Chapter 30
Paige
My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone. Hunter’s thumb pressed circles into my palm, steadying me, but my voice still trembled when I said, “I’m calling Ren.”
He didn’t argue, just stayed right there beside me, solid and unmovable, while I scrolled to Ren’s name and hit call.
“Paige?” Ren’s voice was rough, like I’d dragged him out of bed.
“It’s Eli,” I blurted, my throat tightening. “Hunter and Spencer set up cameras in the tavern. They caught him—on video. He was in there last night, messing with the freezer.”
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of rustling on the other end. Then Ren’s voice sharpened, all business. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around Hunter’s. His steady warmth kept me from coming apart. “We have proof. Spencer will send it to you.”
“Good,” Ren said firmly. “This changes everything. He’s not just harassing you anymore, Paige—this is criminal. I’ll call the police. We’ll press charges. This will shut him down in court.”
My breath hitched. The words should have felt like a release, like finally being freed from a weight I’d been dragging for months. But instead, hot tears slid down my cheeks.
Hunter pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest, his jaw pressed tight against the top of my head. His whole body thrummed with quiet fury, every muscle wound up like a spring.
“Did you hear me, Paige?” Ren asked. “It’s going to be over now. We’ll make sure of it.”
I swiped at my tears with the back of my hand, nodding even though he couldn’t see. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I heard you.”
“Is Hunter with you?” he asked, his voice softening just a fraction. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“Yeah, he’s right here.”
“Good. I’ll take it from here. Sit tight. Don’t let Eli near you. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve spoken with the police and his attorney.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice breaking. “Thank you, Ren.”
When the call ended, I let the phone slip from my hand onto the quilt. My body shook, all the adrenaline I’d been running on finally catching up to me.
Hunter caught my chin gently, tilting my face up to his. His eyes burned with a heat I’d never seen there before—not just protectiveness, but fury, the kind that came from watching someone you loved be hurt time and time again.
“He’s done,” Hunter said, low and certain. “You hear me? He doesn’t get to touch you, doesn’t get to scare you, doesn’t get to hurt what’s yours ever again. Not while I’m here.”
That was what undid me. Not Ren’s certainty, not the promise of the law stepping in—but Hunter, holding me like I was the most essential thing in the world, swearing he’d keep me safe no matter what.
I pressed my face into his chest, tears dampening his skin, and whispered, “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”
“You won’t have to,” he said fiercely, kissing the top of my head. “Not ever.”
Hunter didn’t let go of me for a long time. His hand stayed pressed against my back, warm and sure, like he could hold all the broken pieces of me together with nothing more than his touch. And maybe he could.
When the tears slowed and my breath evened out, he pressed one last kiss to my hair and eased back. “Stay here,” he murmured.
“Where are you going?” My voice came out small, and I hated how raw it sounded.
“Kitchen,” he answered, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “You need something in your stomach.”
Before I could argue, he was up, tugging on his jeans, bare feet silent against the old wood floor as he disappeared down the hall. The faint creak of cabinets, the soft scrape of a chair pulled across the kitchen floor—it all carried back to me, calming me like some kind of lullaby.
I sat there in his bed, quilt wrapped around me, watching the morning light spill across the floorboards. My chest still ached, but the weight wasn’t crushing me quite as hard. Not with him here.
A few minutes later, Hunter came back in, balancing two mugs and a small plate. He set one mug on the nightstand beside me, the steam curling up in lazy ribbons. “Coffee,” he said simply.
The smell hit me first—strong and dark, exactly how I liked it. Then he set a tray in my lap: two pieces of toast, butter melting into the edges, and a little jar of jam.
“Toast?” I asked, the corner of my mouth twitching in disbelief at being served breakfast in bed. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t eat dinner last night,” he reminded me gently, sliding onto the bed beside me. “Coffee and stress aren’t going to cut it anymore, Paige. Not when I’m around. We’ll get something more later.”
I huffed a laugh, even though my throat was still tight. “Bossy.”
“Damn right,” he said, leaning back against the headboard, his own mug in hand. “Now eat.”
The first bite nearly undid me all over again. Not because it was anything special—just warm bread, sweet jam—but because he’d thought of it. Because while I was falling apart, he’d gotten up and made sure I had something simple and comforting to hold onto.
I blinked fast, staring down at the plate in my lap. “You’re going to spoil me if you keep this up.”
He angled toward me, eyes warm but steady. “Good. Somebody should.”
That was all it took for my eyes to sting again, but this time I smiled through it. He reached over, brushing the back of his fingers across my jaw, then let his hand fall, like he knew if he lingered too long, I’d start crying again.
We ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t heavy anymore. Just soft and safe.
When my toast was gone and the last sip of coffee had gone lukewarm, I leaned against him, the quilt pooled around both of us. His arm came around me instantly, tucking me close like it was the most natural thing in the world.