Chapter 26 Cece
CECE
I'm still riding the Christmas miracle high as we pull out of the church parking lot, my cheeks actually hurting from smiling so much. Today was everything I'd hoped for and more. Over four hundred families will have food on their tables and presents under their trees because of what we did.
“I still can’t believe Wrecker managed to keep it G-rated the entire time,” I say, glancing over at Brayden, who is somehow folded into my passenger seat in a way no human his size should logically manage. “I was convinced he’d slip up the moment that kid asked about the reindeer.”
Brayden chuckles, a low rumble filling the car. “Wrecker may look tough enough to chew through steel, but he’s a marshmallow when it comes to kids. You should’ve seen him last year at his niece’s ballet recital. Front row, bouquet of flowers, tearing up during the bow.”
“I would pay good money to see that,” I say, turning onto Main Street.
The Christmas lights strung across the lampposts cast everything in a warm glow, making even our small town look magical.
“Seriously though, I don't know how to thank you and the guys.
Without you all stepping up, we would've had to cancel the whole distribution.”
“Don't mention it, princess.” Brayden shifts in his seat, trying to find a position that doesn't make him look like a human origami project. “The guys were happy to help.”
I feel warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with my car's temperamental heater.
A month ago, I was drowning in divorce papers and humiliation.
Now I'm driving home from a successful charity event with a man who rallied his intimidating biker brothers to save Christmas. Life is weird sometimes.
“Still,” I insist, “I want to do something to thank them. Maybe dinner at the guesthouse?”
“You really want to feed those animals? Skelly alone eats enough for three grown men.” Brayden's hand finds my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles that make it hard to focus on the road. “But if you're serious, they'd love it. Just don't tell them I called them animals.”
“Your secret's safe with me.” I cover his hand with mine, enjoying the contrast of his rough skin against my palm. “Can you text Big and invite him over? We’ll have to stop by the grocery store on the way back.”
“Hold up.” Brayden's entire body tenses beside me, his hand suddenly gripping my thigh. “Do you recognize that car behind us?”
I glance in the rearview mirror, my pulse instantly accelerating as I spot the sleek black Mercedes following too closely behind us. The tinted windows make it impossible to see who's driving, but I don't need to see the driver's face to know exactly who it is.
“Ethan,” I breathe, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “It's his dad's car.”
“Don't stop,” Brayden demands. “Keep driving.”
“He's not supposed to be anywhere near me. The protective order—”
“Exactly. Which is why we're calling it in. We need to call from your phone so they can trace it. Where is it?”
“My purse.”
Brayden reaches for it, but I jerk the car, slamming him into the passenger side door.
“He's trying to pass us,” I say, panic rising in my throat.
“Don't slow down. Don't stop. If he gets in front of us, he might try to block the road.”
I press harder on the accelerator, but my little Honda is no match for a Mercedes. Ethan's car pulls alongside us, engine growling as he accelerates.
“He's trying to run us off the road,” I gasp as the Mercedes swerves toward us.
He veers closer, metal nearly kissing metal.
My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else.
Ethan's face appears in the window again, mouthing something I can't understand.
Brayden finally fishes my phone out of my purse, punches 9-1-1, then puts it on speaker.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“We're on Main Street heading toward Oakwood Drive,” I say. “My ex-husband, Ethan Kincaid, is following us. He’s violating a protective order and trying to run us off the road.”
The Mercedes suddenly accelerates, cutting in front of us so sharply I have to slam on the brakes. My seatbelt locks, digging into my chest as the car fishtails slightly.
“Shit,” Brayden hisses. “He's stopping.”
Sure enough, the black car screeches to a halt directly in front of us, blocking the road. I brake hard, my little Honda skidding to a stop just inches from Ethan's bumper. My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch Ethan throw his car door open and step out onto the street.
“Stay in the car,” Brayden commands, already reaching for his door handle.
“No!” I grab his arm. “That's what he wants. If you touch him, you'll be the one arrested.”
The dispatcher's voice crackles through my phone. “Ma’am, are you still there?”
“Yes, he's blocked the road and gotten out of his car. Please hurry.”
Ethan stalks toward us, his styled hair and expensive coat a stark contrast to the fury twisting his features.
He looks unhinged in a way I’ve never seen before.
This isn’t the polished, calculating man he shows the world.
This is the version he kept tucked behind forced smiles and gentle tones—the one who surfaced only when doors were closed and no one else could hear.
His eyes dart, wild and unfocused, and there’s a sharp edge to his movements that sends a chill straight through me.
This isn’t rational Ethan. This is the side of him built on control and entitlement, the one that always simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the moment someone dared to challenge him. This is something far more dangerous.
“You need to get officers here now. I can't promise I won't break his fucking neck if he tries to touch her.” Ethan reaches my door. He pounds his fist against my window so hard I'm surprised the glass doesn't shatter.
“Get out of the car, Cece! We need to talk!”
I press the lock button, making sure all doors are secured.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone.
“I'm not getting out!” I shout back, though I'm not sure he can hear me through the glass.
My heart is a frantic drum in my chest, adrenaline making my limbs feel weightless and useless all at once.
“Ma’am. What is the man doing?”
Ethan's face contorts with fury, and he slams his palm against my window again. “Open the goddamn door, Cece! You're embarrassing yourself with this restraining order bullshit!”
“He's trying to force me out of my car,” I tell the dispatcher, my voice shaky.
“Units are enroute,” the dispatcher assures me. “Stay inside your vehicle and keep the doors locked.”
“No shit,” I mumble back to her.
Ethan's attention shifts to Brayden, his gaze narrows to slits. “You think you can just take what's mine?” he shouts, his words slightly muffled through the glass. “You think this is over? It's not over until I say it's over!”
Brayden's jaw clenches so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. His hand grips the door handle.
“Don't,” I plead, grabbing his arm. “That's exactly what he wants.”
“I'm not going to sit here while he threatens you,” Brayden growls, but he doesn't open the door. Not yet.
Ethan circles around to Brayden's side, pounding on his window now. “Get out of that car and face me like a man!” Ethan screams, his face contorted with rage as he slams his fist against Brayden's window. “Or are you only tough when you're jumping people in bathrooms?”
I can feel Brayden's muscles tensing under my grip, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence. The expression on his face scares me, not because I fear him, but because I know what he's capable of doing to protect me.
“Brayden, please,” I whisper, tightening my grip on his arm. “The police are coming. He'll be arrested for violating the order.”
Ethan circles back to my side, his face inches from the glass.
“You really think you can hide behind a piece of paper?” He laughs, the sound manic and chilling. “My father owns this town, Cece. Owns the police. Owns the judges. You think your little restraining order means anything?”
I try to keep my face neutral despite the fear clawing up my throat. The dispatcher's voice in my ear asks for updates, but I can barely form coherent sentences with Ethan's face pressed against my window.
“He's—he's still here,” I manage. “He's intoxicated.”
“Get off the phone,” Ethan snarls, slamming his palm against my window again. The glass vibrates dangerously under the impact. “You think calling the police is going to help you? They work for my father!”
My breath stutters, my pulse hammering as Ethan’s rage intensifies, rising around us with terrifying speed.
“Please hurry,” I yell into the phone.
Ethan suddenly stops pounding on my window, his expression shifting from rage to something calculated and cold. The change is more terrifying than his anger. Without a word, he turns and strides back to his car.
“He's going back to his vehicle,” I tell the dispatcher, relief washing through me. Maybe he's giving up. Maybe he realized how badly he's screwed himself by violating the order.
But my relief evaporates instantly when I see what happens next.
He goes to his car, pulling out the tire iron, and Brayden knows exactly what he plans to do with it. He's had enough. He's out of the car before I can stop him.
“Brayden, no!” I scream, lunging across the console, but my fingers only brush the back of his jacket as he slams the door shut behind him.
“Stay in the car!” Brayden shouts back, already squaring off against Ethan in the middle of the street.
Ethan brandishes the tire iron, clearly having waited for this moment, a sick grin stretching across his face as he advances on Brayden. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, turning the scene into a waking nightmare.
“Finally,” Ethan taunts. “The delinquent comes out to play.”
Brayden doesn’t move. He stands in the middle of the street, broad and unshakable, his shadow cutting through the headlights.