

And he hasn’t made a single move on me.

On the afternoon he got shot, I felt close to him. Closer than I ever have before. I convinced myself he felt the same way and that it would continue. But he’s been acting different for days now. He’s quiet. Always polite. Almost gentle with me.

It’s confusing. And unsettling. I have no idea what it means, but it doesn’t feel like it’s really him.

I keep telling myself to be patient. He’s a reserved man by nature, and he’s spent years burdened with responsibility for getting us through an endless crisis. To do that, he closed himself off to feelings and vulnerability. Expecting him to change overnight—even if he wants to—would be unreasonable. Immature.

But still…

I’m not expecting a proposal or an earnest declaration of his heart, but he could at least touch me occasionally. Like he used to.

It’s not been helping my mood.

In fact, it’s making me decidedly cranky.

So instead of my typical cheerfulness as I let myself into his room—chatting about what’s happening with the rest of our people and making sure he has everything he needs—today I’m as quiet as he is.

I don’t want to bite his head off for no good reason—merely because I’m not getting the sex I want—so it’s probably best for me to keep my mouth shut right now.

He’s lying on his bed since it’s the only place in his apartment where he can keep his leg stretched out straight. I arrange pillows behind him so he can sit up, and then I move the tray of food onto his lap. His eyes never leave me as I get him situated and then putter around the room, straightening things up and changing the projected landscape in his window to a pretty little cabin beside a lake.

After a while, I get self-conscious, so I stop fidgeting and check his bowl. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, then eat it. We have way too much zucchini and squash right now, so we’ll be having them in everything for a while.”

“I like them.” He takes another bite of his mostly vegetable stew and keeps watching me as I pull the chair up closer to the bed and sit down.

Maybe if I’m sitting, I won’t feel so awkward and irritable.

It doesn’t work. I wait, but he doesn’t take another bite. He’s too busy pretending he’s not peering at me. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” I grumble. “But it’s kind of silly to waste food like that.”

His eyes narrow. For a few seconds, I think he’s going to get angry, but he doesn’t. He simply proceeds to finish his stew in a series of wolfish bites.

As ridiculous as it sounds, this manages to annoy me even more. With a slight huff, I get up, grab his now-empty bowl, and take it to the sink to wash it out.

I’m drying it and brooding to myself about why I did something so stupid as begin a relationship with a man who’s locked up as tight as Grant, when he asks gruffly, “What’s going on, Olivia?”

I whirl around and almost snap at him, merely because he called me by my name. I stop myself just in time.

He waits a few seconds for a response but doesn’t get one. “For fuck’s sake, tell me what’s happening right now.” The impatient demand comes out as almost a growl.

“Nothing’s happening. I’m just not in a very good mood.”

“Why?” His expression has changed now. He glances quickly toward the door and then straightens up on the bed. “Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?”

“No!” I’m seriously about to lose it now. An infuriating tear leaks out of my eye, and I have to swipe it away quickly. But I’m not sad. I’m simply fed up. “I’m allowed to be in a bad mood sometimes, you know.”

“Of course you’re allowed, but you never are. Not without a reason. I’m stuck here in this fucking bed for half of eternity, and I can’t see for myself what’s been going on. So if you don’t tell me what’s upset you right now, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I cut in, a challenge in my glare I don’t fully understand. “You’ll do what exactly? Touch me? Because you haven’t done anything like that for a week now.”

I feel like a fool after the words burst out. My whole face flushes hot.

And it’s even worse when he’s clearly stunned by the outburst. His eyes widen. His lips part slightly.

“Sorry,” I mumble, turning away from him. “Forget it.” I rub my face and search the room for something I can do with my hands to distract myself.

What I really want is to sink right into the floor.

“Get over here, princess,” he murmurs thickly with a quiet authority that shivers through my spine. “Right now.”

I freeze. Don’t move immediately. I’m terrified of what I might see on his face.

“Right the fuck now.”

When I turn around, he has moved. He’s seated on the edge of the bed, and he’s about to get up.

“No, you’ll hurt your leg!” I run over to help him get back into a safer position.

He reaches out to stop me and then draws me closer to him with his big hands on my hips until I’m standing between his thighs. “My leg is fine. But you aren’t fine, and that’s a lot more important to me.” His expression is sober. Weirdly intense. “You honestly think I don’t want to touch you?”

I’m still hot with embarrassment, but the nature of it is changing now. My heart is hammering with something other than annoyance as he pulls me even closer so that our bodies are only a few inches apart. He keeps his bad leg outstretched, so I assume he’s not hurting it too much in this position. “Well, I don’t know,” I admit. “I thought… I mean, I hoped… but you haven’t even tried.”

Just brilliant. Spoken with my typical eloquence.

Something is shuddering through him now, vibrating in the air between us. A bone-deep feeling he hasn’t put into words.

Afraid I’ve made a flop of this whole thing, I go on in a rush. “And I know you can’t do much with that leg. I mean, you can’t really fuck me or… but you could at least… act like you want to… like you want to…” I gulp.

“You really don’t know how much I want you?”

I’m starting to feel even sillier now, like I’ve had no good reason to be insecure. And that instinctive response makes me mad. “I only know what you tell me, and you tell me almost nothing! I’m not making things up here. All week, you’ve been acting like you’re a whole different person. Like nothing ever bothers you. Like you aren’t bossy and demanding and overprotective and feel responsible for everyone in the world. Like you’ve never even dreamed about having sex with me.”

“Of course I want to have sex with you. But, for one thing, I’m not playing around with an injury that could affect my ability to walk for the rest of my life.”

“I know that! I don’t want you to play around with it or do anything that will make it worse. But you’re acting like… like it’s easy. This week has been hard for me. I mean, I guess I just… I just got used to fucking you. And I don’t like going without. How do you think it makes me feel that it’s so hard for me but not for you?”

He stares for several seconds as if he needs time to process what I’ve said. Then he gives a soft huff that’s almost laughter. “Oh, princess, you don’t seem to understand that I’ve had years—years and years—of practice at holding myself back. Pretending I don’t want what I want.”

“W-what?”

He’s not flirting or trying to seduce me or teasing me out of my bad mood. He looks dead serious, so I have to believe he means what he says. “I spent years wanting you, knowing I could never have you. A week should be nothing compared to that. Even so, I’ve been miserable. I toss and turn half the night, dying to have you with me, to touch you in any way I can. But it’s not just my leg. We put our relationship on pause. There were real issues that were never resolved. I wasn’t going to assume anything about us until you were ready to talk to me. So I told myself to wait and let you come to me. I fell back into that lockdown limbo so I wouldn’t put any pressure on you. I was trying to… to be good.” He swallows and glances away briefly. “I’m sorry if I did it wrong. I thought you knew how much I’ve always wanted you. I mean, how could you not?”

I swallow hard, my mortification transforming into something different. Just as hot but not nearly so painful. “Oh.”

He gives me a little smile. “I want sex with you all the time. Every minute of the day. You never have to worry or question yourself about that.”

“Okay.” I feel better. So much better I want to melt in an entirely different way. “But next time if you want sex, maybe just say something. I feel weird always making the first moves, and you’ve got a mouth for a reason, you know.”

His gaze heats up. “I can think of other good uses for my mouth.”

My blood has started to throb in my veins. It’s ridiculous how quickly he can turn me on. It’s never made any sense to me. “Don’t get carried away, thinking about what you can do with your mouth. You can’t get in a good position for sex. Even on your back you’ll probably get too into it and end up tearing open your wound. I’m not going to risk it.”

He looks briefly annoyed—which is actually a relief since he hasn’t given me that impatient look for more than a week.

“I mean it,” I say, my voice breaking slightly as I continue. “You were shot. You almost didn’t make it. It’s enough for me to know you still want me. I’m not going to do anything to set you back in getting better.”

His mouth softens. He reaches out to take one of my hands. Holds it in both of his. “Fair enough. But I’ve also got hands for a reason. Are you doubting my ability to take care of you with just my hands?”

I gulp again. I’m throbbing all over now. “Well, maybe. If you think you can do it without hurting yourself. But you’ll have to get back on the bed so you can stretch out your leg. I’m serious about being careful. It won’t be any fun for me if you get hurt, so whatever you’re thinking of doing, you’ll have to lie still to do it.”

“Okay. I’ll get back in bed and lie still. You take off your clothes.”

I twitch with excitement. “What?”

“Take off your clothes.”

I’m so turned on that I can’t move for a moment. Instead, I watch as he scoots farther back into the bed, turns his body, and carefully extends his bad leg. When he clears his throat intentionally, I finally grab the bottom of my V-neck top and pull it off over my head.

Knowing he’s watching, I toe off my shoes, unhook my bra, and then pull down my jeans. Undressing like this makes me feel vulnerable but not in a bad way. It’s ridiculously exciting to feel so exposed while he’s still dressed and propped up on the pillows in bed.

“All of it,” he murmurs when I’m down to my panties. He’s still not putting on a show with the dominance. He’s not exaggerating the command in his voice in an attempt to sound sexier. He’s just matter-of-factly telling me what to do.

That’s what makes it so hot.

I shimmy out of my panties and then stand next to the bed completely naked. “How exactly are we going to manage this? Should I… should I get on the bed with you?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay.” I wait, hot as fire in my cheeks and my pussy and slightly chilled from the coolish air everywhere else. It’s a disorienting combination. I’m breathing in fast little pants.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His eyes are raking up and down from my messy hair to my toes. Hungry. Almost feral. “That body has haunted me for years.”

I gulp.

We’ve mostly had sex in the dark, so it’s been a while since he’s seen my naked body this clearly. I vaguely wonder how the hell I ever believed him to not be interested in me. Right now he looks like he could swallow me whole.

“Now?” I ask when it feels like he’s had long enough to leer.

He shakes his head. “Since I’m slightly incapacitated, you can do some of the work.” Before I can ask what he means, he makes it clear. “Touch yourself.”

My breath hitches. “What?”

“Touch yourself.”

This is not at all what I was expecting, and it’s not what I ever imagined I’d want to do. But right now I do. Merely because he told me to.

I slowly ease a hand down between my legs.

He stops me. “Not there.”

My hand freezes. “Where then?”

“Anywhere else.”

I narrow my eyes since he’s clearly planning to torment me a little. But I do as he says, rubbing my stomach for just a moment before I slide the hand up to my right breast. I cup it. Tweak the nipple. Then do the same with the other.

“Good. Keep going. Since you’re so worried about my damn leg, you can turn yourself on.” He’s half teasing, and I know he won’t be upset if I object. But he wants me to do this. Which means I want it too.

I’m already turned on, and I only get more so as I caress my body. I stroke myself all over, spending the most time on my breasts. He’s definitely into it. I can see that very clearly in the way his eyes darken, his cheeks flush, his body grows increasingly tense. His arousal excites me even more than mine as minutes pass.

Eventually my knees are getting shaky, and my whole body pulses with need. I’m fondling both my nipples at the same time as I gasp, “Grant, please!”

He makes a guttural sound. “Come here, princess.”

Whimpering in relief, I step over to the bed.

He pulls me toward him and kisses me hard and deep. Then he draws back and meets my eyes. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

I’m so excited now I can barely catch my breath. “I want you to make me come.”

He smiles just a little. “That’s what I thought.” Then he eases me facedown over his lap so that I’m sprawled out crossways on the bed in a very undignified manner.

Instead of getting going right away the way I want, he slowly slides his hand over my back and down to my bottom. He squeezes and strokes. Lifts my hips slightly to get me higher.

I’m openly whimpering now. I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperately aroused without any relief in my life. “Please. I need it so bad.”

He finally parts my thighs, strokes across my pussy, massages my clit for just a few seconds, and then penetrates me with two fingers.

I make a loud, stretched sound as he sinks in.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, gruff and pleased. “You’re really liking this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” I’m mumbling the words against the covers. “Please make me come.”

To my relief, he doesn’t tease anymore. He starts to pump his hand, rubbing my inner walls and pushing against my g-spot. I pant and whine and make silly little grunts as he establishes a fast rhythm. I’m so eager that I shake my hips, trying to ride his fingers, but he stops me with his free hand gripping my ass cheek. So I have to let him give it to me instead, making the sensations slower, deeper, agonizingly better.

I’m so far gone that it doesn’t take long until I’m on the cusp of climax. My whimpers turn into sobs, and my body shudders in preparation.

He raises his free hand and then lowers it again with a hard little slap on my bottom. The sting pushes me over the edge immediately. I come hard all around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he says softly. “I can feel how much you need this. You should have asked me for it before.”

I try to respond, tell him how good it feels, how much I need it, but all that comes out are loud, messy cries of pleasures as the spasms of release continue as he sustains the pumping of his hand.

When I think it’s finally over and my muscles start to relax, he spanks me again, a sharp swat on my bottom. My pussy clamps down around his fingers in response.

“Do you want more, princess?”

“Yes. Please.” I’m clutching the covers and lifting my ass toward his hand. “I need so much more.”

He starts fucking me with his hand again. This time it’s harder, rougher. It’s exactly what I want. He gives it to me, occasionally pairing it with hard little spanks until I’m almost screaming into the covers.

I come and come again and more because he doesn’t stop. I’m such a sobbing mess that once he pauses to check in with me, making sure he’s not hurting me, and I have to beg him to keep going because I still haven’t had enough.

I really don’t know how this is me. But nothing has ever driven me so wild with pure animalistic sensation as this.

Finally my throat is raw from all the crying out I’ve done, and my pussy is aching from being taken so hard, and that deep need at my core that has been tormenting me all week has finally been sated.

“Okay,” I rasp. The covers beneath my face are soaking wet from tears and saliva. “I’m good.”

He stops the pumping of his hand immediately. His other hand gently strokes my sore butt. “Are you sure you’ve had enough?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” I sniff and raise my head so I can look back at him. And so that he can see my face.

“Okay.” He’s still caressing me, this time moving his hand up to my back and running it down my hair. “You did so good. I lost count of how many times you came.”

“I did too,” I admit, finally pushing myself up from where I’ve been sprawled across his lap for so long. I’m kind of embarrassed by how wet I got. It’s all over me and him and the bed.

Checking out the wet spot I made makes me realize something else. He’s fully erect in his loose sweatpants. He made sure I was perfectly satisfied without ever trying to meet his own needs. But I want him to feel just as good as I do, so I gently pull down his waistband over his hard cock.

I think for a moment and then lean down to take his shaft in my mouth, as much of him as I can fit. I suck hard, and he lets out a helpless moan and comes.

Right then.

From only one suck.

I lift my head, letting him slip out of my mouth, and keep squeezing him so he releases on my naked chest. I can’t remember anything that’s thrilled me as much as seeing him lose it so quickly. For me.

I’m smiling when his body stops jerking. He lets out another lingering moan as he relaxes, this time softer and thicker.

“Don’t say it,” he tells me in a warning tone, although there’s a matching smile in his eyes.

I giggle and lean over to kiss him. “Well, there was an awful lot of lead-in for you, so I’m sure this doesn’t cast any doubts on your stamina.”

“Just wait until I can use my leg again.” He gently wipes his semen from my chest with the napkin I brought him with his stew and then pulls me down into a hug. “Then I’ll show you all about my stamina.”

“I can’t wait.” When he’s settled me at his side, I sigh and stretch out more comfortably, cuddled up next to his very warm body. I’m still very sore in places I never imagined I’d be sore, but I’m also more relaxed than I’ve been in weeks. Longer than that really.

Maybe years.

He moves around, adjusting so he can get the covers out from under us and pull them over us instead. He kisses my hair as he lets out a long, pleased sigh. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“I feel better too. Maybe now I can sleep.”

“Good. Me too.” I’m already becoming groggy. My body is completely worn out, and my eyes are closing. “Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I loved every minute of it. I know things are probably still complicated, but I’m always going to want to be the one who gives you what you need.”

I rub my face against his chest. “Okay. Same here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I’m almost asleep now and not guarding my words. “I always want to give you what you need too.”

I think he kisses my hair again, but I’m too out of it to know for sure.

“So we’re off pause? Things are good between us now?” he asks very softly.

“Yeah. We’re off pause. Things are good.”

“I’m the man you want?”

There’s no way, in my current state, I can tell him anything but the truth. “You’re the only man I want.”

Things are good. For the whole next week. Grant is still not supposed to get up and use his leg, but it feels like we’re really together. A couple.

I’m happy. Happier than I can remember being since lockdown. Things have settled down in the region now that we’ve taken care of so many of the Wolf Packs all at once. Somehow the news about the bunker has gotten out, and we’ve had a number of new families already come to settle with us. There’re more people around, and the air is filled with excitement. Good spirits. I’d actually forgotten that life could feel this way.

I don’t have any worries or complaints or concerns until the two weeks of Grant’s enforced bed rest are up. At first it’s all good. We can have sex in other ways again. And we do. A lot.

But then he starts disappearing during the days, and I have no idea where he goes. He drives off first thing in the morning in one of the ATVs, and he doesn’t come back until dusk. I ask him about it, and all he says is that he’s working on a project, but he doesn’t give me any more information. And it keeps happening. Day after day. He’s clearly preoccupied by whatever he’s working on, and I only ever see him at night when he comes to my bed and fucks me. The sex is good. Needy on both sides. He’s not quite as athletic as he used to be, but that’s because his leg still isn’t back to full form.

I have no complaints about the sex, and I always love the way he talks to me when we’re in the bedroom, but it still worries me that it’s the only time I ever see him.

Over and over, I give myself good advice. I chide myself to just talk to him about my concerns like a mature, sensible person should do. But the problem is he’s never around during the day, and at night he gets right into the fucking.

Once he starts to touch me, that’s all I want to do too.

Early one morning, Grant has just taken off like usual when Travis arrives back at the bunker with his wife, whose name is Layne. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone pregnant that I’m surprised by how big her belly is, especially on such a small woman. I like her immediately. She’s pretty and sweet and appears delighted to be here even though the trip must have been incredibly uncomfortable for her.

Since I don’t have anything else to do, I show them down to an available apartment and explain the layout and procedures in the bunker. They have a dog with them, which is a nice surprise. Once Travis gets Layne settled on a small couch, he goes back outside to walk their dog and get the rest of their stuff from their Jeep.

Layne asks me to stay and chat with her, which I’m very happy to do.

“You have no idea how much we appreciate y’all letting us come here and use your medical facilities,” she says. She’s got a pretty, heart-shaped face and two long brown braids of hair. “We knew what we were getting into with this.” She strokes her rounded stomach. “But it’s still kind of terrifying.”

“I can only imagine. I’d be the same way.”

“Obviously, people had babies for millennia without hospitals, but what’s also true is that a lot of women and babies died from childbirth. The closer we came to time, the more scared we got.” She laughs. “I finally had to send Travis with Mack to help take back the bunker mostly to give him something to do and stop him from driving me crazy with his hovering.”

“Well, he’s scared. I get that.”

“I know. I’m scared too. So when he got back and explained you’ve got a doctor and nurses and a clinic and medicine and equipment, it was like a miracle to us. I think Travis might actually be able to breathe now.” She stretches out against the extra pillows we fit in behind her. “And maybe so can I.”

“I hope so. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Until you’re ready to travel again or even longer if you’d like to live here long term.”

“Probably not. We love our little house. And Duke, our dog, would never forgive us if we didn’t take him back home. He’s lived there even longer than we have. But for now, being here is like a gift from heaven for us.”

There’s a slight lull in conversation, but she doesn’t look like she’s ready for me to leave, so I say, “Tell me a little about yourself. How did you and Travis get together?”

Layne laughs. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

So she tells me all about how they were from the same town but never really knew each other. Then they met up when they were both traveling to Fort Knox after their town migrated. He kept her safe on the road, and they fell in love.

“You should have seen me at the end of the trip,” Layne says, laughing again as she’s finishing her story. She laughs more than anyone I’ve ever met. “I was an emotional wreck, not knowing how he felt about me. There he was, totally gone on me and convinced it was obvious for anyone to see, and I had no idea at all. I had no one to go to for advice about relationships. It was just me—barely twenty-one years old and having been with no one else my entire life and trying to figure it out all by myself. I was tying myself into knots about how much I loved him and thinking he didn’t love me back and actually convincing myself he was going to get back together with his ex!”

It’s then. Just then. It hits me like a blow.

My shoulders shake, and my face scrunches up, and I start to cry.

“Oh my God,” Layne breathes. “Oh my God.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, trying to wipe the tears off my face and smile at her at the same time. I’m mortified by the breakdown but can’t seem to help it. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what’s wrong with me.”

“If it was my ramblings about Travis that did you in, I’d guess that what’s wrong is probably man troubles.”

I nod. Of course that’s what it is. Her description of her worries is so similar to the way I feel myself. Only I don’t have a fully devoted Travis who openly adores me. Just a tight-lipped asshole who is perfectly happy to leave me alone all day long.

“Do you have anyone to talk it all through with?”

I shake my head. I know I’m not entirely alone. I have a few women I might trust. Like Mary. But for some reason I’ve never been able to bring it up with her.

She wanted me to get together with poor Noah. Maybe she knew how hard a relationship with a man like Grant would be.

“Then talk to me,” Layne goes on. “I know I’m a stranger, but sometimes it’s easier to tell a stranger. I can’t promise to give you great advice, but you might feel better just getting it out.”

I sniff and clear my throat and wipe my face and straighten up. “It’s a mess.”

“It’s always a mess. I don’t know much, but I know that much at least. Your man is that big, blue-eyed one who’s in charge of everyone, right?”

“He’s not really in charge—” I break off the objection before I get it out. Whatever his official position is, Grant will always instinctively draw authority. “Yeah, that’s him. When did you see him?”

“He was leaving as Travis and I were arriving earlier. Travis pointed him out. He’s really good-looking.”

“Yeah,” I agree mournfully. “He is.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“We’re together. I mean, by any estimation, I guess we’re together. A couple.”

“You love him?”

I’m not sure I’ve ever fully admitted it to myself before, but I do to Layne. The answer is so simple. So obvious. “Yes. I’m completely in love with him. But I have no idea how he feels about me.”

To my relief, Layne takes me seriously. She frowns and thinks for a minute. “He hasn’t told you?”

“No. He’s never said he loves me or even that he likes me. I’m happy to be with him. Really I am. And I’m not expecting some kind of silly fairy tale. But not knowing how he feels keeps making me… insecure. I can’t just go with it. I’m always questioning everything.”

“Well, that’s perfectly normal. You should be able to feel secure in your relationship, and it’s not silly to want that. Some guys don’t want to blurt out their feelings even if they’re feeling a lot. Travis didn’t want to. It took him getting shot for him to get it out.”

I laugh softly, dryly, at this. “Grant got shot. And he still didn’t say anything.”

“Well, what has he said to you? I mean, about how he feels. Maybe that will give us a clue.”

I blush hotly. I can remember every single thing Grant has ever said to me that even hints at feelings. Word for word. But saying them out loud is different from reliving them over and over again in my mind.

But I make myself begin. “Well, he clarified that things were good between us. He asked if they were good, and I said they were. That was just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay. That sounds like a good sign—that he cares about the state of your relationship. What else?”

“He said I’m everything to him.”

“Oh my! He said it just like that. You’re everything to me?”

“Yes. Those exact words. But that was during…”

“Ah.”

“So maybe it doesn’t count.”

“I don’t know.” She pauses to think for a few moments. “Travis means what he says in bed, but I guess some men don’t. Probably depends on the man.”

“Yeah. And he’s said a bunch of other sexy stuff, but that may or may not count.” I take a couple of slow breaths. “He said he wants to be the one who gives me what I need.”

“Nice.” Layne’s eyes are big and wide. “What else?”

“He’s said he wouldn’t have anything left in this world if something happened to me.”

“Okay, seriously? That sounds like a declaration of love. You really don’t think he has feelings for you?”

“I guess he has feelings. I mean, saying all this is making me wonder if I’m worrying for nothing. In bed, I always feel like he... it always feels right. But he’s been acting kind of distant lately otherwise. I only ever see him at night.”

She chews on her bottom lip as she thinks. “And you don’t want to just tell him you love him and wait to see what he says back?”

I shy back slightly at the thought.

“Okay,” she says with another giggle. “I probably wouldn’t be able to do that either. It’s the advice that everyone gives, but most of us can’t really follow. I bet he probably does love you but maybe doesn’t think you feel the same way. So we’ve got to figure out what to do.”

“About what?” The male voice surprises us both. Travis has come back into the apartment with their luggage and their dog.

Layne slants me a look. “Can we tell him? He’ll probably be able to give you better advice than I can. He knows all about being a taciturn man.”

I hesitate. Travis looks silently between Layne and me and then back again. Then finally I nod.

“Okay, great. Travis, you’ve got to help us. Olivia isn’t sure whether the man she loves, loves her back, and we’re trying to figure out what to do to break the stalemate.”

“All right,” he says slowly, pulling up the second chair in the room and lowering his long body into it. “You don’t want to just ask him?”

“She’s nervous to do that,” Layne responds before I have to come up with an excuse. “Isn’t there something you can think of that might kind of push him into it? He acts like he’s into her, but he doesn’t say anything. So she’s not sure if Grant really loves—”

“Wait!” he cuts in, stiffening his back and looking quickly over to me. “Wait a minute. You’re talkin’ about Grant?”

“Of course I’m talking about him. Who else would I be talking about?” I’d assumed Travis had seen enough of us to know that Grant and I are a couple.

“Don’t know. Thought maybe you had some other guy on the side, and I was feelin’ like shit for Grant. Didn’t think you’d be wonderin’ about how he feels for you.”

“Why not?” Layne asks.

He gives his head a little shake. “Thought it pretty obvious. That man is crazy ’bout her.”

Layne claps her hands in excitement. “So you think he really loves her?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then why won’t he say anything?” I ask, crossing my arms over my stomach and hugging myself a little. I’m feeling better. And also self-conscious. And also jumpy and excited and confused.

“No clue. Probably scared shitless that you don’t love him back.” He turns his head and smiles fondly at Layne. “Just like I was.”

Layne reaches out to take his hand, but her eyes are focused on me. “Well, that’s encouraging. Maybe you don’t need to worry so much.”

“Maybe.” I’m more hopeful than I was, but it doesn’t help with figuring out the next step. “But I still don’t know what to do.”

“Scare him,” Travis says without any hesitation.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to up and ask him, then scare him. Do somethin’ that makes him think he could lose you. That’ll get him goin’.”

It’s not the advice I expected, but it intrigues me anyway.

Scare him.

I wonder how I might accomplish that.

I spend the day brainstorming something I could do to give Grant a nudge in the right direction, but I don’t have any inspiration. Any possibilities I can think of—like asking back the key to my apartment so he can’t come and sleep with me at night or pretending I’m interested in someone else—feels too fake and melodramatic. It feels too much like a lie.

I don’t want to play a game with him. I just want to be secure in how he feels about me.

After dinner, I have no better ideas, and I wander around the camp aimlessly, wanting to stretch my legs and get some fresh air before I go back down into the bunker.

Maybe the obvious advice is actually the best here. Maybe I should just suck it up and talk to him.

If he ever gets home.

“Olivia!” It’s a male voice but not Grant’s. It’s Ben, the one guy my age from the bunker. He’s always been friendly to me. More so recently. Evidently he broke up with Tara when they were locked down a few weeks ago, so he’s probably a little lonely.

I pause to wait for him to catch up to me. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Not bad. Are you busy?”

“No. Just taking a little walk. Not ready to go inside yet.”

“Me either.” He smiles at me. “Maybe we can take a walk together.”

I agree since I’m happy for the company. We stroll around the camp, talking casually about anything that crosses our minds.

We’re close to the gate when I see it opening. The sun is starting to go down, so I’m pretty sure who the new arrival will be, and my heart speeds up in anticipation.

It is. Grant. He rides in and parks the ATV.

For some reason, it annoys me anew. That he’s been gone all day. Again. And refuses to tell me what he’s doing.

What the hell kind of work would take him away from the camp and bunker for so long?

Because I’m annoyed, I turn my back, focusing on Ben and not looking over to where I know Grant is getting off his vehicle and grabbing the pack he brought with him.

I don’t need to run over there and greet him like I’ve been waiting with bated breath all day for his return. He can get his ass over here if he wants to talk to me.

“Your boyfriend’s back,” Ben says, glancing over my shoulder.

“I know.” I don’t turn around.

“You guys have a fight?”

“Not really.”

“You look kind of pissed. Hopefully that’s not at me.”

“It’s not at you. It’s him. I just…” I have absolutely no idea how to explain it. Then I suddenly remember Travis’s advice, and I’m finally hit with that spark of inspiration I’ve been needing. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” Ben replies. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to do something right now, and I don’t want you to take it seriously or think I’m making a move on you.”

He frowns for a moment in confusion, but he’s always been smart. It doesn’t take long before he’s smiling. “You trying to make him a little jealous?”

“Something like that. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. What did you have in mind?”

I’m not going to kiss Ben. That would be wrong for any number of reasons. But I put a hand on his shoulder and sway toward him, smiling up into his face.

“Oh shit,” Ben breathes. “He’s gonna be so mad at me. You’ll stop him from beating me up, won’t you?”

I giggle, flushed and feeling absurdly powerful. “Of course I will. But I don’t think he’ll do that. He’ll just—”

I don’t say anything else because Grant is suddenly looming over us. Looming. I’ve never seen him glare as icy cold as the look he’s giving Ben.

Quite understandably, Ben takes a step back from me.

His eyes fixed on Ben, Grant pronounces in almost a whisper, “Walk… away… now.”

Ben gives me a little wave and gets out of here. Fast.

I watch him leave because I’m suddenly terrified to look at Grant.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. His eyes are still coldly angry. But also fierce. Possessive. “What the hell, princess?” he grits out through a visibly clenched jaw.

Well, I wanted a reaction from him.

I’ve definitely got one now.

12

FOR A FEW SECONDS, I have no idea what to say.

Grant is glaring at me with that quietly fierce indignation—but soon I see a helpless bewilderment underneath that just about breaks my heart.

Not for the first time, my own soft heart gets in the way of what I want to do. I almost burst out that I’m sorry, that he’s everything to me, that he’s the only man I’ve ever loved.

Then I remember that he’s left me all day, every day for almost a week without any explanation for his absence.

I remember that he’s never admitted his own feelings for me.

So instead of melting into a puddle of emotion, I match his glare with an expression of confused innocence. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Is something…?” There’s a rumble in his voice. He doesn’t finish repeating my question.

I’m breathing heavily now. My cheeks are hot. With great effort, I manage to keep my voice steady. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but I see emotion churning inside him. Deep. Powerful. So much that it has to boil over—in a way I’ve never seen from him before.

I’m holding my breath as I wait for it.

He’s let go of my shoulders, and now his hands are clenched at his sides. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw and down his throat. And his forehead and nose are damp with a sheen of perspiration. He forces out his next words as if they resist being spoken. “Do… do you not want me for your man anymore?”

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I’ve never been good at playing games, and there’s absolutely no way I can answer that question with anything but the truth.

His head gives a little twitch, and he scowls over his right shoulder. “Well, tough. You can’t have another man! I’m your man until you tell me straight out that you don’t want me anymore.”

Something small and insecure inside me thrills at his gruff indignation. I still can’t manage to verbalize a response.

Grant goes on, “You said I was your man. You said things were good between us.”

This final statement is enough to snap me into a reaction. “That was before you decided to take off every day for a week to do God knows what while telling me exactly nothing! That was before you started acting like I was nothing but a body for you to fuck at night. Did you still expect me to think things were good after being treated like that?”

He’s breathing even louder than I am. Each inhale rasps in his throat. But he blinks a couple of times now, taking a slight step backward. “W-what?”

“You heard me. How do you expect me to feel? Maybe you’ll never love me like I love you, and maybe I’ll eventually be okay with that. But I still thought we were really together! And even in your most infuriating, closed-off years, you still always treated me like I… like I had value. But now…”

Damn it, I burst into tears.

“Oh my fucking God,” he mutters, reaching out and pulling me against his chest so I can sob into his shirt. “What a ridiculous mess.”

“A mess?” I yank myself away. “I’m not the mess here. I’m doing the best I can when you refuse to tell me almost anything!”

His face is different now. That heartbreaking bewilderment has vanished, and his eyes and mouth are very soft. “I know you’re not the mess. I’m the one who fucked this thing up.” He glances around as if searching for something or maybe just deciding what to do. “Come on, princess. I’ll show you what I’ve been doing this week.”

“Really?” My spine stiffens, and hope flares up in my chest. I sniff and wipe my face with the back of my hands.

“Yeah. We’ll have to drive there.”

“But it will be dark in an hour or so. Is it safe?”

“Hmm.” He frowns as he thinks. “We’ll take the Jeep. It’s not that far.”

So before I can process what’s happening and what it means, Grant has gotten me into the Jeep, gone to say a few words to Dave, and then is driving us out of camp again.

“If this was something you could tell me, why didn’t you just do it before?” I ask after a few minutes of trying to pull myself together again.

He shoots me a quick, sidelong look. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What?”

“A surprise. It was a surprise for you.”

“For me?” My voice cracks.

He chuckles, his face still softened by something akin to tenderness. “Yes. For you. As soon as you told me we were good and you definitely wanted me for your man, I started looking. But it was harder to find than I expected, and I only just found what I was looking for today. I wanted to fix it up some for y—” He breaks off the word, shaking his head ruefully. “But anyway, I better show you now so you don’t convince yourself of some other ludicrous lies about my not loving you.”

The ache in my chest that’s been weighing me down all week has entirely lifted. In its place is a frantic fluttering.

We drive about a half hour, and he won’t give me any hint about where we’re going or the kind of surprise he has for me. We’re heading in a direction I’ve never been before. It’s not toward New Haven, but the landscape remains mostly wooded hills and the occasional ruins of former small towns.

Eventually he pulls to a stop just before a gravel drive that winds along through more woods.

“Are we here?” I ask, looking around. I don’t see anything but the road and the trees and the gravel drive.

“Yes.” He takes a breath that’s just slightly shaky. “Listen to me for a minute. I’m sorry I haven’t said anything to you. I’m not the most open man to begin with, and I’ve been living in constant crisis mode for five years now. It’s… it’s hard for me to let go enough to even get words out. But I honestly did think you knew.”

My eyebrows draw together. “You thought I knew?”

“I thought you knew how I felt. I thought it was obvious.”

I’ve been prepared to stay quiet and just listen since I’m realizing I’m finally going to hear a lot of things I’ve been desperate to hear for a really long time. But this is a little too much for me to tolerate. “Obvious? You thought it was obvious how you felt? Have you ever actually met yourself? It’s like trying to interpret a brick wall!”

He gives a huff of dry amusement and rubs his scalp with his fingertips in an unusually restless gesture. “Yeah, I guess so. But still…” He shakes his head and stares into the mid-distance. “Part of the problem is that I’ve spent so long trying not to feel for you the way I feel. You were always off-limits. At first because you were so young. Why do you think I always stayed so far away from you in those first years at the bunker? I knew you were… I knew it wouldn’t be safe for me to get too close to you. So I didn’t let myself… feel anything for you.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” I whisper.

“You couldn’t have been more wrong about that. But then you came to me and demanded that I train you to fight and… it was like a gift. A legitimate excuse for me to be around you. But even then, I knew it was dangerous, so I kept as much emotional distance as I could.”

“I… I didn’t know any of that.”

He shoots me a wry look. “What the hell did you think after we started training and I was turned on around you like every other minute?”

A giggle surprises me. “I thought it was just… it was just a physical thing that didn’t mean anything.”

He reaches over to cup my cheek. “You were still supposed to be off-limits to me. You were sheltered and vulnerable and forced into a situation where it wasn’t possible for you to get normal experience with men. It felt wrong to press my advantage with you just because I was the only one around.”

“So what changed?”

“You did. You kept making the first move with me, and that was the only way I could convince myself it was allowed. So, at each step, I kept waiting for you to make the next move. Only then could I take what I wanted. Only then that I could allow myself to have it. But it still felt like… I was doing something wrong. Touching you. Fucking you. Being with you. It was everything I wanted and everything I couldn’t have. So I kept holding back, even when it seemed like you… you wanted me too. Until I was so completely in love with you that I’d never be able to stay away even if I was supposed to.”

I’m staring up at him, lips parted, cheeks still hotly flushed. “So you… you love me? For real?”

“Of course I love you, princess. I can barely remember how it felt to exist when I didn’t.”

My eyes are burning, filling with tears. But they don’t fall this time. “I love you too.”

He gazes at me for a long time, his expression deep, his head shaking just slightly.

“What?” I whisper, suddenly self-conscious for speaking the words even though they’re finally, finally safe.

“Nothing. Just I’ve dreamed for years of hearing you say that. But I never really believed you would.”

“Well, if you want to know the truth, it sounds like you constructed a lot of ridiculous nonsense that kept me in a forbidden category of your mind when I shouldn’t have been there. I’m a fully autonomous human being who can decide who I want to be with and who I want to love. I’m not your princess in a tower.”

“I’ve finally learned you shouldn’t be in a tower, but we’re going to have to disagree over whether or not you’re my princess.”

I can’t help but giggle at the slight indignation on his face. “Okay. As long as you don’t think I’m forbidden anymore.”

He leans over and presses his lips against mine. “I think I might have gotten over that at last. Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack by flirting with Ben like that. I’d just started getting hopeful and then you went and took it away.”

“I wasn’t—”

He narrows his eyes into a glare.

“Okay. But it was done purely out of desperation, so you’re really to blame for that too.”

He leans over to kiss me. It’s very sweet. But then he mutters, “You could have just asked me, you know.”

I stiffen with a jerk, pulling away from him. “I know that. But I’ve made every other first move between us, and I’m getting tired of it. I’m not cut out for it. It makes me very insecure. So it’s your turn. You’re responsible for first moves for the foreseeable future.”

The corners of his mouth are turned up. “All right. Sounds fair. I’ll take over all the first moves. I’ll make so many you’ll no doubt find me arrogant and obnoxious. But just remember you asked for it.”

I try to hold on to my sober expression, but it’s a losing battle. I dissolve into laughter, and he pulls me into a hug.

For a minute, we just sit in the Jeep and hold each other until my insides melt into mush.

To cover for it, I finally pull away and ask, “So what’s my surprise?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He puts the Jeep into drive and turns down the gravel drive. “It’s not fixed up. So you’ll have to imagine what it could be rather than what it is.”

“What on earth have you found?” I ask, peering ahead but not able to see anything because the drive curves too tightly.

“You’ll see.”

Grant takes us around the curve, and the woods break. Only then do I see a little cabin at the end of the gravel. And beyond the cabin is a lake.

A pretty little lake.

I gasp and raise a hand to cover my mouth.

“The cabin is empty,” Grant says, sounding slightly diffident. “It was abandoned a long time ago. It’s a mess inside, and the roof needs fixing, and the windows are busted, but I can take care of all that eventually. The lake is good. Deep. And the water is decent. You’ll be able to swim in it.”

I can barely move. Barely breathe. “This is… this is for me?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and glances away. “If you want it. We’ll be running out of chemicals for the pool in a couple of years, and I’m not sure we’ll find anything to replace them. Plus I don’t know how long the bunker itself will be viable. All it will take is a broken part on the elevator that we can’t fix. Having to use the stairs in an eighteen-floor facility will make living there almost impossible. It’s safer in this area now than it was before because we took care of those Wolf Packs. And we’ll keep making it safer. Eventually we’ll be able to live somewhere else. I wanted you to be able to swim. I wanted you to have a home for when we need it. If you want… If you want it. If you want a home with me.”

I choke on a sob. My face scrunches up.

“Not that being with me is some kind of payment for this. This place is yours, whether or not you want to live here with me.”

My shoulders shake. I can barely see through the blur in my eyes.

“And it’s fine if you don’t like it,” Grant goes on quickly, scanning my face and evidently worried about my reaction. “Pretty soon we’ll start building out from the camp. If you want to live with other people, I’ll build us a house there instead. Or we could do both. Whatever you want. I just don’t want you to ever think the rest of your life is defined by that bunker. We can make it better here. We can have a… a real home. Anything you want, princess. Just tell me, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to make it happen for you.”

“You spent this whole week looking for this place for me?” I gasp, my body wracked with silent, tearless sobs.

He still looks a little nervous. He reaches out to take my hand in both of his. “Well, not just that. It would have been ungodly selfish to use up so much gas just for us. I was mapping out the whole region surrounding the camp so we know exactly what’s what and who’s where and whether there are any hostiles we weren’t aware of. So now we have a detailed map, which is something we need. But along the way I was looking for this for you.”

I’m crying so much I can’t respond immediately.

“Are good with this, princess?” he asks at last. “Like I said, it’s okay if you don’t like—”

“I love it!” I throw myself into his arms. “I love it. Whenever it’s time, whenever we’re ready, I want to have a home here with you.”

We only spend a little time looking around the cabin and lake because it’s so close to sunset, and it’s a lot more dangerous to travel at night. The cabin is a wreck after so many years of neglect, but I can see the potential. It’s got two small bedrooms and a cellar and a porch looking out onto the lake.

I can imagine it as it could be. A home for me and Grant and maybe even children we might have.

It’s a hope I never imagined I could have for myself—not since that day Grant came to get me from school and brought me into years of lockdown. The hope changes things for me.

It changes everything.

All I’ve ever expected is a tightly guarded life in the bunker, and my only daydream was spending that life with Grant. The possibility of having more—having this—is shattering.

It’s dark by the time we return to camp, and the bulletproof vehicle is the only thing that keeps me from panicking. But we don’t run into another human being on the drive although we do have to brake for a young deer who’s trailing too far behind her herd.

I’m exhausted as we finally walk back into my apartment.

Exhausted but so happy I can barely contain it inside me.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I say when Grant just stands in the living area, looking like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. “If you’ve got enough energy, you might as well go back to your place and start packing up.”

His eyebrows lift, and a little smile quivers on the corners of his mouth.

“Since you’re going to be moving in here with me,” I add by way of (unnecessary) explanation.

“Okay. I think that’s an excellent plan, and I won’t even mention that I’m supposed to be making the first moves from now on.”

I freeze, having completely forgotten this little fact.

Grant laughs. For so long, I wasn’t aware that he even knew how. “I’ll wash up and change and bring one load with me tonight. Then I’ll get the rest tomorrow.”

I nod, pleased and already heading for my bathroom.

I’ve showered, brushed my teeth, pulled on a little gown, and climbed under the covers before Grant returns. I’ve turned off the light in the bedroom but left the door open to the lit living area so I can see as he walks back in. He’s got a cart piled up with clothes and personal items, and he just leaves it near the door and joins me in bed.

He pulls off the clean T-shirt and sweats he put on after his shower and gets under the covers in just his underwear.

He smells like soap and toothpaste. He pulls me into his arms, turning me on my side so our bodies are pressed tightly together.

“You still love me?” he murmurs against my ear.

My body shakes with silent amusement. “Yes, I haven’t changed my mind in the half hour you were gone.”

“And you want to make a life with me? Have a home? Maybe a family?”

“Yes. I want all of that with you.”

“Good. Just making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.” He ducks his head to kiss the crook of my neck. “I love you so much, princess. For so long, I thought I’d never be allowed to tell you.”

“Well, you can.” I roll back onto my back as his kissing becomes more urgent. He comes with me, resting a lot of his weight on me in a way I can’t help but enjoy. “You can tell me as often as you want. I’ve been waiting to hear it for a really long time.”

“I love you,” he mumbles, rubbing his scratchy jaw against my cheek and then kissing his way down my neck. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” I arch up as he mouths one of my breasts through the fabric of my gown.

“Why did you bother with this thing?” he grumbles, grabbing fistfuls of my gown and dragging it up over my head. “You should have been ready for action like I am.”

Giggling, I run my fingertips up and down his back from his shoulders to his ass. “I feel silly lying in bed completely naked.”

“Why is it silly? The word for it is practical.” Now that he’s tossed my gown halfway across the room, he lifts himself up enough to stare down at me, his eyes focused on my breasts. He left the bedroom door open so there’s plenty of light coming in for him to see. “I’ll never get enough of seeing you like this.”

That’s very nice to hear. It sends a warm wave of pleasure all through my body. He stares down at me for so long that I squirm my hips. Just the way he’s looking at me is turning me on.

He smiles as if he realizes it.

“You’re looking way too smug. You weren’t lying about turning obnoxious,” I tell him.

His body shakes with amusement. He lowers his head to tease my nipples with his lips and tongue. It feels like he might still be laughing a little as he kisses all the way down until he’s nuzzling my pussy, and I’m sure he’s still smiling as he hooks my legs over his shoulders and makes me come with his fingers and mouth.

I’m still panting and pulsing from that orgasm as he adjusts his position so he’s sitting on his knees. He lifts my hips and fits himself inside me, and I clutch at the headboard with one hand as he starts fucking me, my body helpless and completely exposed to his view. I rub my clit with my other hand until I’ve come again.

Then he turns me over onto my hands and knees and takes me from behind. That position always works for me, so I have to smother my loud cries into a pillow. Finally he turns me back over and helps me wrap my legs high around his back.

I’m drenched in sweat and red all the way down to my chest and panting like I’ve run a marathon, but I smile up into the deep, intense tenderness on his face. “Kind of ambitious tonight, aren’t you?”

“Not ambitious,” he murmurs thickly. He’s clearly just as worn out as I am and almost on the verge of letting go. His cock is buried inside me, but he isn’t moving yet. “In love. So in love with you. And I want you to know how much.”

“I do. I do now. I love you too.”

“Say it again.” The words are half-plea and half-demand as he begins to rock his hips.

“I love you.” I gasp and arch at how deep he’s moving inside me now. “I love you too.”

“Keep saying it.” He’s ducked his head now. He’s fucking me hard, his face twisted with effort. He’s on the edge of losing it completely. “Never stop.”

“I love you.” I don’t think I can come again, but everything feels so good I can’t help but claw lines down his back with my fingernails.

He makes a guttural sound, now beyond words.

I keep repeating that I love him until he lets out an uninhibited bellow and yanks out of me just in time. His body jerks through his climax as he comes on my hip and thigh.

He collapses beside me afterward, smiling as he looks over at me.

I smile back.

And we keep smiling as we catch our breath until I finally manage to roll out of bed so I can pee and clean up.

When I come back into the bedroom afterward, Grant is already asleep.

A month later, I’m swimming, my strokes slicing through cold freshwater. I can feel the sun on my back, and I can see through my goggles and the clear water to the bottom of the lake.

It’s a perfect lake for swimming. Deep enough but not creepily so—with no dark recesses that could hide lurking monsters. It’s fed by a large mountain stream, so the water doesn’t get stagnant. I’m used to swimming in neatly defined lanes and being surrounded by the smell and feel of chlorine, so swimming here will take some getting used to.

But it’s amazing. I still can’t believe Grant managed to find it.

I swam for an hour in our bunker pool this morning, so I don’t need to do a full workout right now. I swim back and forth a couple of times for fun, and then I heft myself back up onto the dock that Grant built last week out of reclaimed lumber, extending it far enough out onto the water so it would be safe for me to dive off.

The cabin is still a mess and will probably remain so for quite a while. We’ve started constructing some houses around the camp for those in our community who are getting tired of living underground. Grant and I agreed that, except for the dock he built, we’d leave the cabin as is for now so we could help with the community construction projects.

I don’t mind. I’m still happy in the bunker, and I plan to use the pool for as long as I can. The cabin is our home for the future, but it doesn’t have to be for right now.

I shake off some of the water and wring out my long, wet braid, grinning down at Mack. He was lounging on the dock when I dove in, and he hasn’t appeared to move.

But he now has an infant in his arms, and he’s cooing down at her.

“So you got called on for babysitting duty?” I ask, grabbing a towel to dry off more completely before I sit down beside him.

“Yep. Layne and Travis are taking a walk. That’s what they said.” Mack gives the baby his finger to grab onto. “But I suspect they mostly want to be alone for a while.”

Layne gave birth almost two weeks ago—a healthy baby girl they named Abigail. They decided to stay with us for a couple of months. Partly because of our medical resources. But also because there is such a large supply of enthusiastic babysitters around.

None of us have seen an infant in five years.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks since Layne gave birth,” I say, leaning over to smile down at Abigail. “I don’t think they’re going to be getting up to anything too exciting.”

Mack chuckles. “Didn’t mean that. I suspect they want to be alone to take a long nap.”

I laugh too and glance around to see what everyone else is up to. It’s an unseasonably warm day for autumn, and a bunch of us spontaneously decided to come out to the lake for a picnic.

It’s the first purely recreational activity we’ve done outside since lockdown. It feels like a miracle.

Some people are hanging out in the water. Others are sunbathing. And some are gathered in the shade and snacking on vegetables and deviled eggs.

The only person I don’t see is Grant, but I already know what he’s doing.

“You’re good with her,” I say, turning back to Mack.

“You think so? I always liked kids.”

“You should have some.”

“I want to, but I got to get a woman first.” He’s still smiling and relaxed. If his romantic situation bothers him, it doesn’t appear to make him miserable.

Because of this, I’m comfortable enough to say, “I thought you told me a while back you already have a woman but you haven’t convinced her yet.”

Mack glances up. “That’s true. Still working on it.”

“Where is she?”

He glances at his watch, which surprises me until I realize he’s looking at the date. I never think in calendar dates anymore. I barely keep track of days of the week. “Right now I guess she’s probably on her way back from the coast.”

“What? The coast! I didn’t think anyone went there anymore. Isn’t it all flooded out? I thought that’s what everyone says.”

“It is. That’s true. The East Coast was hit by one hurricane after another, and it was completely uninhabitable for years. But there’ve been rumors that some of the flooding is receding now, so Maria and her crew headed out there to check things out. To see what it’s like now and if anyone is out there and if there are any resources left there we can use.”

“Maria’s your girl?”

“No. Maria leads a group of women. They travel around. Do a lot of good. My girl is with her.”

“Oh. Okay. So when will they be back this way?”

Mack glances at his watch again. “Two weeks. Three days. Six or seven hours?”

I laugh at this and reach over to squeeze his arm. “You’re a really good guy. I hope she realizes it.”

“Thanks.”

“Seems to be a suspicious amount of bonding going on around here.”

Grant’s voice comes from behind us, and it surprises me so much I jerk and turn toward him.

He’s grinning down at me, so drenched in sweat that his T-shirt and shorts are sticking to his skin.

I roll my eyes but smile as I haul myself back up to my feet. “Well, you insisted on working instead of enjoying yourself like everyone else, so you can’t blame me if I decided to hook up with another guy.”

“Hey, keep me out of this,” Mack drawls, still cradling little Abigail.

Grant has been working on cleaning some of the junk out of the cabin for the past two hours. He insisted on getting stuff done since we were already coming out this way, but I only gave him the two hours.

I’m pleased I didn’t have to go and drag him away. He’ll always work way too hard.

He’s giving me a wolfish smile as he reaches out toward me.

I dart away. “You’re covered with sweat right now, so you’re going to have to keep your hands to yourself.”

“And you’re the one who talked about hooking up with another man, so you’re going to get a sweaty hug.”

We have a little scuffling match on the dock, and it leads to predictable results.

He finally manages to grab me and swing me around, and the force of my resistance sends both of us into the water.

We’re laughing and sputtering as we make our way over to the shallower water. As soon as Grant can get his feet on the bottom, he grabs me again and pulls me into a tight embrace.

“There,” he says, nuzzling my wet hair. I’m still wearing my bathing suit, but he’s fully dressed. He doesn’t appear to mind at all. “Now I can finally get my hug.”

I wrap my arms around him. “Well, now the water has washed away your sweat, so it’s not so unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” He kisses me and runs his hands down my body until he’s cupping my butt under the water.

“Well, not entirely unpleasant. I guess I can put up with you.”

“Good. Because you’re going to have to. For the rest of your life.”

He’s smiling down at me, and for some reason it takes my breath away. He’s the same man I’ve always known, but he’s more than that somehow. Like I’ve caught a glimpse of the man he might have been in a different world. “You look happy,” I murmur.

“I am. I hardly recognize myself since I’ve never been this happy before. Even before lockdown, I didn’t feel like this.” His voice is soft, earnest. We’re not that far away from Mack and the others, but we might as well be alone right now. “I had a good childhood. It was always just me and my mom, but she made it good for me. Then I joined the Army, and I did what I did there. But afterward I was aimless. My mom died, and I had no one I really felt connected to. No roots. No community. I wandered into that job at the bunker mostly because the pay was so good, but it wasn’t until lockdown that everything changed for me.”

I’m listening, wide-eyed. My lips are slightly parted. He’s been more open with me since we worked things out, but he’s only occasionally this verbal.

“Even at first, during the crisis, I think I was happier than before. Because at least I had people. I had a purpose. I had to keep everyone safe. Maybe it sounds selfish, but it was better for me than what I had before. I didn’t feel so… rootless. And I got to at least watch you from a distance.”

I shake my head. “Talk about stubborn.”

“Well, I was trying to do right by you and not take advantage. I didn’t know you wanted me too.”

I pull his head down so I can kiss him. “I know. And I do think it was probably best that you waited. But I do want you, and that’s never going to change.”

“Good.”

We kiss for a while, but it doesn’t go any further than that since we’re surrounded by other people.

I’m smiling again as I finally pull away. “Since you’re in a sharing mood, maybe you can answer one more question for me.”

“Anything.” It took me a long time to be able to read him right, but I can see now that he really means it.

So I ask, “What’s your first name?”

EPILOGUE

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

I’VE BEEN PLANNING to wait up for Grant, but I’m so exhausted by eight-thirty that I end up climbing in bed with a book. He’s been on a scouting trip with Mack for the past four days, and I’m ready for him to be home. It’s much safer out there than it used to be. Taking down the Wolf Packs cleared out most of the hostiles from our immediate surroundings, but I’ll always be anxious when he’s away, and I doubt that will ever change.

I used to go with him most of the time, but we’ve agreed that’s not a great idea right now. Several months ago, a bullet grazed my arm as we were protecting a caravan of relief supplies. It wasn’t a serious injury, but we don’t want to take any risks right now, so I stayed home instead of joining Grant on this trip.

Despite my intentions to read until he shows up, I fall asleep instead.

I’m groggy and disoriented later in the evening when I feel the mattress moving. Smell the familiar, earthy scent of him. Sense a draft of air as he climbs under the covers with me.

“I’m not sleeping,” I mumble, aware enough to know that he’s silently laughing. “I’m waiting up for you!”

His laughter breaks the surface, his warm chuckle filling the room. “Sure you are. You look wide awake to me.” He leans over to kiss me in a series of light, quick presses on my lips.

“Took you forever to get back.” I wrap my arms around him and squeeze. Then notice that he’s still got his regular clothes on. “Why are you still dressed? Aren’t you coming to bed? I’m not too sleepy for sex, you know.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, but I have a present for you first.” He’s still smiling as he kisses my mouth again. Then my jaw. Then the pulse in my throat. Then he moves all the way down to my belly, and he plants a kiss there.

I’m smiling too as I run my fingers through his thick hair. “What’s my present?”

“You need to get up to come see it.”

“What? I’m all comfy in bed right now. I don’t want to get up.”

“It can wait ’til tomorrow.”

“But I want my present now. Can’t you bring it to me?”

He’s still laughing as he rubs his cheek against my stomach and then moves back up my body to kiss me again. “It’s too big.”

“Really? What is it?” My curiosity is overcoming my sleepiness now. I push him back enough to sit up.

“You have to come see.”

I make a face, but his expression is so fond and amused that it’s impossible to feel annoyed. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and heft myself up. I’m wearing soft gray pajama pants and a tank top. There’s a strip of skin exposed at my belly between the bottom of the shirt and the top of my pants. “Do I need to put on more clothes?”

“No. It’s probably fine. If anyone is around and tempted to ogle your gorgeous body, I’ll block you from them.”

Giggling helplessly, I put on a pair of flipflops and follow Grant down the hall and to the elevator.

He hits the button for the pool and gym level, which is confusing. “Why are we going there?”

“You’ll see.”

He’s going to be stubborn, so I suppress the instinct to pepper him with questions. He might enjoy that, and there’s no reason to indulge his smugness.

Despite my attempt at cool detachment, he’s grinning like I rarely see him as the elevator reaches the level, so I get jittery and excited too. “What’s the present?” The words burst out before I can stop them.

He just laughs and puts a hand on my back as we walk, guiding me toward the pool.

“Something in the pool?” I can’t even imagine what the mystery gift can be.

“Go in and look.”

So I step through the door and onto the pool deck. In one corner is a large crate. “What on earth?” I glance back toward Grant questioningly.

“It’s open. Go and look.”

Maybe it should be obvious. Maybe sleep is still fogging my brain. But I still have absolutely no idea what I’m going to see as I walk over and peer down into the crate.

It’s filled with unopened boxes and packages. I recognize them immediate. Standard chemical supplies for a pool. So many of them.

I suck in a sharp breath, raising a hand to cover my mouth.

“Mack and I found an abandoned hotel,” Grant explains. “All the food and most of the supplies were already scavenged, but we found all this. There’s enough stuff here to keep the pool up and running for at least a couple more years.”

We’ve been getting low. I was starting to resign myself to losing use of the pool by the end of this year.

I burst into tears.

Still laughing softly, Grant pulls me into his arms and holds me as I sob.

It takes a while, but eventually I’m able to straighten up and wipe my face. “It’s the baby hormones. I’m not naturally this weepy.” I rub my belly. The pregnancy is showing now, but I’m not huge yet. Just five months along.

In spite of how excited we were when we first found out I was pregnant, it also took a while for us to process the reality. Having a baby in this new world is different. Riskier in so many ways. But ever since Layne and Travis had Abigail, there have been several other successful birthdays. Kate and Miguel from New Haven, plus a few other couples from neighboring farms, all of whom came to the bunker to use our medical facilities. One of the towns even established a school, and the handful of school-age kids from our community have been attending. By the time our baby is the right age, there should be plenty of other kids around.

There are no guarantees. There never were—even in the world that used to be—but we’re more hopeful than fearful now.

“I know that you’re not normally this weepy.” His blue eyes scan my face with a tender possessiveness that has always gone straight to my heart. “But you can cry all you want, as long as it’s from happiness.”

“I can’t believe you found these! And you and Mack hauled them all the way back for me.”

“We had room in the truck. And other people like using the pool too, so it’s not just for you.”

“I know. But still. I know you, at least, were mostly thinking about me. So thank you.”

He wipes away with the rest of my tears with his thumbs. Then he leans down to kiss me, slow and gentle. He finds my left hand and lifts it, pressing a light kiss on my wedding ring. We got married last month out at our cabin. The ceremony was officiated by a preacher from a neighboring town. We floated pretty candles in the water of the lake, and Ben played his guitar for the music.

Grant murmurs, “I’d do a lot more than this to make you happy, princess.”

“I know you would. You already have. But you know the very best thing for me?” I beam up at him, my heart so full it almost aches in my chest. “That you finally let me make you happy too.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you haven’t yet read them, be sure to check out Last Light (about Layne and Travis) and Haven (about Faith and Jackson). The next book in this series is Embers (about Rachel and Cal). It will be coming out in August, and you can find an excerpt on the following pages. Mack’s book will be coming in December.

For release announcements and book updates, be sure to subscribe to my newsletter, which I use for both Claire Kent and Noelle Adams news.

EXCERPT FROM EMBERS

I’m bracing myself for the pain I’ll feel from the bullet when a familiar crack of sound makes me jump. The guy behind me lets go of my braid and crumples to the cracked pavement.

It’s only then I realize he didn’t actually release me. Half his head is blown off.

I know what I’ll see even before I turn to look. Cal’s truck is stopped behind the Jeep. And Cal himself has gotten all the way out and is firing at the guy behind the wheel of the other vehicle even as I watch.

Cal looks hard as stone. Rough as gravel. And angry.

Since the guy dropped my pistol when he fell, I grab for it and shoot at the third man, since he’s the only one left standing. He’s the one I must have winged before, and he’s already raised his own shotgun toward Cal, but I get him with a better shot in the shoulder, and he goes down before he can fire.

Cal is scowling as he strides over and shoots that guy in the head too.

It’s too much. All of it. The grief and the panic and the despair and the violence. I turn away from Cal and vomit painfully onto the road. I haven’t eaten anything but jerky today, so there’s not much that comes up. I end up on my hands and knees on the pavement.

While I throw up, Cal is busy. He checks the Jeep and hauls out a couple of zipped black bags. He collects the dead guys’ weapons and tosses them into the back of his truck. As I’m straightening up and wiping sweat, tears, and snot off my face, he slashes all four tires on the Jeep.

Then he walks over, grabs me by one arm, and drags me to my feet. My knees buckle. I can’t even stand.

It would be embarrassing if it weren’t so many other things. So many worse things.

Without a word, Cal heaves me off my feet and slings me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of grain. He carries me over to his pickup truck. I’m vaguely conscious that the motorcycle I left at the Exxon station is already in the truck bed. He must have found it and followed this road toward town.

Pure luck—good, bad, or indifferent—that he showed up before those guys took me away to whoever the hell Buck is.

I’d thought everything would be over soon, but it won’t be. Not now that Cal came after me.

He opens the passenger door and drops me in the seat, slamming the door behind me. Then he gets into the driver’s side and shifts the transmission into gear, giving me a sideways glare.

It’s that glare that gets me going again. “I don’t want to live with you.” My nose is still running, and I only have the back of my forearm to wipe it with. “I only stayed there because of Derek.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Well, you sure as fucking hell can’t stay here.” He gestures irritably with his head back toward what used to be my hometown. “Who’re your people?”

My people. I have none. Not anymore. “My mom’s dead.”

“I know that already.” I’ve never seen him so openly angry. “Who else you got? Grandparents? Uncles? Brothers? Cousins?” He’s driving, but he keeps glancing over toward me, breathing heavily.

“I don’t have anyone.”

“Friends? Neighbors?”

“I never had many, but they’re all gone now.”

He stares at the dark road in front of us, lit dimly by the truck’s headlights. The only sound for a couple of minutes is my occasional sniffle.

Finally, I swallow hard. “Just drop me anywhere. I’ll figure it out.”

“No fucking way.”

Damn this man. I don’t think any person in the world is capable of infuriating me as much and as quickly as he can. “I’m not your responsibility. I’d rather be on my own.”

“It don’t matter what you’d rather be. The world is what it is. And all of it is just as fucked up as that town back there. You’re little, and you’re still way too soft. You’re not safe alone.”

For the first time in ages, I feel like I might be able to cry. My voice breaks. “But…”

He gives me another fierce glare. “Look, kid, I know you don’t like me. I know you’d rather be stuck with anyone else. I know I’m nothing to you but your dead boyfriend’s shitty dad. But the world went to hell two years ago, and right now you got no other options. It’s not safe alone anymore. I’m the only choice you got left.”

There’s no argument I can make to him. I know for sure that he’s right. And I can hate it all I want, but it doesn’t change the reality.

There’s no one else alive in the world who will help me. Keep me safe.

No one but Cal.

ABOUT CLAIRE KENT

Claire has been writing romance novels since she was twelve years old. After teaching English at the university level for several years, she started writing full-time under two different pen names. She lives in Virginia.

Her early books are sexy contemporary romances filled with heat and real emotion, but with the Hold series she transitioned to science fiction romance. Her current books are steamy post-apocalyptic romance set in the near future after a global catastrophe. They feature smart, resilient women trying to survive in a new chaotic world and falling in love with strong, gruff, taciturn men.

Claire also writes softer contemporary romances as Noelle Adams (noelle-adams.com), and the best way to reach her is to send an email to her Noelle Adams address (noelle.s.adams@gmail).

You can also follow Noelle on Facebook or join her reader group to get updates on her Claire Kent books. If you would like more information, please check out her website.