Chapter Nineteen #2
“You keep sayin’ that,” he said finally, his voice low, almost thoughtful, like he was turning the words over instead of pushing back against them, “like it changes anything.”
It didn’t.
We both knew it didn’t.
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to hold his gaze anyway, even though something deeper in me was already pulling back, already warning me that giving him that much of me, my attention, my reaction, was exactly what he wanted.
“I went tonight,” I said, trying to anchor myself in something solid, something I could control. “I did what I was supposed to do.”
“I know,” he said.
Too easy. Too certain. The words didn’t just land, they settled. And something in my chest dropped with them.
“You… know?” I asked, and I hated the way my voice shifted just enough to give him something to grab onto.
That faint hint of a smile touched his mouth again, slower this time, like he wasn’t reacting so much as confirming something he’d already decided.
“I know everything you do,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine. “I know what flavor you get at the coffee shop, how long it takes you to order, how many times you look over your shoulder before you stop thinkin’ about it.”
My pulse spiked, sharp and immediate.
“I know,” he went on, just as calm, just as steady, “that you don’t drink much, that you hold your cup like you’re givin’ yourself somethin’ to do, and that when you laugh, you look down first if you don’t mean it.”
My breath caught before I could stop it.
“And tonight out front,” he added, leaning forward just slightly, just enough to shift the weight of the room, “you forgot to look around at all.”
My stomach turned and I started feeling sick. “I didn’t—” I started, but the denial felt thin the second it left my mouth, like even I didn’t believe it.
He tilted his head just a fraction, watching me the way someone watches something they’ve already figured out. “You did,” he said quietly. “And that’s a problem.”
The room felt smaller now. Not physically, but in a way that pressed in.
“I’m doing what I’m supposed to do,” I said again, quieter now, more careful, trying to hold onto something that still felt like control.
He didn’t answer, just pushed to his feet in a slow, deliberate way that made it feel like time itself bent around him, like he owned every second of it.
I stepped back before I realized I was doing it, my shoulder brushing the wall as the space between us disappeared inch by inch, not rushed, not forced, just taken like it had always been his to close.
“You don’t get to get comfortable with him,” he said, his voice dropping, not louder but heavier, more threatening. “You don’t get to start believin’ any of that’s real.”
My heart slammed harder, my breath catching somewhere too high in my chest. “This isn’t—” I tried again, but the words didn’t hold.
He lifted his hand then, slow, controlled, and I went still without thinking, every muscle locking as his fingers hovered just at my jaw, not touching, not quite, but close enough that I felt it anyway, like the space between was thinner than it should’ve been.
“That’s how it starts,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost conversational, like he was explaining something simple. “You tell yourself it’s nothin’. Just a job. Just playin’ a part.”
His gaze dropped briefly, then came back to mine, harder this time. “And then you forget.”
My pulse stuttered.
“You forget why you’re there,” he went on, his voice still calm, still steady in a way that made it worse, “you forget who put you there, and you start lookin’ at him like he’s somethin’ else.”
The air felt thinner.
Harder to pull in.
“You don’t get that luxury,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“And if I don’t do it the way you want?” I asked before I could stop myself, the question slipping out before I could stop it, like some part of me still thought I had a say in any of this.
That shifted something, not big, not obvious, but enough, and I saw it in the way his eyes darkened just a fraction, something colder settling beneath everything else as he said, “Then I fix it,” with no anger, no edge, just a certainty that sank in slow and heavy, impossible to ignore while he held my gaze like he needed to make sure I understood, like he was waiting for it to land exactly where he wanted it, and then he stepped back just enough to give me space again, like it had always been his to take, and his to give.
“I’ve been watchin’ you more than you think,” he added, almost casually as he turned toward the door, like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that should make my stomach drop the way it did.
My chest tightened hard at that, my mind racing through moments I hadn’t questioned before, through spaces that suddenly didn’t feel as private as they should have.
“So you might wanna be real careful,” he went on, his hand already on the door, “about what you start feelin’…”
He paused, glancing back at me, his gaze settling in a way that felt heavier than anything else he’d said.
“…and who you let yourself feel it for.”
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
All I could do was stand there and feel it settle in, piece by piece, the realization creeping in slow and cold that no matter how hard I tried there was no way out of this.
“And Evie,” he added softly.
My breath hitched.
“Don’t make me decide you’re a problem.”
The door opened, then shut behind him, and just like that, I was alone, but the house didn’t feel like mine anymore. It felt like somewhere I was being allowed to stay.
***
I STOOD THERE, my eyes locked on the door like it might open again, afraid he might walk back in without knocking, without warning, scared to death this hadn’t been a one-time thing but something that could happen whenever he decided it would.
My breath came slow and uneven, and I forced myself to move, forced my body to do something instead of just stand there and feel it, crossing the room to check the lock first even though I already knew it hadn’t mattered before, twisting it harder than necessary, testing it once, then again, like I could undo what had already happened if I just made sure it held this time.
Then the windows, every one of them, moving through the house methodically but faster than I wanted to, my pulse still too high, my thoughts running ahead of me as I checked each latch, each frame, each dark reflection staring back from the glass like something might be on the other side watching, waiting for me to slip.
Nothing.
Everything was closed. Locked. Exactly the way it had been before.
And somehow that made it worse, because it meant it hadn’t stopped him, and it wouldn’t stop him the next time either.
I swallowed hard, dragging a hand over my arms like I could shake the feeling off, but it clung there anyway, low and constant, settling into my chest in a way that refused to ease.
“You’re fine,” I muttered under my breath, even though the words didn’t land, didn’t hold, didn’t change a damn thing.
I turned off the lights one by one, leaving the house dark and too quiet, every small sound louder now, the creak of the floor, the shift of air, the faint sound of something I’d never noticed before, and when I finally made my way to my room, I didn’t relax when I stepped inside, I just closed the door slower this time, listening, waiting, like silence itself might give something away.
Nothing.
I changed without really thinking about it, my movements automatic while my mind strayed to Gatsby, caught on the way he’d looked at me… and worse, the way he’d made me feel, because I wasn’t allowed to keep him.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, my hands resting in my lap as my thoughts circled back to Drago and Kane, to what they were planning, to what I knew they were capable of, and the second it settled in fully my eyes burned, tears pressing up hard because I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t be part of whatever they had coming, not if it meant people getting hurt.
My chest tightened at that, sharper now, because there wasn’t a version of this where I got to keep him; I was going to lose him either way, walk away and let him think whatever he wanted, or tell him the truth and watch it break something between us, but at least one of those choices might keep him alive.
I let out a slow breath and laid back, staring up at the ceiling, telling myself I just needed a few minutes, just enough to let everything settle, to let my body catch up with my head, and then I heard it.
Something faint. A shuffle.
My whole body went still, breath catching in my throat as I listened harder, every sense locking in, every nerve going tight.
There—again.
Closer this time.
A sound from the front of the house.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs as I pushed up slowly, quietly, my hand reaching without thinking for the first thing I could use, a heavy lamp from the nightstand, my fingers tightening around the base as I stepped into the hallway, every instinct screaming now, every part of me already knowing.
He came back.
I moved carefully, slower now, quieter, each step deliberate as I made my way toward the front of the house, my grip tightening on the lamp as the sound came again, the door.
My pulse spiked.
And then—
“Evie?”
Gatsby!
The tension snapped so hard it left me dizzy, the breath I’d been holding breaking free in a rush as everything inside me dropped all at once, my knees going weak in a way that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with the fact that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t Kane, it wasn’t what I thought was coming through that door.
I moved fast, not even thinking, dropping the lamp onto the table with a dull, uneven thud as I crossed the distance and yanked the door open.
He was right there.
Close enough that I didn’t stop.
Didn’t think.
I just stepped into him, my arms wrapping around him tight, pressing in like I needed him to keep breathing.
He caught me instantly, like he’d been ready for it, one hand coming firm to my back while the other slid up to the back of my neck, holding me there without hesitation, without question.
“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping low, calming in a way that cut through everything still spinning inside me. “Hey… I got you.”
That almost broke me.
Not the fear.
Not the night.
That.
“I thought—” I started, but my voice caught, the words tangling somewhere between my chest and my throat as I shook my head against him, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.
His hand pressed firmer at my back, grounding, solid. “What?”
I forced a breath in, but it didn’t come easy. “Nothing… I just didn’t expect anyone.”
He didn’t call me on it, not right away, but I felt the shift in him, the way he stilled just enough to take it in, to read what I wasn’t saying, even as his hand stayed exactly where it was, comforting, unmoving, like he wasn’t about to let me go anywhere.
“I found your phone,” he said after a second, pulling back just enough to look at me, his other hand lifting it slightly. “You left it in my saddlebag.”
It took a second for that to land, for something normal to cut through everything else. “Right,” I said quietly, but I didn’t step back, and didn’t let go.
His eyes stayed on mine, searching, slower now, taking in the way my breathing still wasn’t right, the way my body hadn’t come down yet, the way I was still holding onto him like I needed to.
“You wanna tell me what happened?”
I hesitated, just long enough for it to mean something. “Not tonight.”
Something in his expression shifted, not hard, not sharp, but controlled, like he was filing it away for later instead of pushing now. “Alright.”
But he didn’t move.
Instead, his hand slid more firmly to my waist, pulling me just a fraction closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
My chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was something heavier. Warmer.
“Stay,” I said, the word coming out softer, but it didn’t shake, didn’t break, because I already knew how this ended, I was going to lose him, but right now, right here, I wasn’t ready to let him go.
His eyes held mine for a second longer, something darker settling in there, something that matched the way his hand tightened just slightly at my waist. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “I’ll stay with you.”
And then he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a solid, final sound that should’ve felt small, but didn’t, not when his hand didn’t leave me, not when I didn’t move away, not when the space between us stayed too close, too charged, the leftover adrenaline still running through me and twisting into something else entirely.
Something deeper.
Something harder to ignore.
My fingers were still curled into his shirt, and I didn’t realize I hadn’t let go until his gaze dropped to them, then back up to my face, slower this time, more focused, like he was seeing something different now.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine,” I answered automatically, but it came out thinner than I wanted, my body giving me away when I didn’t pull back, didn’t create space, didn’t do anything except stay right where I was.
His hand shifted at my waist, not rough, but firmer, his thumb brushing once like he was testing something, like he was deciding how far to push it.
“Yeah,” he murmured, not sounding like he believed me. “You look it.”
That should’ve annoyed me, should’ve been enough to make me step back, but it didn’t, and my breath hitched again, only this time it wasn’t any fear, but something warmer sliding in underneath, heavier, tighter, a kind of tension that didn’t ease but coiled low in my stomach, pulling me in as his gaze dropped to my mouth, slow and deliberate like he was taking his time, like he already knew I wasn’t going anywhere, and when it lifted back to mine, there was nothing uncertain left in him, just intent, focused and controlled, settling in like a promise he had no intention of breaking.
“C’mere,” he said, his eyes telling me he understood what I wanted.
And I didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think about what came next or what it meant or what it would cost me later.
I just leaned into him, and his hand came up fast, catching my jaw, his thumb brushing along my skin as he pulled me into him, closing the space completely this time.
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t careful.
It hit with everything that had been building all night, the fear, the relief, the tension, his mouth moving against mine with a rougher edge this time, deeper, more certain, like he wasn’t asking anymore, he already knew I wasn’t going to pull away.
My fingers tightened in his shirt, holding there as I leaned into it, into him, into something that felt real enough to drown everything else out, even if it was just for tonight.