Chapter 25 #2
“You’re even prettier in person,” he said smoothly, his voice all silk and edges. He leaned in, close enough that I caught the scent of expensive cologne and something colder underneath—like metal.
My heart stuttered. “What the hell—?”
He grinned. His teeth were perfect. Predatory. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to talk options.”
I pushed away from him instinctively, pressing my back against the wall. “Who are you?”
His smile only widened. “Let’s just say I’m someone who knows a good opportunity when he sees one.” His gaze flicked toward the window. “And right now, sweetheart? You’re the biggest opportunity in town.”
Opportunity?
The word echoed in my head like a warning bell as my pulse pounded in my ears.
Every red flag, every gut-deep instinct screamed at me: Get out.
I didn’t know who this man was or what kind of twisted game he thought he was playing, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out.
I’d had enough of men trying to control the narrative of my life—especially ones connected to Gary.
Before he could say another word, I shoved back from the booth and shot to my feet. His expression flickered from smug to startled as I bolted, weaving through the tables and bursting through the café doors like they were the only thing between me and safety.
The cold slapped me hard, but I barely felt it.
The SUV was still parked across the street. Engine running. Waiting. Like it knew I’d be back. Like I was the target.
Panic rose sharp and fast, coiling in my throat. I didn’t know who was inside, but every instinct told me the same thing: this wasn’t some coincidence. This wasn’t just a scare tactic.
They were here for me.
I looked around frantically—no alleys, no open stores, just traffic and strangers too busy with their lives to notice the girl about to come apart on the sidewalk. So I ran.
I didn’t think. I didn’t stop. My legs just moved, fast and fueled by fear, pushing past people who blinked at me but didn’t ask questions.
And all I could think as I ran was one name.
Nick.
If they were watching me… following me… cornering me in cafés…
Would they go after him next?
I stumbled through the door, the wind still clinging to my skin like ice. My hands were empty, my nerves frayed, and the croissants I’d gone to fetch were a forgotten afterthought. The house was too quiet—eerily so. Like it knew something was wrong.
Nick stood in the kitchen, sipping from a mug, shirtless and loose in those damn grey sweatpants that always made my brain short-circuit. He looked casual on the surface, but I saw the subtle shift in his posture the moment I stepped inside—shoulders squaring, gaze sharpening like a blade.
“Ken,” he said, setting his mug down. “What happened?”
I froze.
The lie was already there, bubbling at the back of my throat, begging to be spoken before the truth could tear everything apart. He was two days out from a brutal away game—against Gary’s team, no less. I couldn’t drop this on him. Not now. Not when he finally seemed… okay. Focused. Steady.
“Nothing.” I forced a laugh that tasted like ash. “I panicked over those stupid headlines again. One of them said I wore the same boots twice. Twice, Nick.”
He didn’t smile.
Instead, he walked over slowly, that unreadable expression tightening with every step. His eyes scanned me—my face, my trembling hands, the way I hadn’t taken off my jacket. I felt seen in the worst way.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold,” I lied, even though I wasn’t.
He reached out and tugged me into his chest, anyway. And the second his arms wrapped around me, the dam almost broke. Almost. I pressed my face into him, breathed him in, and reminded myself that this right here—this—was worth protecting.
“If someone said something—if someone touched you—”
“No one touched me,” I said quickly, voice muffled. “It’s just been a long morning. I wasn’t expecting to… see things from my past.”
His arms tightened like he didn’t believe me—but he didn’t push either.
I let him hold me, eyes squeezed shut, pretending for one more moment that I hadn’t just been followed, cornered, and threatened. That my ex wasn’t trying to burn my life to the ground just because he’d lost control of it.
I couldn’t tell Nick.
Because if I did?
He’d burn the whole damn world down. But guilt gnawed at me like a splinter beneath the skin—small but persistent, impossible to ignore.
Every time Nick wrapped himself around me like I was something precious, something worth protecting, it dug a little deeper.
He deserved the truth. About the texts. About Gary.
About the man in the café who looked at me like I was prey.
But what would telling him change? It would only shake his focus—just days before he had to face Gary on the ice. I couldn’t be the thing that threw him off balance. Not when he’d worked so hard to steady himself.
So instead of speaking, I just held him tighter.
My arms looped around his waist like they could anchor me to this version of reality—the one where he smelled like warm skin and cedar, where his chest rose and fell in time with mine.
This bubble we’d built felt too delicate to pop with something so ugly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his shoulder, the words brushing against his skin like a secret.
His hold tightened in response, fingers splaying across my back like he could fuse me to him. “You’re not worrying me—you’re scaring me,” he said, voice steady but fraying at the edges.
That broke something in me.
Because he wasn’t supposed to be scared.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and let the silence speak for me—let it stretch long and thin between us until it felt like a lie all on its own. I couldn’t bring myself to confess. Not yet.
Not when he looked at me like I was still whole.
So I leaned in, hiding from everything I couldn’t say.
And when he murmured, “I’ll handle it,” into my hair, I wanted so badly to believe him. To believe he could fight shadows without knowing what they were.
But eventually, the truth would have to come out.
Because even the strongest shields couldn’t hold forever.