Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Beau deserves a happy ending, like you.
A/N: And that's a wrap! Some of you might find the ending unconventional but I think given how this story has went, it had to be this way. <3
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
It was just another Wednesday at the diner.
The smell of frying bacon filled the air, the radio hummed some old country song, and the regulars hunched over their coffee mugs like they did every morning.
The world had moved on.
But Beau?
Beau never stopped feeling like he was standing in the middle of a miracle.
Every time he walked into that diner and saw you — laughing, smiling, moving through the sunlight like you were made of it — he knew he'd never stop being grateful.
He strolled in like he always did, hat tipped low, sheriff badge catching the light.
You spotted him the second the bell over the door jingled.
And you smiled.
Not just any smile.
That smile.
The one that made his knees go a little weak even now.
He made his way to his usual booth — expecting the usual teasing, the usual coffee, the usual easy comfort.
What he didn’t expect —was you grabbing the microphone behind the counter.
And tapping it loudly.
And clearing your throat with the most obnoxiously fake cough you could manage.
Beau slowed, confused, blinking at you.
You grinned. He froze.
"...Oh no," Beau muttered, hands already half-raised in surrender.
"Darlin’, what are you about to do—"
"Attention!" you called, grinning mischievously.
"Can I get everyone's attention please?"
The diner quieted.
Heads turned.
Beau froze — halfway into sliding into the booth — blinking at you in confusion.
You winked at him — and Beau felt a strange, terrified, delighted laugh bubble up in his chest.
Oh no.
"This fine, handsome sheriff over here," you said, pointing dramatically at him, "is about to be real embarrassed, and honestly? He deserves it."
The diner chuckled.
Beau shook his head slowly, hiding his face behind his hand.
You stepped out from behind the counter — apron swinging, face lit up like the damn sun — and crossed the floor to him.
You dropped to one knee.
Right there.
In front of God, coffee, and everybody.
"Beau Arlen," you said, voice trembling slightly but clear.
"You saved my life. You held me when I thought I was too broken to ever be loved again. You made me laugh when all I wanted to do was cry. You made me believe in forever again."
"And I love you," you said, tears bright in your eyes. "I love you more than words, more than notes, more than stars in the sky."
You pulled a simple silver ring from your apron pocket — hands shaking just a little.
"Beau Arlen — my best friend, my heart, my home — will you marry me?"
The diner held its breath.
Beau just stared at you.
For a heartbeat.
Two.
And then he laughed — a big, broken, beautiful sound — and dropped to his knees right there with you.
He grabbed your face in both hands, kissing you fiercely — cheeks wet, chest heaving.
"Hell yes, darlin’," he whispered into your hair, laughing and crying at the same time.
The diner exploded.
Cheers.
Whistles.
Chairs scraping as people clapped and hollered.
Someone even banged a coffee mug on the counter like a bell.
You slipped the ring onto his finger — laughing through your tears —
and he pulled you into the tightest hug he could manage without hurting you.
You stayed like that — tangled up, clinging, laughing and crying at the same time.
Finally, he leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes.
Beau kissed you right there on the floor — soft and slow and full of every promise he didn’t have the words to say.
When he finally pulled back, he was still grinning like a fool.
"You realize," he said, voice low and warm, "you just proposed to a man wearin' two different socks, right?"
You laughed — sparkling and bright.
"Well," you said, slipping the ring onto his finger, "good thing I wasn’t marrying you for your fashion sense."
Beau kissed you again — because what else could he do?
Because loving you was the best, easiest thing he had ever done.
And in that little diner — full of coffee, laughter, and new beginnings — forever started.
Not with fireworks. Not with grand speeches.
But with two broken, beautiful people finding home in each other.
Exactly where they were always meant to be.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Home.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
One month later.
The world was different.
Still messy.
Still imperfect.
But better.
Because every morning now, Beau woke up with you curled against him — your hair a wild tangle on his chest, your soft breath warming his skin.
And he didn’t flinch at every sound anymore. Didn’t dream about gunshots and blood every night.
Not because the ghosts were gone — but because you were there.
You stayed.
Some mornings, he found little yellow sticky notes in the strangest places.
Tucked into the mirror of his truck:
"You survived hell. Now go live."
Folded into his boot:
"Today, you're stronger than yesterday."
Stuck to the coffee pot:
"You're my favorite reason to wake up."
And every time he found one, Beau’s chest would ache in the best way — full of pride and love and a kind of peace he thought he’d never get to have.
Nights were even better.
Sitting on the back porch wrapped up in old quilts, a fire crackling lazily in the pit, stars smeared across the black sky.
You'd lean your head on his shoulder, tracing little shapes on his arm with your fingertips.
Sometimes you talked. Sometimes you didn’t.
It didn’t matter.
Just being close was enough.
Other nights — tickle fights broke out across the living room floor.
Breathless laughter echoing off the walls, Beau pretending to be scandalized when you tackled him onto the couch.
"Darlin'," he gasped dramatically once, "you’re assaultin’ a man of the law!"
You only grinned, straddling his hips and tickling harder until he surrendered with a laugh so pure it made your heart ache.
Beau still came to the diner sometimes — sitting at his usual booth, arms folded, trying to look stern.
But every time you walked by with a pot of coffee, he caught your wrist and tugged you down for a quick, sneaky kiss.
"Sir," you’d say in a mock-offended voice, "this is a place of business."
He'd just grin, his green eyes wicked and warm. "Reckon the coffee tastes better with a kiss in it."
You always turned bright red. He always loved it.
At home — it was stupid little things that made it feel real.
Sharing a bathroom. Arguing about where to put the ketchup in the fridge. Slow dancing barefoot in the kitchen at midnight to songs crackling from an old radio.
Patching each other's bruises when clumsiness got the better of you.
Stealing each other's hoodies. Sneaking kisses when nobody was looking — even when there wasn’t anyone to hide from.
And through it all — through every morning kiss, every bad cup of coffee, every Post-it note stuck to his steering wheel — Beau realized something he never thought he'd have again.
He wasn’t surviving anymore.
He was living.
With you.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: In the hush of recovery, love and grief quietly entwine — and the healing begins.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The steady beep of monitors was the first thing you heard when you woke.
The soft shuffle of nurses in the hall.
The scent of antiseptic.
The rough linen sheets against your fingertips.
And Beau — slumped in the chair beside your hospital bed, head resting awkwardly on his folded arms, sound asleep.
His face was turned slightly toward you — his mouth parted a little, his forehead creased with exhaustion even in sleep.
You smiled weakly, your chest aching — not from the wound, but from the sight of him.
You didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to wake him. Not yet.
You watched him for a long moment.
The way his hand still lightly gripped yours even in his sleep. The way his hair fell messily over his forehead. The faint smudge of blood still under his fingernails from where he refused to let go of you.
He looked so tired. So human.
So heartbreakingly yours.
Eventually, he stirred. Blinking blearily, lifting his head.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face — and then he saw you.
Awake.
Watching him.
And his whole face softened into the sweetest, most broken smile you’d ever seen.
"Hey, darlin'," he said hoarsely, reaching up to cup your cheek with shaking fingers. "You’re awake."
You nodded — slow, careful — tears burning behind your eyes.
He smiled wider — fighting it through his own exhaustion — and leaned closer.
"How you feelin'?" he asked gently, voice low and rough.
You opened your mouth — winced — then gave a tiny thumbs-up instead.
Beau laughed — soft and ragged — and kissed the back of your hand. "Smart girl," he said, eyes shining.
For a few blissful minutes, it was just quiet. Just you and him.
No past.
No fear.
No blood.
No ghosts.
Just breathing. Just being.
But you saw it.
The grief.
The way it lingered in the corners of his eyes, etched into the set of his jaw. He was trying so hard to hide it. Trying so hard to be strong.
For you.
But you knew. You knew.
You squeezed his hand gently.
"It’s okay," you whispered, voice raw. "It’s okay to grieve her."
Beau swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.
He shook his head like he wanted to deny it — like he thought he didn’t deserve to grieve after everything she’d done.
But you kept holding his hand. Kept looking at him like he was worth saving.
"You loved her once," you said softly. "There were good memories, too."
Beau’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He nodded slowly, a broken sound slipping from his chest.
And then — haltingly, awkwardly — he started talking.
About the time Sharron dragged him out onto the dance floor at his cousin’s wedding, drunk and laughing, barefoot in the grass.
About the nights they’d stayed up too late, building pillow forts like dumb kids in their first apartment.
You laughed softly, even through the ache in your chest.
Beau laughed too — broken and sad and real.
And when he finished — when the memories drained out and left only the quiet — he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked at you like you were the last good thing in a world gone mad.
"I didn’t really understand love before you," he said, voice low and thick. "Not real love. Not the kind that sees all the broken parts and stays anyway."
You reached up — trembling — and brushed his hair off his forehead.
He leaned into the touch like a man starved for it.
"I feel... seen with you," he whispered. "Like maybe I ain’t as broken as I thought."
You smiled — tears slipping down your cheeks — and tugged him gently closer.
"I see you, Beau Arlen," you whispered back. "All of you. And I love every piece."
He kissed you then — soft, slow, hesitant — like he was afraid you might slip away again if he wasn’t careful.
And in that kiss, in that hospital room with the machines beeping and the ghosts finally laid to rest — they both knew:
They were alive.
They were loved.
And they were free.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: With everything falling apart, they hold on—to memory, to hope, and to each other.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The world blurred around them
Lights flashing. Radios crackling. Voices shouting in clipped, professional tones.
But Beau barely heard any of it.
He sat on the floor of the cabin, your head rested weakly against his lap, his arm wrapped tightly around you.
Outside, the dawn was breaking — soft, gray light seeping through the windows.
Inside, everything felt cold.
Boots stomped across the wood.
Deputies swarmed the cabin — weapons drawn, moving fast, too fast for his brain to catch up.
He blinked slowly, watching two offers unfold a black body bag. It hit the floor with a soft, sickening thump.
They zipped Sharron inside without ceremony. Just another scene. Another cleanup.
Even though he knew she was already gone—even though he’d sat with her through her last breath—the sound of that zipper ripped through him.
It sounded too loud. Too permanent. Like erasing someone he’d once loved.
For a split second, he wanted to stop them.
To say wait.
To say she wasn’t always like this.
But he didn’t move.
He just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your hair.
You whimpered softly, pain making your whole body tremble.
Beau shifted instantly, whispering soothing nonsense against your temple.
"I got you, sweetheart," he whispered, voice cracking. "I ain't goin' nowhere."
Someone touched his shoulder — gentle but firm.
A paramedic.
“We need to get her to the hospital. “She’s losing a lot of blood. If we’re gonna keep her stable, we have to move now.”
Beau nodded numbly, not trusting himself to speak.
They eased you onto a stretcher carefully, voices soft, movements practiced.
You whimpered again — tiny, broken sounds that shattered his heart.
He hovered beside you as they buckled you in — his hand tangled tight in yours, refusing to let go.
The paramedics didn’t argue. They knew better.
The ride to the hospital was a haze.
The ambulance bumped and jostled down the winding forest roads, red lights washing over everything like a heartbeat.
Beau sat perched on the narrow bench beside your stretcher, his hand never leaving yours.
You were pale. Too pale.
But breathing.
Still here.
Somewhere in the quiet hum of the wheels against the road, you stirred. Opened your eyes — barely — and blinked up at him.
"Beau…" you croaked, voice broken.
He leaned down instantly, pressing his forehead to yours. "I’m here," he whispered. "I’m not goin’ anywhere."
You were silent for a beat.
Then — with a trembling, wobbly smile — "You... y-you... look like hell," you rasped, voice weak but teasing.
Beau barked out a broken laugh—half sob, half joy. “You should see yourself, darlin’,” he said, smiling through the tears burning his eyes.
“You’re a real vision.”
You smiled—tired and battered, but real—and squeezed his hand again.
The medic glanced over, half-worried, half-soft, but said nothing.
He just let them have it. This one small moment.
The cabin was gone. The gun. The blood.
It didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.
They rode in silence for a while. Your breathing was steady. His grip never loosened.
Finally, Beau whispered: “We’re gonna be okay. You and me.”
You nodded, slow and sleepy.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “J-just… might need a new vacation spot.”
Beau laughed, ragged and alive. “Yeah,” he said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Next time, no cabins. No crazy exes. Just room service and a pool.”
You chuckled—a broken, beautiful sound—and leaned your head against his arm.
Beau looked down at you, at your messy hair and bruised face, and felt something he hadn’t in a long time.
Hope.
You were alive.
And you were his.
And for the first time in forever— that was enough.
The hospital lights blurred overhead as they rushed you through the hall, nurses barking orders, a doctor appearing at your side mid-run.
Beau kept pace as long as they let him, gripping your hand, his heart pounding out of rhythm with every step.
“She’s prepped for emergency surgery,” someone called. “We need to get that bullet out now.”
“Wait,” you rasped, suddenly tugging Beau’s hand.
The gurney jerked to a stop. Everyone froze. Your voice was barely a whisper, your eyes glassy, but locked on his. “Beau…”
He leaned in immediately, his face inches from yours. “I’m here, darlin’. What is it?”
You reached up with trembling fingers and touched his cheek, just barely.
“If I don’t make it…” you started.
“Don’t say that,” he said, voice cracking, eyes already swimming. “Don’t you dare say that.”
But you gave him a small, crooked smile anyway.
“If I don’t,” you continued, breath thin, “You should know… being loved by you? It’s been the best thing I ever got.”
Beau nearly lost it. His throat closed.
He bent forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your bloodstained knuckles. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re gonna wake up, and we’re gonna fight about something dumb like burnt coffee, and I’m gonna tell you how damn lucky I am until you believe me.”
You smiled again, weak but so you. “Okay,” you whispered.
They started to move again.
“Wait!” you said again, making the whole crew stop mid-stride.
Beau’s heart leapt. “What?! What is it?”
You blinked slowly and said, “I still want pancakes after this.”
Beau let out a choked laugh, one hand dragging down his face. “Jesus Christ, woman.”
One of the nurses smiled to herself and gently patted your arm. “She’s a fighter,” she murmured.
Beau bent lower again, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ll get you all the damn pancakes you want after this."
They started rolling again— “Wait!”
Beau groaned—half panicked, half amused. “Baby… they are trying to save your life right now—”
You cracked a grin, voice barely above a whisper, but full of mischief.
“When I wake up,” you whispered, slow and smug, “You owe me a night where you make that noise again…”
Beau froze. Absolutely paralyzed.
“I—what—you can’t just—” he stammered, turning beet red in two seconds flat.
The nurse choked on a laugh and turned away, very professionally pretending not to hear.
“Mission accomplished,” you whispered with a wink. “Okay. We can go.”
They wheeled you off, finally, leaving Beau standing there—flushed, flustered, and more in love than he knew what to do with. “Unbelievable… bleedin’ out and still got time to flirt…”
Even half-conscious, bleeding out, you’d somehow managed to completely ruin him.
And he couldn’t love you more if he tried.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: A moment of violence leaves behind more than just blood.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
BANG.
The sound tore the world apart.
Beau stood frozen, gun smoke curling in the air like a ghost.
The scent of blood — coppery and sharp — thickened the air.
His legs wouldn't move.
All he could see was you on the floor.
Still.
Too still.
Until the memories came flooding in—too fast, too loud, too cruel.
Your smile at the diner.
The sound of your laugh when you teased him about burnt coffee.
You singing off-key while making pancakes.
The way you looked at him like he was someone worth loving.
All of it flashed through his mind—
like your life was rewinding before it disappeared.
He stumbled forward — moving like he was underwater — every heartbeat a slow, painful drum against his ribs.
The cabin was deadly silent.
You were still — so still — slumped beside Sharron on the floor. Blood pooled under you, staining the floorboards dark.
It was everywhere — smeared on your face, your hands, your chest.
Too much blood. Way too much.
Beau’s knees buckled.
He hit the ground hard, skidding toward you on all fours.
“Please—please—” he whispered, voice cracking apart. “No, no, not you, baby, not you—”
He gathered you into his arms — hands slipping on blood — his mind screaming.
You were heavy. Limp. Your head lolled against his shoulder. Your eyes shut.
Your shirt torn and soaked with red. There was a hole— in your shoulder— too close to your heart—too close.
His vision blurred.
He couldn’t breathe.
He pressed his forehead to yours, sobbing brokenly. “Why would you do that?” he choked. "That bullet was meant for me... not you."
And then — You coughed.
A weak, wet sound.
You twitched in his arms. Eyes fluttered open, dazed.
Alive.
Beau let out a broken, gasping sound—half sob, half laugh—as he clutched you like he was afraid you’d disappear again.
"You dumb, reckless, beautiful idiot," he sobbed, half laughing, half crying. "You coulda died! What the hell were you thinking?!"
Your lips curled, faintly, through the blood. “I... I couldn’t let her... shoot you.”
Tears streamed down his face.
Your bloody fingers touched his jaw, trembling. “Because you saved me,” you rasped. “This time... was mine.”
Beau shook his head, overwhelmed, pressing kisses all over your bloody forehead, your cheeks, your hands.
"You’re insane," he muttered against your skin. "You’re insane, and I love you so damn much."
You laughed — a ragged, broken sound — and grimaced from the pain.
"I knew..." you gasped, blinking slowly, "hoped the bullet... would go through my s-shoulder... hit her."
Beau turned slowly. And saw it.
Sharron lay slumped against the wall, blood pouring from a ragged hole in her chest.
She was still breathing. Barely. Just a rattling, dying gasp.
Rage surged in him. Grief. Hate.
He wanted to hate her. God, he wanted to.
But then your soft hand tugged at his shirt.
"Be... Be there," you whispered. "Don’t... let her die alone. You loved her once."
He looked at you — your strength, your forgiveness, your goddamn heart — and he nodded, broken.
He was angry.
He was hurt.
He was broken.
But you were right.
He swallowed, looking back at Sharron — the woman he once loved, now barely clinging to life.
Beau sat down next to Sharron, his body still trembling.
He reached for her hand, gritting his teeth as he felt the blood slicking her skin.
She looked up at him through fading eyes, bloody lips twitching.
“I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, voice faint but filled with shame.
“I was just... so angry, Beau. I didn’t want to lose you....”
Beau closed his eyes, pain searing through him.
He hated what she’d done.
The way she’d held a gun to your chest.
The fear she carved into the woman he loved.
But as he looked at her now—small and broken and dying—he didn’t see a monster.
He saw the girl he married. The girl he left.
And she couldn’t die thinking she was just the sum of her worst mistake.
He looked at her—really looked at her. Past the blood, past the rage, past what she’d done tonight.
He saw the woman he once promised forever to.
The woman who used to steal his shirts and sing into wooden spoons while making eggs.
The woman who once made him feel like the world wasn’t so heavy.
“We loved each other,” he whispered, eyes stinging. “God, we really did.”
Sharron blinked slowly, tears sliding into her hair.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said gently. “None of it ended because you weren’t enough. We just... weren’t built to last. Not the way we hoped.”
She shivered, blood pooling beneath her. Her lips trembled.
“I thought if I fought harder... if I was louder... you’d stay.”
Beau’s throat tightened.
“I should’ve ended it better,” he admitted, voice rough. “I should’ve shown you more respect. You deserved more than silence. More than me walking away without looking back.”
Her eyes flickered.
“I loved you,” she whispered.
“I know,” Beau said, squeezing her hand gently. “And I did love you, too.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. “I just couldn’t carry both of us anymore.”
Sharron gave the faintest nod, her body weakening. “I was scared,” she murmured. “Didn’t wanna be alone.”
“You’re not,” Beau said quietly, leaning in closer. “Not now.”
He brought her hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. Letting her feel it—steady and real and still hers, in a way.
Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing slowed.
And Beau did what he hadn’t done in years— he kissed her forehead, soft and sorrowful.
“You mattered. You were loved. And I forgive you.”
Her eyes fluttered shut. A small breath escaped her lips.
Then—nothing.
Beau stayed with her, holding her hand long after the warmth left it.
Not because he owed her. But because once, she had been his whole world.
And in the end— he wanted her to know she wasn’t just the girl who lost him. Wasn't just the girl who made this horrible mistake and lost herself.
She was the girl he loved until it broke them both.
You crawled closer, resting your head gently against Beau’s shoulder.
He was quiet, tears slipping down his cheeks as he stared at the woman he once loved.
You slid your hand into his, fingers lacing with his. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice thick. “You did the right thing.”
Beau let out a shaky breath, his eyes closing.
They stayed like that — grieving for the past, grieving for the girl she used to be, grieving for what had been lost.
And for the first time in a long, long time — they let it all go.
Together.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: The cabin holds its breath. So does he.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The cabin felt like it was shrinking.
The air — too thin.
The walls — pressing in.
Time slowed and sharpened all at once, every second stretched and sickeningly vivid.
Beau stood frozen.
Unarmed.
Powerless.
Watching.
His own gun—his gun—was in Sharron's hand. Pressed to your ribs. The same gun he left behind this morning when he thought, for one goddamn second, it was okay to feel safe.
He had nothing.
No weapon. No shield. Just bare hands and a voice barely holding together.
He wanted to lunge at her. To rip you from her arms.
But he couldn't.
Not with you trapped in Sharron's arms.
Not with the barrel of that gun digging into you.
He couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't look anywhere but you.
"Sharron," he spoke slowly, voice stretched thin over a blade of panic. "You don't wanna do this."
She laughed — a wet, broken sound — her mascara streaked down her face, her grip tightening on you.
"Don't I?" she hissed. "You left me, Beau. You left me. After everything."
He took a slow step forward.
Careful. Controlled.
Like approaching a live wire in a puddle.
"I know," he said, voice low and aching. "I know, sweetheart. I broke your heart. I'm sorry."
Sharron let out a strangled, unhinged sob.
"We were good once," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"We were so good."
"We were," he agreed. "We were good for a while. But it wasn’t you, Sharron. It wasn’t your fault. We just... we weren't right for each other."
“You don’t get to say that!” she screamed.
The gun jammed harder into your ribs.
You whimpered—just a tiny, strangled sound—but it sliced through Beau like a razor.
His legs almost gave out. He took a breath, but it didn’t go in. The air refused him.
For a moment—one agonizing heartbeat—she faltered.
Her grip loosened slightly.
Her eyes — red and wild — blinked, confused.
Hope flared in Beau’s chest.
Too early.
She snarled. Jerking you closer. Jamming the barrel higher—right over your heart.
"It’s too late," she spat. "I have to end this. Now."
No.
He didn’t think. Didn’t weigh options. He dropped to his knees, gunless hands up.
The floorboards cracked beneath his weight.
“Please,” he choked. “If you need to hurt someone—hurt me.”
You gasped, your body convulsing in her grip. “Beau—no—”
He didn’t hear you.
Didn’t let himself.
He couldn’t look at your face. Couldn’t handle the fear in your eyes. Not without breaking completely.
He kept his eyes locked on Sharron.
“You loved me once,” he whispered. “So do it. Shoot me. I’m the one who left. The one who ruined you. Not her.”
He crawled forward on his knees, each inch agony. His heart roared in his chest like a war drum. He felt like he was being dragged under. Every second stretched impossibly long.
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: A quiet morning takes a sharp turn, forcing Beau to confront just how vulnerable he's let himself become.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The morning was cold and silver and still.
Beau swung the axe with methodical precision, splitting the old pine logs into neat halves.
Each crack echoed through the misty woods like a heartbeat —steady, grounding. A rhythm he could control.
The cabin sat quiet in the clearing behind him— smoke curling from the chimney, windows dark with the early hour.
You were still sleeping.
Safe.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, breath puffing out in frosted clouds. Muscles ached, but it was the good kind of sore—earned, solid.
And for the first time in a long time, Beau felt something close to calm.
Close to peace.
He’d started letting his guard down.
Little by little.
Because of you.
You made the silence feel like comfort instead of danger. The shadows didn't crawl the same way with you around. He still woke sometimes with sweat on his neck and a ghost in his chest—but when you were pressed up against him, your breathing soft and even, he could remember where he was. Who he was.
You made him feel human again.
He stacked the last log, straightened his spine, and let out a long exhale. The kind that felt like more than just breath. The kind that felt like hope.
He climbed the porch steps, boots thudding lightly against the wood— and froze.
The door.
It was open.
Not wide—just an inch. Swinging gently in the breeze.
But Beau locked it every time.
Every. Damn. Time.
Especially with you inside.
Especially after everything.
His hand shot toward his hip — and his stomach dropped.
He didn't have his gun. He left it inside.
Just this once. Just to chop some wood.
Because things had been quiet.
Because he was starting to believe maybe, just maybe, it was okay to breathe again.
Now he regretted it with everything in him.
His heart slammed against his ribs. Each inch of him locked tight.
Slowly, silently, he stepped inside.
The cabin was too quiet. The fire had burned low, embers glowing like dying stars. The air smelled wrong—something acrid and sharp under the usual woodsmoke.
Beau moved like a ghost, creeping through the halls—breath tight, every nerve on fire.
The kitchen was empty. The living room, still.
But the bedroom door where you were supposed to be sleeping was half-closed—a sliver of darkness waiting beyond it.
Each step toward it felt like stepping deeper into a grave.
And then—a voice came from behind him.
Her voice.
Soft.
Mocking.
Sickly sweet.
"Did you miss me, baby?"
Beau froze. His ears rang. Body locked tightly.
No. No, this couldn’t be real.
She couldn’t be here.
Not again. Not here.
For a second, his mind refused to process it—refused to believe.
Then slowly—mechanically—he turned around.
And there she was.
Sharron.
Smiling like the devil.
And she had you.
You stood in front of her, trembling—half-shielded by her body, her arm wrapped tight around your waist. One hand fisted your hair, jerking your head back just enough to expose your throat.
The other—the hand Beau couldn’t stop staring at—held a pistol.
His pistol.
The barrel pressed hard against your ribs.
You were barefoot, still in your sleep shirt, eyes wide and glistening with fear.
You weren’t fighting. You weren’t struggling.
Because you knew one wrong move— one twitch— and it was over.
You knew.
“Now,” she purred, voice dripping like venom, “Why don’t we have a little chat?”
Beau’s hands tightened into fists—but he didn’t move.
Not with you between them. Not with that gun against you.
His whole body shook with the force of holding still.
The world narrowed down to the space between him and you.
And the devil holding you captive.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Maybe they'd be okay, as long as their together.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The days stretched thing and quiet in the cabin after the breakdown.
No new updates.
No news.
No sign of Sharron.
Just the wind in the trees, the creak of the floorboards, the low murmur of the fire.
And Beau — jumpy. Worn thin.
Every slam of a shutter, every crack of a branch, every gust of wind—he flinched.
He'd grab for the gun he kept tucked into his waistband.
Eyes wild.
Body locked.
It killed you to see him like that.
One night, after dinner — after the soup bowls had been scraped clean and the candles burned low — you reached for his hand.
He hesitated.
Then he let you pull him into the living room, lowering himself slowly onto the couch.
You straddled his lap — gentle, careful — feeling the tense knot of muscle under his skin.
You ran your fingers over his shoulders, his arms, his chest — tracing every old scar, every fresh bruise.
"You’re s-still hurting," you murmured.
Beau tried to smile, but it crumpled halfway through.
"I'm fine, darlin'." he lied, soft and cracked.
You shook your head, leaning your forehead against his. "No, you're not."
He closed his eyes, breathing you in.
"I keep seeing it," he rasped, voice breaking. "The gun. Your face. That second before I—God. I almost—"
He stopped. his hands were shaking.
"I didn't even know what it was—what it is. It's like somethings broken in my head now. Like I can't stop reliving it. Like it's just gonna... happen again."
You pressed a finger gently to his lips, silencing him.
You kissed the corner of his mouth — featherlight — like a secret. "You saved me."
He shook his head, hollow. "No. I could've — if you had stepped a little closer—"
"But you didn't," you said softly. "And you didn't pull the trigger because of hate. You pulled it because you were scared."
He swallowed hard. "I don't know what's happening to me."
"Your hurting." You whispered. "And that's okay."
You kissed his forehead, slow and steady. "You're still here. That means something."
Slowly, you guided his hands to your sides — over the soft curve of your waist, your ribs, your heartbeat.
"Feel that?" you whispered. "I'm r-real. I'm okay."
Beau's hands trembled slightly against you — but he nodded.
Swallowed hard. "I ain't ever lettin' you get hurt again," he muttered fiercely.
You smiled, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
"We d-don't have to f-fight forever," you said. "Sometimes we c-can just... b-breathe."
Beau laughed — low and broken — and pulled you tighter against him.
"I forgot how," he whispered.
You kissed him — really kissed him — slow and deep and grounding.
Reminding him.
Teaching him.
And this time — when the wind slammed the shutter outside — he didn’t flinch.
Not even a little.
That night, you slept tangled together in the bed — his head resting on your chest, his breathing steady for the first time in days.
You woke once to the sound of an owl hooting outside — but Beau didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for the gun.
He just curled closer — safe, warm, alive.
And you held him tight, whispering into the dark: "We're okay. We're okay."
His arms tightened around your waist, his face tucked into the crook of your neck like he needed to hide from the world a little longer.
But his voice barely broke through the quiet. "Thank you,"
You stroked your fingers through his hair, gentle and slow. "For what?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then — "For not giving up on me.," he said. "For holding me together when... when you're the one who should've fallen apart."
You stayed still, letting him speak.
"She did the worst to you," he rasped. "She hurt you. Tried to kill you. And still... you're the one keeping me from falling apart."
His voice broke, eyes meeting yours.
"I don't get how you're still standing," He whispered. "Let alone — this. This soft. This strong."
You kissed his forehead again.
"I'm standing," you spoke gently "Because of you."
Beau didn't answer — not with words. Just buried his face deeper into your skin, holding you like a prayer.
And as sleep pulled you both under, he stayed there — wrapped around the strongest person he'd ever known.
The girl who had every reason to break...
And still chose to heal him.
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Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: A noise shatters the calm. And its her turn to pick him up.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The night was deep and black and still.
The fire had burned down to embers.
The only sound was the slow, even breathing of the woman he loved curled up against him.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Beau was asleep without a gun in his hand.
But peace was a fragile thing. And it didn't last.
BANG
The sound ripped through the silence like a gunshot.
Beau bolted upright before he even opened his eyes — heart slamming, lungs tightening.
Another slam — the window shutter blown loose by the wind? His brain didn't care. His instincts were already screaming at him.
It wasn't the wind. It was her.
Sharron.
Coming to finish the job.
Coming for you. Coming for him.
You stirred, blinking up at him sleepily.
"B-Beau?" you whispered, sitting up slowly. "It’s okay. It's just the—"
But he didn't hear you.
He grabbed the gun from the nightstand, racking the side with a savage click.
Eyes wild. Chest heaving.
"No— no, no, she's here, I heard her, I know it—" he muttered, voice cracked and hoarse like it was being torn from his throat. "She's in the house — I swear to god, she's in the fuckin' house—"
He stormed out of the bedroom, bare feet pounding the floorboards.
You stumbled after him, weak and dizzy, blanket dragging behind you. "Beau, please —" you tried. "Y-you're sc-scaring me—"
He wasn't hearing you. He spun, gun raised towards every corner of the cabin like it might leap at him. Checking doors, windows, corners, shadows.
"She's here," he gasped to himself. "She's here — I saw her, I fucking saw her —"
His voice cracked as he stumbled toward the kitchen, the barrel of the gun shaking with every step.
"Where are you, you crazy bitch?!" he roared into the darkness.
"I swear to God, come near her and I'll fucking kill you!"
The world blurred — flickering between now and then, between the cabin and the cold concrete of that goddamn basement.
He spun toward the front door — then the back — then the kitchen.
Paranoia clawed at his throat.
Shadows stretched wrong in the moonlight.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't think. Sweat poured down his face.
He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t seeing.
He was drowning.
And you — you were the only thing tethering him to earth.
You stepped quietly into the living room.
Small. Soft. Barely breathing.
"Beau, pl-please," you begged, voice thin with fear. "It's o-okay. It’s j-just—"
Your footstep creaked on the old floorboard.
Beau spun — wild, unseeing.
The gun fired.
The blast tore through the room like thunder. Your ears rang.
The wall behind you smoked. A bullet hole, inches from your head. The blanket on your shoulder was scorched. If you had just moved a little more...
It could have been your head.
For a second — the whole world stopped. For a beat, neither of you breathed.
Then Beau's world caved in.
His knees buckled. The gun slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor. His chest rose and fell in jagged gasps.
"No..." he rasped, "No, no, no—"
His vision blurred. His ears rang. He couldn't tell if he was shaking or if the world was.
He looked at you and didn't see relief. He saw blood. He saw death. He saw her.
"I shot you," he choked. "Oh god — I just shot you — Please tell me your alive—"
You blinked at him, tears streaming silently down your face.
But you stepped forward — slow, careful — "Y-you didn't," you stammered, reaching for him. "I'm okay—I'm okay."
He let out a ragged, broken sob and collapsed to the floor, knees buckling.
You crawled onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into you. He clutched you like a man drowning, burying his face in your hair.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, voice shaking uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, I—I thought it was her — I thought — I saw her, I saw her —"
You kissed his forehead, both of you trembling.
"S-safe," you whispered against his skin. "We're safe."
He rocked you back and forth — no rhythm, just raw, instinctive motion — like if he stopped moving, the whole world would shatter.
He sobbed against her. "Oh god, I... I almost killed you."
You stroked his hair, whispered reassurances, letting him fall apart against you. "No, you saved me. You're still saving me."
You held him with everything you had.
The protector. The fighter. The man who had carried you through hell.
Now needing you to carry him.
You sat there on the floor for a long time.
Just breathing. Just holding on.
Until finally, Beau's shaking slowed.
Until finally, the gun stayed cold and forgotten on the floor.
Until finally, the darkness outside seemed a little less close.
You kissed his temple — soft and trembling — and whispered again: " We are Safe."
And for the first time in a long, long time... he believed you.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: The cabin becomes less of a safe house, more of a home.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The woods whispered their secrets in the wind.
Days blurred together in the soft hush of recovery — not fast, not easy — but theirs.
Some mornings were good.
You woke up early, the soft gray light spilling through the curtains, and Beau would already be up — shirtless, bruised, slinging chopped wood by the old shed even though he should be resting his arm.
You'd shuffle outside, wrapped in a blanket, your hair a wild mess, and he'd grin like you were the only thing worth smiling for.
"You look like a whole damn angel, darlin'," he'd tease, tucking a thermos of bad coffee into your hands.
You'd blush, stammer something — still struggling, still finding your voice — but he never rushed you.
Never once.
He'd wait as long as it took for you to get the words out.
Some afternoons were bad.
The memory lapses were the worst — the way you'd forget what you were saying mid-sentence, or forget why you’d stood up in the first place.
The stutter would get worse when you got frustrated — words piling up like traffic jams, tears slipping down your cheeks.
But Beau never looked frustrated.
Not once.
He'd just sit there, patient as stone, brushing your hair back and saying: "S'okay, sweetheart. Ain't no race. I got all the time in the world."
And somehow — somehow — that made it easier to breathe again.
There were hikes through the woods when you were feeling stronger.
Beau would lace up your boots for you, careful and clumsy with his one good hand, grumbling about how "damn city shoelaces never listen."
You’d laugh — really laugh — and he’d look at you like he could live off that sound forever.
Sometimes you found wildflowers. Sometimes you just sat on fallen logs and stared at the trees.
It didn’t matter. You were outside. You were alive.
Together.
At night, they made "fancy" dinners — canned soup heated over the fireplace, stale crackers, a single can of peaches split between them like treasure.
You'd light a few old candles Beau found in the back pantry. Set the table like it was the damn Ritz.
Beau would even pull your chair out for you, bowing low like a gentleman.
"You, m'lady, are the most beautiful woman this side of the Rockies," he'd say solemnly.
You'd giggle, cheeks flushing. "You... you n-need glasses," you'd stammer.
He’d kiss your hand anyway, all reverence and rough warmth. "Nope. Got perfect vision right here."
Some nights you danced.
Badly.
Awkward two-stepping to the crackle of the old radio Beau found in a storage closet.
You'd trip over his boots, he'd step on your toes — and you’d both end up breathless with laughter.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean.
But it was real.
And it was yours.
One night — after an especially bad day of frustration and tangled words — you sat curled up on the couch, watching the fire gutter low.
Beau sat beside you, his arm loose around your shoulders.
You leaned into him, exhausted but warm, heart full and aching.
"I l-love you," you said softly — halting, stuttering — but true.
Beau turned his head, his green eyes shining in the firelight.
"I love you too, darlin'," he said, voice rough with unshed tears.
And he kissed you — soft and slow and devastatingly careful — like you were made of something sacred.
Like you were home.
It started slow.
Quiet. Gentle.
“Can I…?” he started, voice low and cautious. “Can I take care of you, darlin’? Just—just make you feel good?”
Your breath caught. But you nodded.
Because you wanted him. God, you needed him.
He leaned in slow, like you were glass, and kissed you — deep, tender, but full of something aching. It grew hungrier the longer it lasted, like he’d been starving and finally had permission to eat.
His hands trembled as they found your waist, sliding beneath your shirt. He undressed you like it mattered — like every inch of revealed skin was sacred.
“Tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone.
“I-It w-won’t,” you whispered back, already breathless.
He kissed down your body with open-mouthed reverence, pausing at your hips as his fingers curled around your thighs.
“Can I taste you?” he asked, voice fraying at the edges. “Please.”
You nodded.
And he didn’t hesitate.
He spread your thighs with gentle hands, settled between them, and worshipped you with his mouth.
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t rushed.
Beau went slow, dragging his tongue through your folds with the kind of care that made your spine arch. His tongue circled your clit in maddening, perfect strokes, his grip tightening on your hips when you gasped.
And when you moaned his name?
Beau whimpered.
Low. Broken. Helpless.
“God—fuck,” he breathed into you, voice shaking. “You sound so fuckin’ good.”
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe properly. Your taste was all over his tongue, your thighs trembling around his face, and every soft sound you made tore him down another layer.
He kept going until your voice cracked, until you were gasping and shaking and crying out beneath him.
You came with your fingers tangled in his hair, back arched off the bed, legs twitching from the force of it.
He groaned, licking you through it, drinking in every tremble, every stuttered breath.
He kissed his way up your body again, breath ragged, eyes wild and blown.
His mouth was slick from you, jaw flushed, hair messy from where you’d gripped it.
And when you looked down — you saw it.
The thick, desperate bulge straining against his boxers. The tension in his jaw. The raw, aching need in his expression.
He was hard. So hard it looked like it hurt.
“Jesus,” he whispered, voice rough and low. “You taste like heaven. I don’t even know how to think right now.”
You cupped his face, kissed him slow, letting yourself taste yourself on his lips.
He groaned into your mouth.
“I want you,” you breathed.
He swallowed hard. “You sure?”
You nodded. “Please.”
He lined himself up, but paused, brushing your hair from your face.
“You still want this?” he whispered. “You sure?”
“I-I’m s-sure,” you said, voice soft but steady. “P-please, B-Beau.”
He pushed into you slow — too slow — trying to breathe, trying to control himself.
But the second he sank into you, everything unraveled.
His mouth dropped open. His breath stuttered. And then—
“Oh fuck,” he gasped, his whole body locking up. “Oh my God—baby—”
He whimpered. Loud.
“Shit, baby,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours. “You were made for me. I swear to God—you were made for me.”
His head dropped to your shoulder. His back trembled under your hands.
His hips rolled, slow and deep, dragging moans from both of you. Every inch of movement made his abs twitch, his lips fall open, like he was experiencing something holy.
You clenched around him gently, and he groaned, loud and desperate.
And then you moaned his name — all breath and heat, voice soft and just teasing enough — and he let out a sharp, broken groan.
“Don’t do that,” he said, eyes fluttering shut. “You can’t say my name like that, baby. I’ll lose my fuckin’ mind.”
You smiled, pulling him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“I w-w-want you t-to.”
He laughed — low and wrecked — and kissed you like he was already addicted.
And then he started to move again.
Slow. Deep. Worshipful.
Like he wasn’t just making love to you — he was giving you everything.
His rhythm built slowly — not rough, but deep and deliberate, every thrust pulling a moan from your throat and a strangled sound from his.
You were so tight, so warm around him, and every time he pulled back just to sink in again, he felt the muscles in his thighs twitch, the burn of restraint in his gut.
Beau was holding on by a thread.
Then you did it again.
You moaned his name — soft, high, sultry — right against his ear.
“Beau…”
He shuddered.
“Baby…” he gasped, voice cracking. “You can’t—you can’t do that…”
You clenched around him, just enough to make his hips stutter, and whispered, breath hot against his jaw: “Y-you gonna fall ap-part… b-before y-you e-even f-fuck me, Sh-sheriff?”
Beau laughed — sharp, breathless, shocked — but it turned into a guttural moan as his hips jerked forward without permission.
“You little—oh my God, I’m dyin’—I swear to God—”
“Can’t cum yet,” he panted. “Not till you finish for me again. Please, baby—give me that. Wanna feel you fall apart one more time.”
You rolled your hips up to meet him, dragging him deeper, and he gasped — whimpered — like the sensation lit him up from the inside out.
“You’re so fucking good,” you whispered. “You feel so big, Beau. So deep. You want me to cum on your cock?”
Beau let out a broken moan — half laugh, half cry.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “Don’t say that. Please don’t—I’m trying—”
You kissed him, slow and messy, tugging him closer with your legs, and he started to move faster — desperate now, chasing that perfect friction while still murmuring breathless encouragement into your skin.
“C’mon, baby… I feel you… so close… that’s it…”
You whimpered again, your body tightening around him, and Beau lost it — not his orgasm, not yet, but every scrap of composure.
“That’s it, that’s my girl—give it to me—fuck, I can feel it—so tight—baby, please—cum for me—let go—please, baby—”
You shattered around him with a soft cry of his name, clinging to him, your body pulsing around him in waves.
And that was it.
Beau choked on a moan so loud it echoed off the cabin walls as he drove deep, hips jerking through his release. His voice cracked into a whimper, head buried in your shoulder, hands clutching at your waist like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
And when he collapsed on top of you, panting and trembling, he didn’t say a word for a long time.
Just held you.
Whispered your name.
And breathed.
His chest heaved against yours, skin slick with sweat, his arms trembling where they caged you in. He hadn’t moved — couldn’t move — still buried deep inside you, still trying to breathe.
His heart was racing, pounding so loud it echoed in his ears.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide, dazed — like he didn’t know where he was.
“Jesus,” he whispered, voice hoarse and unsteady. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before.”
You cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it like it grounded him.
“I mean it,” he said, lips brushing your palm. “Not just the sex. That. What we just did. What you just gave me.”
His voice cracked again, and he let out a shaky breath, forehead dropping to yours. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
You smiled, legs still wrapped around him, holding him close.
“It’s because it’s you,” you whispered. “And me.”
He exhaled — slow, broken — and then kissed you, soft and reverent.
Not to restart anything.
Just because he needed to.
Because he’d never felt more yours.
The cabin — once dark and cold — felt different now.
Lived-in.
Warmed by firelight and bad jokes and whispered promises at 2AM.
The bad memories still lingered — nightmares, flinches, scars both seen and unseen.
But love lingered stronger. Hope lingered longer. You weren’t healed.
Neither was he.
But you were healing.
Together.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Their first night in the safe house brings quiet, comfort... and something unexpected.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The cabin smelt like pine, dust and old memories.
Beau worked quietly as the sun sank behind the trees, casting the little cabin into gold and yellow.
He reinforced the locks on the doors, checked the windows, loaded his shotgun and leaned it by the bed.
Every creak of the wood, every whisper of the wind set his nerves on edge.
But when he glanced over and saw you curled up under the old quilt, breathing steady for the first time in days — he let himself exhale.
It was worth it. All of it.
You were better than you had been. But not whole. Not yet.
Your speech still tripped and caught sometimes — the stutter came back when you were tired or scared.
You forgot little things —
where you were, what day it was —
your brow furrowing in frustration as you fought to piece it all together.
Beau never once lost patience.
Not with you.
Not even when you forgot his name for a heartbreat and called him "Sherriff" with tears in your eyes.
He just smiled soft, touched your cheek and said "Still me, darlin'. Always me."
Later, they sat at the small kitchen table, an old kerosene lamp throwing soft yellow light between them.
The air smelled of coffee — strong and bitter — and the crackle of the fire in the stone hearth filled the quiet spaces.
You stared down at your chipped mug, turning it in your hands.
"I... I n-never..." you started, voice wobbling, "n-never g-got to t-tell you."
Beau tilted his head, smiling gently. "Tell me what, sweetheart?"
You blinked up at him, those vulnerable, tear-bright eyes gutting him.
"That... I l-liked you," you whispered. "A l-lot. L-l-like you."
His breath caught.
He set his mug down carefully, standing up, moving to kneel in front of you — his bad arm tucked awkwardly against his side.
He reached for your hand, and took it gently.
"I know," he said, voice thick with everything he hadn’t said before.
"And you ain't gotta say it perfect for me to hear it."
You swallowed hard, tearas slipping down your cheeks. "I-I'm sorry I n-never—"
Beau shook his head. "Don't you apologize," he said firercely. "We got now. That's what matters."
You nodded, and a quiet, broken sound escaped your throat — part relief, part everything you'd held in too long.
And when he leaned up and pressed a kiss to your knuckles — it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was everything.
That night, Beau insisted you take the bed.
"You need it more," he spoke softly, even as exhaustion pulled at the edges of his expression.
You glanced over at him, confused. "You're not —?"
He shook his head with a soft smile. "Not tonight, darlin'"
You frowned. "But... Beau..."
"I want this to be right," he murmured, brushing your hair from your face. "You just went through hell. You're exhausted. Scared. And yeah, maybe we admitted some things tonight.. but that don't mean I'm gonna climb into bed with you just 'cause I can."
Your eyes welled again — different tears this time.
He cupped your face for a moment, gentle as always. "I ain't ever gonna take advantage of the worst night of your life just to be close. I want you to feel safe. Always."
You nodded slowly, a breath catching in your throat.
He pulled the quilt up over you, kissed your forehead once more, and made his way to the old couch by the fireplace. The shotgun rested within arm's reach. His eyes stayed on you until they finally drifted shut.
He didn't mind the couch.
Not really.
He just needed you safe.
It was well after midnight when the screaming started.
Beau was on his feet before he was even fully awake, heart hammering, shotgun in his hands.
It took him a second to realize the screams were coming from inside.
From you.
He dropped the shotgun and bolted into the bedroom.
And froze.
You were thrashing under the quilt — wild, violent, frantic —
kicking, sobbing, clawing at the air like you were fighting invisible monsters.
Your head whipped back and forth, hair tangled, mouth open in a raw, guttural scream.
It didn't even sound human. It sounded possessed.
Beau's heart slammed against his ribs — pure terror slicing through him.
He'd seen bad things. Broken men. Battlefields.
But he had never seen someone in this much pure animal panic before.
Not you. Never you.
And it scared the hell out of him.
"Darlin'!" he barked, rushing to the bed. "Wake up! It's just me!"
You screamed again — a sound so broken it barely seemed real —
and kicked out violently, nearly knocking the lamp off the nightstand.
Beau grabbed your shoulders, trying to hold you still — trying to keep you from hurting yourself — but you fought him like a cornered animal, sobbing hysterically.
"N-no! N-not again! D-Don't! PLEASE!" you wailed, thrashing harder.
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Beau’s instincts kick in when the night takes a sudden, terrifying turn.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The night was too quiet.
Not peaceful — wrong.
Beau sat stiffly beside your bed, one hand curled protectively around yours, the other near his holstered pistol.
You had drifted back into an exhausted sleep after talking — soft, broken breaths whispering from between your parted lips.
Officers were stationed outside the door. At every entrance. Every stairwell. This place was supposed to be secure.
And Beau should have been calm. Should have felt safe.
But he didn't. Not even close.
It started with a sound — small, wrong — like the squeal of a shoe against tile.
Too light. Too fast.
He stiffened instantly, every instinct on fire.
Deputy Hayes was posted outside the door.
Or he should have been.
Beau stood slowly, careful not to disturb you, and stepped toward the door.
It was cracked open. It shouldn't have been.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He reached for the handle— and then the lights went out.
The entire hospital wing plunged into darkness.
Emergency sirens whooped overhead — a low, droning alarm.
Beau spun, gun drawn, standing between you and the door.
"Hayes!" he barked, voice low and sharp. "I need eyes on this hallway now!"
Nothing. Silence.
Only the flicker of red emergency lights flashing down the hall.
And in the distance — laughter.
Soft. Unhinged.
Carried on the ventilation system.
Beau's blood turned to ice.
"She’s here," he whispered.
Hayes burst into the room, panting, blood trickling from a shallow cut on his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “I heard screaming — down the hall. A woman yelling for help. I ran—just for a second—then the lights went and—”
Beau’s glare cut through him like a blade.
“You left your post?”
“I thought someone was hurt—then something hit me. I came back as fast as I could—”
Beau didn’t wait for the rest.
“I’m getting her out. Now.”
"Backup's coming," he gasped. "The whole floor's locked down — but we’re blind. Cameras are down. Power’s cut."
Beau turned back to you — your pale, sleeping form — and made a decision in a heartbeat.
He couldn't wait for backup. He couldn't risk it. Not with you.
"I'm gettin' her outta here," he growled.
"But—"
"NOW!"
The deputy backed off, eyes wide.
Beau ripped out the IVs, tossing wires aside. You whimpered as he lifted you, but he curled you into his chest, voice barely a breath against your ear.
“I got you, sweetheart. I swear to God, I got you.”
You didn’t fight. Couldn’t. You relaxed against him, too weak to argue.
He stormed through the emergency stairwell, pistol raised, every step a prayer.
No sign of Sharron. Not yet.
But he felt her watching.
Felt her teeth bared in the dark.
And he wasn't about to give her another shot.
He made it to the parking lot in record time — the truck still there, still running from the last shift change.
He laid you gently across the seat, buckled you in, slammed the door.
He slammed the door and jumped in, tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot like the devil was on his tail.
Which, honestly, she might have been.
The truck tore through the empty roads, headlights carving through the darkness.
You stirred beside him, voice soft, afraid. “...Beau?”
"I’m here," he said, hand reaching over to squeeze yours. "I ain't goin' nowhere."
His eyes darted to your arm — a thin trail of blood sliding from where the IV had been ripped free.
“Shit—baby, you’re bleeding.” His voice was too loud in the small cab. He reached out with shaking fingers to press a kleenex against the spot, gently but frantically.
“Does it hurt? Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? You feel sick?”
You blinked slowly, disoriented. “Beau... I’m okay.”
“You sure? You look pale. And I didn’t check if you hit your head—damn it, I should’ve— I just grabbed you and—”
His words spilled out, faster than you could follow.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just— there wasn’t time, I couldn’t wait—”
You flinched slightly, your body curling back against the seat, startled more by his panic than the pain in your arm.
He saw it instantly. His breath hitched.
“Hey… hey, I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just— I need to know you’re okay. I need to know.”
You didn’t speak — but your fingers reached for his.
That grounded him.
He squeezed your hand, more gently this time, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him steady.
He drove for hours — out of town, past the fields, past the river, into the woods where the trees swallowed the stars.
Finally, he turned down a narrow dirt path — half-forgotten, overgrown with moss.
The tires crunched gravel as the truck rolled to a stop in front of a small, weather-beaten cabin tucked into the woods.
Safe. Secluded.
Unknown to anyone but him.
Beau cut the engine.
Silence crashed down around them — deep, heavy, ancient.
He exhaled slowly, forehead dropping to the steering wheel.
They had made it.
For now.
He climbed out, moving carefully, and gathered you into his arms again.
You blinked up at him blearily — eyes dazed but full of trust.
"Where...?" you whispered.
"Safe house," Beau murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"Somewhere she don't know."
He carried you inside — through the creaking old door, into the warmth of the waiting dark.
Outside, the woods whispered secrets in the wind.
But inside, for the first time in what felt like forever — there was hope.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 29 coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: Pieces are missing, but she remembers him — and that's enough.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, hands folded, voice gentle but steady.
Beau sat hunched in the chair, holding your hand carefully in his good one, refusing to let go even for a second.
You blinked up at the doctor, dazed, struggling to focus.
Your body felt heavy, your throat raw, your mind fogged like a broken window pane.
Beau squeezed your hand gently. "I'm right here," he whispered.
You nodded slightly, clinging to the warmth of his touch.
"You’re stable," the doctor said. "And you’re very lucky."
He hesitated, glancing at Beau before continuing.
"But there’s going to be... challenges."
You swallowed hard, throat aching.
The doctor smiled softly — kind, but heavy with the weight of what he had to say.
"The sedatives she gave you were powerful. High doses over a period of time. It's caused some neurological strain."
You frowned, struggling to understand.
Beau leaned in, voice low. "It just means your brain's gotta heal a little, darlin'. Ain't nothin' you can't beat."
The doctor nodded.
"You may notice some difficulty with speech — a stutter, slurred words. It should improve over time, but it might be frustrating."
You opened your mouth to respond — but the words tangled awkwardly in your throat.
"I... I-I'm—"
You stopped, tears springing to your eyes from fear and effort.
Beau was there instantly, brushing your hair back.
"You’re doin’ fine, sweetheart," he said gently. "Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you."
The doctor continued softly.
"You may also have some short-term memory gaps. Things might feel blurry. It's normal. Your body’s been through hell — the malnourishment, the physical injuries..."
He trailed off, letting the weight of it hang in the air.
You nodded shakily, pressing into Beau's touch.
Alive. You were alive. That was enough for now.
After the doctor left, Beau stayed close — silent for a long moment, just breathing with you.
You studied him through bleary eyes.
The sling.
The bruises.
The exhaustion carved into his face.
Your hand trembled as you reached for him — weak, clumsy — but you touched his chest, right over his heart.
"H-Hurt?" you whispered, voice breaking.
Beau caught your hand in both of his, kissed your knuckles softly.
"I'm alright, darlin'," he said, smiling crookedly. "Took a few licks, but I ain't the one that matters."
You shook your head stubbornly.
"W-Wrong," you stammered, tears filling your eyes again.
He leaned closer, forehead almost brushing yours.
"Don't you worry about me," he murmured. "You're the one that needs mendin'."
You gathered your strength — tiny reserves hidden deep — and squeezed his hand.
And then, hesitantly and slowly, you began to talk.
Telling him everything.
How you'd finished your shift at the diner — how you'd walked to your car in the dark lot — how Sharron had been waiting.
How she'd drugged you — cold hands, a sickly sweet voice promising "this won't hurt much."
How you'd woken in the basement — chained, bruised, disoriented.
How she'd come down every day — feeding you just enough to keep you alive, whispering twisted stories about Beau needing to "forget" you.
How you’d fought — every day, every second — even when you couldn’t lift your head.
Beau listened — his hand gripping yours like a lifeline, his jaw tight, eyes wet.
When you faltered, when the words stuttered and caught in your throat, he murmured encouragements.
"You're doin' so good, darlin'. I'm right here."
A sob slipped free, broken and small.
Beau leaned in, pressing your knuckles to his lips.
"You ain't gotta say more, darlin'. Not tonight."
But you shook your head weakly — because you needed him to know.
"B-beau," you whispered, trembling harder now. "You... came.. For me."
He smiled through the tears burning his eyes.
"Course I did, sweetheart," he said. "I woulda torn the whole damn world apart for you."
You smiled, even though it hurt.
And then it's like the memory got sucked right out of your head.
You blinked slowly, the world around you swimming in a haze. Everything felt distant.
Familiar, but wrong. Like trying to tune in a radio that wouldn't quite lock onto the station.
Beau's hand wrapped around yours — gentle, steady. The one solid thing in the blur.
"You're doin' good, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "You're still here. That's all that matters."
You wanted to speak, to ask something — anything — but the words slipped through your fingers like water.
You blinked again.
“…Where…?” you whispered.
He leaned closer, eyes warm, even as his face was carved with exhaustion and fear for you. “The hospital. You’re safe now.”
You nodded slightly, trying to remember.
Hospital. Basement. Pain.
Beau.
Your chest fluttered, but the details wouldn’t come. They drifted out of reach just when you thought you had them.
“…I d-don’t remember,” you said, tears threatening to rise. “I—I should… but it’s like…”
“Like someone messed with the wires in your head,” Beau said softly. “Yeah. Doc said it’s normal. Between the drugs, the injury, everything you went through…” He hesitated. “Your brain just needs time.”
You stared at the ceiling.
“…I remember… pancakes.”
Beau let out a soft laugh. “Of course you do.”
“I had… a dream. You were there. At the diner.”
Beau dropped his head, pressing your hand to his lips. His shoulders shook, laughter and tears tangled together.
“…You pancake-stealin’ angel,” he whispered.
You blinked. “Wait—pancakes?”
“You don’t remember what you said last night?”
You furrowed your brow.
“You called someone a bastard,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes. “Said they had pancake feet and you told ‘em the syrup was yours.”
A slow smile crept across your face. “S-sounds like somethin’ I’d say.”
“You had me cryin’ and laughin’ at the same time, darlin’. I didn’t know whether to hug you or get you some damn syrup.”
You both laughed softly. It hurt a little. But it also healed.
Beau leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.
“You’re here. You’re fightin’. That’s enough for me.”
Outside the door, radios crackled. Boots shifted. The world spun on.
And somewhere out there, the storm still brewed.
But here—in this room—hope lived.
Small. Broken. But alive.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
Series Summary: When darkness closes in, hope can be found in the most unexpected places — if they’re brave enough to hold on.
Chapter Summary: A moment of clarity breaks through the haze — and so does laughter.
Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!
The machines beeped steadily now.
A little stronger. A little steadier.
It wasn't much. But it was enough.
Beau sat slumped beside your bed, cradling your limp hand between both of his — his sling awkwardly draped over his recovering arm, a half-forgotten IV bandage still taped to the back of his hand.
He hadn't left. Not for a second.
The room was littered with Post-it notes now.
Little yellow squares taped to the walls, the bedrail, even the IV stand.
"Come back to me."
"You’re stronger than this."
"I’m not leaving you."
"I love you, darlin'."
Each note a prayer. A promise.
He wrote another one now — his hand cramping, his heart aching.
"We have forever waiting, sweetheart."
He smoothed it onto the side of your pillow, brushing your hair back gently.
"Y'know," he said softly, voice hoarse with exhaustion, "I never figured I'd be the type to fall head over boots for a waitress with bad coffee and too much sass."
He smiled, sad and real. "But I did."
There was a soft knock at the door. Captain Rogers poked his head in, face tight.
"Update, Sherriff."
Beau nodded, standing stiffly, every muscle screaming.
Rogers stepped closer, voice low. "We found something you need to see."
He held up a sealed evidence bag — inside, a nurse's ID badge.
Beau didn't have to look long, he recgonized the name.
Jenna Madsen.
The photo was a smiling redhead — nothing like the woman who’d been in that room. But it was the same name.
Beau’s jaw locked.
“That’s not the woman from last night,” he said, voice like gravel. “That’s not who walked in.”
Rogers gave a grim nod. “We figured. Jenna’s on vacation in Mexico. The nurses station reported her badge missing two days ago.”
Beau’s heart sank — not in shock, but confirmation.
He knew.
He’d known.
Sharron.
“She was here,” Beau said hollowly.
“She was,” Rogers confirmed. “No video footage — cameras were never activated for this hallway. But this? This proves someone impersonated hospital staff right before the Code Blue. We’re treating it as attempted murder. We can't figure out why she left it in the stairway though.”
Beau stared at the ID badge. His gut twisted. “She wanted me to know,” he murmured. “She wanted me to see it.”
Rogers stepped back, his voice steady but quiet. “We’ve doubled security. Every entrance, every floor. Still no sign of her. But we’re not letting anyone near this room.
Beau gave a tight nod. “She’s the priority,” he said. “Nothing else matters.”
Rogers nodded and slipped back into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.
Beau sat again, leaning closer to you. His fingers brushed yours.
"You hear that, darlin'?" he whispered. "Whole damn army watchin' over you."
He chuckled — broken and soft.
"But I’m still the one that's stayin' right here."
Hours slipped by.
The machines beeped. The monitors glowed. The world spun on.
And Beau sat — watching. Waiting. Praying.
Then — A sound.
So soft he almost thought he imagined it. He leaned in, heart hammering against his ribs.
"Darlin'?" he whispered.
Your fingers twitched. His breath caught.
Then —
your lips moved.
A broken, hoarse mumble spilled out — barely a whisper. Cracked. Slurred.
"...coffee... burnt... smile..."
Beau let out a sound — half laugh, half sob — the kind of noise a man makes when the world he thought was ending shifts back into color.
It was the first time he’d heard your voice — really heard it — since that basement.
Not those empty murmurs. Not drugged nonsense. But you.
Alive. Speaking. Coming back.
He pressed your hand to his chest, trembling.
“That’s right,” he choked out, voice cracking. “Burnt coffee, darlin’. You always gave me hell about it.”
You mumbled again — harder this time, still fractured — but more there.
“...Sheriff… you look tired…”
Beau choked on a laugh, wiping at his face.
"Yeah, well, you ain’t exactly easy on a man's nerves, y'know that?"
Your eyelids fluttered.
Once.
Twice.
Beau leaned in closer, heart pounding in his ears.
"Come on, baby," he whispered. "Open those pretty eyes for me."
Another long beat. A breathless moment of pure silence.
And then — Your eyes opened.
Blinking.
Confused.
Glassy with pain and drugs.
But open.
Alive.
Looking right at him.
Beau let out a broken noise — part laughter, part prayer, part something raw and wrecked.
He pressed his forehead to your hand.
“There you are,” he whispered. “There’s my girl.”
You blinked slowly, then mumbled — voice hoarse, dragging.
You stared at him like he wasn’t quite real.
Then your lips parted, voice a whispery rasp — fragile and slow. “…I almost stayed…”
“…in the diner…” Your voice caught on something half-formed.
“…you were there… told me not to hurt no more…”
Beau swallowed hard, eyes stinging.
“It was warm… smelled like pancakes…” You gave the faintest hint of a crooked smile. “…but I wanted to stay… ‘til I heard you cryin’…”
Beau froze.
“…you said… come back… so I did…” Your fingers twitched weakly against his. “…couldn’t leave you ‘lone again…”
He was silent — too stunned to speak.
You blinked once more, eyes fluttering shut again.
“…you made me stay…”
Beau leaned forward slowly, kissing your hand like it was a sacred thing. “God, I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking.
“You came back for me.”
Beau was still trying to breathe through it — the weight of your words crashing into him like a wave he wasn’t ready for.
But then —
You shifted a little. Your eyelids fluttered. Your lips parted again. "... they took my pancakes..."
He blinked.
“…what?”
“…told ‘em… syrup’s mine… bastards don’t listen…”
A laugh punched out of him — rough and sudden — the first real one in days.
“…they were wearin’ shoes, Beau,” you added, dead serious, eyes half-lidded. “…little pancake feet… clompin’ around…”
He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Oh, baby…” he whispered.
You turned your head slightly, barely able to focus on him.
“…syrup’s the boss… pancakes are just… the muscle…”
That broke him completely.
Beau had to turn away for a second, laughing so hard it made his ribs ache — hand gripping the edge of your blanket like it might keep him grounded.
“Jesus,” he gasped. “You—” He laughed harder. “You been holdin’ that one in a while?”
When he looked back, your face was scrunched in pure frustration. “…they said I couldn’t have butter unless I joined their gang…”
Beau leaned in, breath still hitching, a full grin splitting his face.
“All right,” he managed, laughing through it, “then we’re takin’ ‘em down, okay? You and me. One sticky bastard at a time.”
“…gotta be careful…” you warned him, voice fading.“…they got forks…”
He practically wheezed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh my God—vicious little breakfast weapons,” he choked out, eyes crinkled with amusement.
You gave a sleepy huff, satisfied. “…’preciate you, Sheriff Pancake…”
Beau grinned so hard it hurt.
“I’m makin’ you say that again when you’re sober,” he whispered. “That’s goin’ on a T-shirt.”
Your eyes fluttered closed again, breath slow, peaceful.
And Beau just sat there — hand still wrapped around yours, head shaking, laughter softening to something quieter.
Something full of love.
Because somehow — after everything — this stupid, syrup-fueled moment?
It was his favorite one yet.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 27 coming soon! Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕
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