Chapter 32 #3
And I still let myself stay passive too long. Still let fear and caution and trying not to escalate things keep me from stepping in hard enough before he got the chance to put his hands on her.
I wasted time.
While someone worse got close.
That is going to live under my skin for a long damn time.
I finally nod once. Then I head inside.
I step inside and shut the door behind me, and for a second the noise hits all at once. Voices. Movement. Cabinets opening. Someone saying Allie’s name too many times at once.
It’s not chaos.
It’s care.
But it still feels loud against the way everything in me has gone sharp and quiet and dangerous.
I pause just inside the entry long enough to get my bearings.
The women have already moved her. They didn’t hover. They didn’t panic. They took one look at her and shifted the whole room around what she needed without making it a spectacle.
Emma’s voice comes from the living room, low and steady. “Sit down, honey. Let me see.”
Aunt Tracie’s right there with her. Mom too.
Kya and Brooke are hovering but trying to keep their volume down, which is a small miracle in itself.
Mac is sitting forward on the couch, watching everything with that quiet, assessing look she gets when she’s processing instead of reacting.
I move toward them slowly. Not because I don’t want to get to her. Because I need to make sure I don’t bring everything that’s clawing around inside me with me when I do.
She’s sitting on the edge of the couch, one leg slightly extended, Emma crouched in front of her with a damp cloth, gently pressing it to the red line along her skin.
Aunt Tracie is on one side of her, hand on her back.Mom is on the other, holding her wrist carefully, turning it just enough to see the bruising without hurting her.
And Allison, she looks small.
Not physically. Not in any way that would actually make sense if I tried to explain it. But there’s a tension in her shoulders, a tightness in the way she’s holding herself that tells me she’s still halfway braced for something else to go wrong.
That’s what gets me.
Not the bruise. Not the burn.
That.
I step closer, and the women part for me without being asked. Not because I outrank them. Because they know.
They know what I am to her now. They know what she is to me. And they know I’m not here to take over, I’m here to stand with her.
“Allie.”
Her eyes find mine immediately. And just like outside, something in her face softens the second she sees me.
That alone is enough to steady me. Enough to take the edge off the worst of the violence trying to tear through me.
“Hey,” she says, voice quiet.
I sit down beside her. Slow. Careful. I don’t reach for her right away.
I let her close the distance. It only takes a second. She shifts toward me just enough that our legs brush, and I slide my hand over her knee, thumb moving in a slow, grounding line like I need to feel something solid to keep from losing it completely.
“You good?” I ask.
It’s automatic. It’s probably stupid. But I need to hear her answer now, here, where I can see her.
She huffs a faint breath. “Better.”
Emma glances up at me. “It’s not bad. Skin’s irritated, but it’ll calm down. We’ll put something on it.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
Mom still holding her wrist, her expression tight but controlled. “This is going to be sore.”
“I know,” Allison says.
Aunt Tracie’s hand moves up to her shoulder, squeezing once. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
That’s when I look at it again. Really look.
The shape of his hand is still there. Clear enough that I can see exactly where his fingers dug in.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
Allison notices. She shifts her hand slightly, turning it toward me instead of away. “Hey,” she says softly.
I drag my gaze up to her face.
“You don’t have to look at it like that.”
I swallow once. “I do.”
“Jimmy—”
“I do,” I repeat, quieter now. “Because I need to see it.”
Her expression changes. Not hurt. Not defensive. Just…understanding.
Because she knows me. Knows this isn’t about making it worse. It’s about making it real. About making sure I never forget what happens when I let myself hesitate too long.
Emma stands, giving us a little more space, and Aunt Tracie shifts back just slightly, though her hand doesn’t leave Allison’s shoulder.
Mom brushes her thumb once over Allison’s wrist, then lets go, her eyes flicking to me for half a second.
Not accusing. Not forgiving either. Just…measuring. Then she steps back too.
The room doesn’t empty.
It settles.
The women move around us instead of away from us, giving space without leaving her alone, keeping that quiet, protective presence wrapped around her like a second layer of safety.
I shift closer, finally letting my other hand come up to cup her wrist gently, careful of the bruised skin.
My thumb hovers over the mark, not pressing.
Just there.
“Did he scare you?”
The question comes out low. Careful.
Her breath catches just slightly. “Yeah.”
That word hits harder than anything else so far. Not the bruise. Not the text.
That.
Because she doesn’t say it easily. Because she doesn’t throw fear around for effect. If she says it, it’s real.
I nod once.
My grip tightens just slightly, not on the bruise, just enough around her hand that she can feel me.
“I’ve got you,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine. Like she’s still making sure this version of me is going to hold under pressure. Like she’s still waiting for the moment I flinch or pull back or turn this into something about me instead of her.
I don’t. I can’t. Not anymore.
She exhales slowly and leans into me, her shoulder pressing into my chest, her weight settling against me in a way that feels like trust.
Real trust.
Earned, not assumed.
That almost undoes me more than anything else.
I slide my arm around her carefully, keeping it loose enough that she doesn’t feel trapped, just…held. Safe.
Mine.
“Hey,” Kya says from the other side of the room, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Do we need to kill him, or are we saving that for later?”
Dom, somewhere behind her, mutters, “Kya.”
“What? I’m asking a valid question.”
Mac snorts quietly. “You’re pregnant, not subtle.”
“I can be both.”
“You’re not.”
Emma cuts in gently, “Let’s give her a minute.”
The room quiets again. And in that quiet, I feel it. The contrast. The difference between what just happened to her out there and what’s happening right now.
Out there, she had to fight to be heard. Had to pull away. Had to brace and push and get herself out of a situation that turned bad faster than it should have.
In here, she’s surrounded. Supported. Seen.
Nobody’s questioning her. Nobody’s minimizing it. Nobody’s asking what she did to cause it.
They’re just…here.
And I should’ve made sure she never needed to rely on luck and coincidence to get back to this kind of space. That thought sits heavy in my chest. Too heavy.
I press a kiss to her hair, slow and deliberate, letting my lips rest there for a second longer than necessary. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.
She shifts just enough to look up at me. “For what?”
“For letting him get that close.”
Her brows pull together. “That’s not on you.”
It is. I know it is.
Maybe not entirely. Maybe not in a way that makes this my fault.
But I knew.
I knew what he was the second I saw him. And I still let myself hang back. Still let her try to make it work because I didn’t want to be the guy who pushed too hard too soon. I wasted time. And he used it.
“I should’ve stepped in sooner,” I say quietly.
Allison studies me for a long second. Then she reaches up with her good hand and cups my jaw, turning my face fully toward hers. “No,” she says. Firm. Certain. “You don’t get to take that away from me.”
I blink. “What?”
“This,” she says, holding my gaze. “Was mine to end. Mine to handle. You stepping in before I was ready wouldn’t have fixed it, it would’ve just made it about you instead of what I needed.”
That lands. Hard.
Because it’s true. Because even now, part of me still wants to go back in time and drag her out of that situation before it ever happened.
But she’s right.
She needed to choose it. Needed to end it. Needed to walk away on her own terms.
That doesn’t make what he did okay.
It just means I don’t get to rewrite her agency to make myself feel better.
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
She watches me for another second, making sure I mean it.
Then her hand slides down from my jaw to my shoulder, her fingers curling lightly into my shirt. “I got out,” she says softly.
“You did.”
“I came back here.”
“You did.”
“And Blaze was there.”
My jaw tightens at that, but I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
She exhales.
And I can feel it.
The last of that tight, braced tension leaving her body in slow increments as she sits here, safe, held, surrounded by people who would tear the world apart before letting something like that happen to her again.
Including me. Especially me.
I press another kiss to her hair, lower this time, closer to her temple. “Next time we stand together,” I murmur.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “There won’t be a next time.”
“No,” I say, voice dropping just enough that only she hears the edge in it now. “There won’t.”
Because that’s the shift.
That’s the line.
I was jealous before. I was territorial. I was an idiot trying to convince myself I could keep this contained and controlled and not turn it into something bigger than I was ready for.
That version of me is gone.
This?
This is different. This is someone putting his hands on what’s mine and thinking he’s going to walk away from it like it’s nothing.
This is someone threatening her and thinking I’m going to sit on my hands because she asked me not to overreact.
This is me realizing, too late, that while I was busy trying not to make a move, someone worse got close enough to hurt her.
I don’t make that mistake again.
Ever.
Allison shifts closer, her head settling against my chest again, her breathing finally starting to even out.
Around us, the women start moving again.
Kya starts whispering something to Brooke that makes Brooke sniffle-laugh.
Mac rolls her eyes and mutters something about “emotional chaos” that makes Logan, hovering uselessly in the doorway, look even more lost.
Normal. Warm. Loud. Alive.
And in the middle of it, I sit there with my arm around her, holding her steady while everything inside me sharpens into something far more dangerous than it was before.
Not reckless.
Not out of control.
Focused.
Because I wasted too much time.
And I’m not wasting another second while someone like Drew thinks he gets to touch her and walk away.