Chapter 32
Lincoln
By the time I finish pulling on a clean shirt, smoothing my hair down with my palm, and checking the mirror one last time to make sure I don’t look like a man who changed outfits three times before settling on the first one, I’m buzzing.
Not anxious. Not nervous. Just… keyed up in a way I haven’t felt in years.
This started an hour ago, when her text came through.
I need a distraction.
Those four words went straight to my bloodstream. Not because she needed me—though that stirred something primal—-but because of the thing she said when the shitstorm started.
I don’t regret it.
And now I want to take her somewhere quiet. Somewhere she can breathe. Somewhere she can forget the world is full of people who think they get to decide what we are.
I grab my jacket, shove my phone in my pocket, push open the front door—
—and freeze.
Because Milton and Korbin are already standing beside my truck.
Milton is leaning against the hood like a fucking model, arms crossed, boot kicking a pebble back and forth.
His hair is still damp from his shower, and he looks like he hasn’t been still all day.
Korbin is pretending he’s scrolling his phone, but he keeps glancing up in sharp little bursts.
His jaw is tight. His shoulders are too squared.
His whole body screams don’t ask, even though he’s clearly waiting for me too.
“What,” I say slowly, “are you two doing?”
Milton shrugs like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Coming.”
Korbin grunts without looking up. “Making sure things don’t go to shit.”
I raise a brow. “Backup duty?”
“Exactly,” Milton says brightly, a little too brightly. “Moral support.”
“Emotional stability,” Korbin adds flatly.
I snort. “Neither of you has emotional stability.”
“Then she needs us even more,” Milton fires back, smirking.
But the truth is written all over them; the restless set of Milton’s shoulders, the way Korbin keeps pretending to focus on his phone, the sharp, protective look they only get when they actually give a damn.
And the wildest part?
I’m not jealous.
I’m proud.
Proud that they care. Proud that she’s gotten under their skin. Proud that this weird, fragile thing between the four of us is starting to take shape.
The evening light is soft and peach-gold by the time we pull up to her house. The porch light is on even though it’s not dark yet, spilling warm yellow across the front steps. Before I can get my seat belt off, Milton is already reaching for the door.
“Slow down,” I warn him. “You’ll scare her.”
“She’s probably already scared,” Korbin mutters. “The shit she’s dealt with because of the stupid paparazzi…”
My jaw clenches. Because he’s right. I saw the posts. The comments tearing her apart. Her brother isn’t helping. Then the rookie harassing her at work. I know her well enough now to know she tries to fight alone when she’s hurting.
Not tonight.
We walk to her porch, not intentionally in formation, but somehow in sync anyway. Milton a step behind on my left. Korbin on my right, shoulders squared and watchful. And me in front.
I ring the doorbell.
The door opens after a moment, and…fuck.
She looks like she’s been holding herself together by sheer force all day.
Her hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder. Her eyes are swollen, faint red rings that tell me she cried, alone, somewhere where no one could see. Her Kraken hoodie is too big on her, soft and worn, like she pulled it on for comfort.
She looks tired. Fragile.
Brave.
“Hey,” I say gently, slow enough that she can catch my mouth.
Her gaze drifts over me first, then to Milton, then to Korbin. Something in her shoulders loosens. An unconscious exhale. Like she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until now.
She signs hello, small but warm.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask.
She nods. Grabs her bag and slides a pair of shoes on that are sitting just inside the door. And steps outside, not behind me, not cautiously, but right into the space between us, like she’s already being folded into our orbit.
We close around her on instinct.
The four of us walk down the porch steps together.
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. She sits in the passenger seat. Milton and Korbin lean forward from the back, blatantly trying not to stare. She catches their attention in the rearview mirror, and her lips lift just a little.
Good. She deserves to smile.
I take us out of downtown, toward the tucked-away food truck park. String lights, heaters, wooden tables—quiet enough she won’t be overwhelmed.
She perks up when we pull in. A spark of curiosity lights her eyes.
I circle around the truck and open her door.
She takes my hand, her palm small and soft; cool against mine.
It hits me with the same force every time.
Something deep inside me settles. We walk toward the food trucks together.
Milton flanks her immediately on one side.
Korbin stays close just behind her shoulder.
No planning. Just instinct.
The four of us order tacos, loaded fries, fried mac bites, and grab a picnic table under one of the heat lamps. She sits between me and Milton. Korbin sits across from us, arms crossed like he’s guarding something.
I try a few signs.
How. You. Today. Good?
Her gaze sharpens, attention snapping to my hands instead of my face. She studies the movement, the flow, the confidence that wasn’t there before. Then she smiles, soft and proud, and gently adjusts my hand for today, her fingers sliding over my knuckles, slow and warm.
It’s the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re better,” she says quietly.
“Graduated Level One last week,” I tell her, a little proud of myself. “Started Level Two yesterday.”
Even Korbin’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. She leans toward him now and then, taps her phone, types a question, and shows him the screen. Korbin reads it, answers with a few short words, and every time, his expression softens, not much, but enough.
Something is cracking open in him. Something real. I can see it like light trying to escape slivers of darkness.
She steals food from all of us—my taco, Milton’s fries, Korbin’s last mac bite.
“Seriously?” Korbin mutters.
She signs thank you directly at him.
He looks away too fast.
We share dessert—one sundae “because she’s not hungry”—and then she eats half of it.
At one point she taps my wrist to offer me a spoonful, and I swear my heart melts into the damn plastic cup. Milton types dramatically:
Milton: Get a room.
She elbows him. He grins like an idiot.
The wind catches our empty paper cup, and Korbin snatches it mid-air without thinking. She signs thank you again—slow, soft, eyes on him.
His jaw clenches and his throat bobs.
Another shift.
The night feels warm and full and new—like something is forming between all of us, quiet and steady, like a pulse syncing.
When we finally pack up, none of us wants to leave.
But the sky is dark, and the families with kids have gone.
We walk back to the truck. This time, she slides into the middle of the bench seat between Milton and me.
Korbin sits behind us, leaning forward enough that his knee brushes the back of her seat.
She seems more relaxed than she has been all evening. Her shoulders are loose. Her breathing deeper.
When we reach her porch, she hesitates before unlocking the door. I catch her hand lightly. She turns. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her eyes soft with something that feels dangerously close to hope.
I sign, You look beautiful tonight.
It’s clumsy. A little crooked. But she gets it. She blushes—and rises onto her toes to kiss me. Soft. Sweet. Lingering.
Her hand curls into my shirt. My hand finds her waist. The world narrows to her lips and her breath and the quiet exhale she gives when I kiss her back.
Beside us, Milton looks away discreetly with a half-smile.
Korbin’s jaw tightens with something like frustration, something like hunger, something like God help me, I want her too.
I’m about to ask if she wants us to walk her inside when the front door bursts open. Benton explodes out of the house like a goddamn storm. His face is twisted with fury. His hands fly in jagged, violent signs. His voice rises even though she can’t hear it.
“You just don’t learn. Are you out of your mind? You embarrassed me! You humiliated the family and now you are going out with—THEM!”
Bayleigh flinches as though every word is a slap. Her shoulders sag, and instantly her eyes fill with tears.
Before I can move, Milton steps in front of her, body shielding hers completely, posture sharp and protective. Korbin moves next, deadly quiet, jaw locked, stance wide like he’s ready to break someone. I step in front of Benton, blocking his view of her entirely. My hands move before I can think:
ENOUGH!
Benton stands there, jaw clenched, hands poised ready to sign. Bayleigh's tears fall silently. Milton cups her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
“No,” he mouths. “You don’t deserve this.”
Then her mother appears behind Benton, scolding him with signs so sharp even Korbin winces. Bayleigh steps forward, shaking and signing so rapidly, I can’t keep up, but her mom translates for us.
I’m done. I’m not staying here tonight. You’re being an ass. I’m leaving.
Her mom looks heartbroken as she continues to scold her son, reminding him that Bayleigh's a grown woman who can make her own choices.
Benton freezes. His face reddens, and he storms back inside the doorway like a child who just got disciplined.
Bayleigh trembles, then she steps forward, not waiting for permission. She walks off the porch—straight toward us.
I speak first. “You can come with us.”
Milton nods without hesitation. “We’ve got you.”
Korbin mutters, low and fierce, “You’re safer with us, anyway.”
We close in around her instinctively, one on each side, one behind, forming a loose circle as we guide her back to the truck.
Benton runs out of the house and shouts after her, as if he’s forgotten she can’t hear him.
She doesn’t look back at the house, not once. Not even when she slides into the seat between Milton and me, letting out a shaky breath that sounds like surrender and relief fused together.
The drive home feels like the first page of something entirely new. She leans against my shoulder. Milton rests a warm, steady hand on her knee. Korbin watches her in the mirror like he’s memorizing the shape of her existence.
And for the first time, it feels real.
Not a rivalry. Not a mistake. Not a secret. Not a scandal. A pack. Beginning. Growing. Forming around her.
And she has no idea how far we’ll go to protect this.
To protect her.
To protect what’s ours.