Chapter 4
Kevin
I've seen a lot of things in my years on the force.
Combat overseas. Domestic calls that went sideways. Bar fights that turned bloody. Traffic accidents that still visit me in my sleep.
But I have never—never—felt rage like this.
Pure. White-hot. Rage that makes everything go sharp and clear, where training and instinct take over because if I let myself feel what I'm feeling right now, I'll do something I can't take back.
The guy has his hands on Steph.
She's pulling away, and he's holding on, and the look on her face—the fear, the panic, the way she's frozen exactly like she was the night I arrested Carl—makes something primal roar to life in my chest.
I'm moving before the thought forms.
Three strides across the alley. My hand clamps down on his shoulder—hard enough that he yelps—and I yank him backward, away from her, putting my body between them.
"Let go of her," I say, and my voice doesn't sound like mine. It's low. Controlled. Deadly calm.
He releases her, stumbling back, and his face shifts from surprise to anger. "What the hell, man—"
"Step back." I don't raise my voice. Don't need to. "Now."
"She's the one who—"
"I said step back."
He must hear something in my tone—or maybe he sees what's written all over my face—because he takes a step backward, hands coming up.
"I wasn't doing anything," he says, voice rising with indignation. "We were just talking—"
"Talking." I repeat the word like it's poison. "Is that what you call grabbing someone who's told you no? Multiple times?"
"She's lying about you being her boyfriend—"
"That's not your concern." I pull out my badge, holding it where he can see it. "Remember me? Officer Kevin Dawes, Evergreen Lakes PD. And you just committed battery in front of a police officer."
His face goes pale. "Battery? I didn't—"
"You put your hands on her without consent. That's battery." I reach for my handcuffs, never taking my eyes off him. "Turn around. Hands behind your back."
Thankfully, I grabbed my handcuffs before leaving the house. Normally I don't carry them off-duty, but knowing this asshole was out here, I trusted my gut.
"You can't arrest me for—"
"Turn. Around."
Something in my voice must convince him I'm not bluffing, because he turns. His hands shake as he puts them behind his back.
I pull out my cuffs and secure his wrists. The familiar click of metal on metal is oddly satisfying.
"You're making a mistake," he says, voice tight. "I'll sue. I'll—"
"You have the right to remain silent," I interrupt, beginning the Miranda warning with the same calm precision I've used a hundred times before. "I suggest you use it."
I key dispatch into my phone. "Dispatch, this is Dawes. I need a unit at The Lucky Tap, rear entrance. I've got a suspect in custody for battery and criminal trespass."
"Copy that, Dawes. Unit en route. ETA five minutes."
Five minutes. I can keep it together for five minutes.
I glance over my shoulder at Steph. She's pressed against the dumpster, arms wrapped around herself, breathing too fast. Her face is white, eyes wide with shock.
"Steph." I gentle my voice as much as I can. "You okay?"
She nods, but it's not convincing. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine." I turn back to the suspect, tightening my grip on his arm. "But you will be."
The back door bangs open, and Troy appears, followed by Ace and Levi. All three of them take in the scene—me with the guy in cuffs, Steph shaking against the dumpster—and their expressions darken.
"What happened?" Troy's voice is hard.
"This asshole grabbed Steph," I say flatly. "I'm arresting him for battery and trespass."
"Good." Ace crosses his arms, positioning himself between the suspect and the door. "Want us to stick around?"
"Backup's on the way. Can you make sure she's okay?"
Troy's already moving, crossing to Steph with careful movements. "Hey, Steph. It's just me. You're safe now."
I hear her exhale shakily, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and go to her. But I can't. Not yet. Not until this piece of shit is someone else's problem.
"This is bullshit," the guy mutters. "I didn't do anything—"
"You grabbed her." I lean in close, dropping my voice so only he can hear. "After she told you to leave. After you were kicked out last night. You came back and waited for her. You cornered her. And when she told you to get away, you put your hands on her anyway."
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond.
Headlights sweep across the alley as a patrol car pulls up. The door opens, and Officer Martinez steps out—young, competent, someone I trust.
"Dawes," he says, taking in the scene. "What've we got?"
"Battery and criminal trespass," I say, walking the suspect toward the patrol car.
"Grabbed the victim's wrist and waist after being told multiple times to leave her alone.
He was ejected from the bar last night for the same behavior and returned tonight.
Victim is Stephanie Walters, a bartender. I witnessed the assault."
Martinez nods, pulling out his notepad. "Does Steph want to press charges?"
I glance back at Steph. She's still against the dumpster, Troy standing nearby like a guard. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, but her chin is up. There's fear in her eyes, but there's steel too.
"Yes," she says, voice stronger than I expected. "I want to press charges."
Pride swells in my chest, sharp and fierce.
"You got it." Martinez takes custody of the suspect, guiding him toward the patrol car. "I'll need statements from both of you."
"Yeah," I say. "Do you mind if we do it in the morning? She's shaken up."
"Works for me." He gets the suspect into the back of the car, then pauses, turning toward me and lowering his voice. "You good, Dawes? You look like you want to put this guy through a wall."
I do. God, I do.
"I'm good," I lie.
Martinez doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. "Right. Nobody should touch a woman, but especially not yours." He nods and closes the door.
I try not to react to being told she's mine. Now's not the time for that. Instead, I watch the taillights disappear around the corner, and only then do I let myself turn back to Steph.
She's still shaking.
Troy catches my eye and gives me a small nod before stepping back, giving us space. Ace and Levi follow him inside, though I can see them hovering just inside the door.
"Steph." I cross the alley, hands visible, making sure she can see me coming. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she says again, but her voice cracks on the last word.
"You're shaking."
"I know." She lets out a shaky laugh. "I hate that I'm shaking. I hate he made me—" She cuts herself off, pressing her hands over her face. "God, I'm so stupid."
"Hey," I stop a few feet away, close enough to reach but far enough not to crowd her. "You're not stupid. You did nothing wrong."
"I froze," she says, dropping her hands. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "He grabbed me, and I just... froze. Just like with Carl."
"You didn't stay frozen," I counter. "You fought back. You told him to let go. That's not freezing, Steph. That's surviving."
She shakes her head. "You had to save me. Again."
"I didn't save you." I take a step closer. "I backed you up. There's a difference."
She's quiet for a long moment, just breathing.
"Thank you," she says. "For being here."
"Always." The word comes out rougher than I intended. "I meant what I said last night, Steph. You're not alone."
Something shifts in her expression. "The whole town thinks we're dating now."
"I know."
"There was a betting pool. Rachel won two hundred dollars."
Despite everything, I smile. "I heard about that."
"You heard about it?" She stares at me. "And you're not freaked out?"
"Why would I be freaked out?"
"Because everyone thinks we're together! Because I dragged you into this mess—"
"Steph." I close the distance between us. "I'm not pretending."
She freezes. "What?"
"I'm not pretending," I repeat, holding her gaze. "I haven't been pretending for a long time."
Her lips part, surprise and something that looks like hope flashing across her face. "Kevin—"
"You don't have to say anything," I say quickly. "I know you're not ready. I know you need time. But when you called me your boyfriend last night, I wasn't just playing along. I was hoping you'd mean it. Someday."
Tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks. "I don't know if I can—"
"I know." I reach up and brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "I'm not asking you to. I'm just asking you to let me be here. Let me keep you safe."
She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch for just a second. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She opens her eyes, and there's determination in them now. "But I'm not leaving work early. I'm not letting that asshole control my life. Nobody will ever do that. Not again."
God, she's strong.
"Then I'm staying," I say. "For the rest of your shift. And when you're done, I'm taking you home."
"Kevin, you don't have to—"
"I'm either going home with you, or you're coming home with me," I say firmly. "Your choice. But I'm not leaving you alone tonight."
Her breath catches. "You want to stay with me?"
"Yeah." I hold her gaze. "I do."
She's quiet for a long moment, searching my face.
Whatever she finds must be enough.
"Okay," she whispers. "You can come home with me."
Relief floods through me, sharp and sweet.
"Okay," I echo.
***
Four hours later, I'm helping Steph lock up the bar.
Her shift ended at midnight, but we stayed to help clean. Now it's just the two of us in the parking lot, the night cool and quiet.
"You can follow me," she says, fumbling with her keys. Her hands are still shaking slightly. "It's not far—"
"I know where you live," I say gently. "I've driven past about a hundred times to make sure you were okay."
She looks up at me, surprised. "Right, of course you know where I live. Wait…you have?"
"Yeah."
"Kevin..." she trails off, shaking her head. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
The drive to her apartment is short. She lives in a small complex on the edge of town, the kind with exterior stairs and thin walls. I've been here before—the night I arrested Carl.
I follow her up the stairs to the second floor. She unlocks the door and flips on the light, revealing a small but tidy living room.
"It's not much," she says, setting her bag down.
"It's perfect," I say, and I mean it.
She gives me a small smile. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee?"
"Steph." I cross the room and take her hands in mine. "You don't have to play hostess. Just breathe. Okay?"
She nods, exhaling. "Okay."
"Come on." I guide her to the couch, and she sinks down onto the cushions. I sit beside her—close, but not crowding.
For a long moment, we sit there in silence.
Then Steph leans sideways, resting her head on my shoulder.
My heart stutters.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
She doesn't pull away. Just curls into my side, tucking herself against me like she belongs there.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For staying."
I press a kiss to the top of her head—light, careful, nothing more than comfort.
"Always," I murmur. "I'm always staying, Steph. For as long as you'll let me."
She doesn't answer.
But her hand finds mine, fingers lacing together.
And that's answer enough.