Chapter 10
RAFE
The door slams shut behind us and the noise drops instantly—shouts, scraping chairs, raised voices collapsing into a dull, distant roar like we’ve been shoved underwater.
We’re in a small space just off the ballroom. Beige walls. A folding table shoved against one side. Bottled water stacked in a crate. No windows. The space is clearly designed for logistics, not trauma.
Vinny is already moving, hand pressed to his earpiece, voice low and clipped as he coordinates with venue security. Seth hovers close, jaw clenched, eyes still sharp with adrenaline. Two security guards take positions at the door without being asked.
Everything snaps into place with terrifying efficiency, but I barely register any of it. All I see is Ollie.
He’s standing a few feet away, shoulders squared, posture deceptively calm. His suit jacket is damp on one side from the drink that got thrown. There’s a faint smear on his cheekbone where liquid dried unevenly.
And he’s alive.
I cross the room in three strides and grab his arms. “Hey,” I say, too hard, too fast. “Hey—are you hurt?”
He blinks at me like he’s coming back from somewhere far away. “No,” he says quickly. “I’m fine. I’m—”
I scan him anyway. His face. His hands. His chest. I don’t care who’s watching. “I saw the knife,” I snap, heart still hammering like it’s trying to escape my rib cage. “I saw where she was aiming.”
His mouth opens, then closes. His throat works. “I know.”
My stomach twists violently. For one frozen second back there—just one—I was certain this was it. That I was about to watch something irreversible happen because of me. Because of who I am. Because of the life I chose that put a target on people I love.
I rake a hand through my hair, breathing hard. “Jesus Christ.”
Ollie’s hands come up, resting lightly on my forearms. It’s grounding and intentional.
“I’m okay,” he says again, quieter this time. “I promise.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
Behind us, the door cracks open and another security guard slips inside. He murmurs to Vinny, who nods once, then turns toward us.
“Room’s secure,” he says. “Police are on their way. We’ll move you once they’re ready.”
I swallow. “She—”
“In custody,” Vinny says. “Disarmed. No one else involved.”
A fraction of the pressure eases in my chest, but it doesn’t go away.
Miles moves away from the corner of the room, phone still pressed to his ear. His expression is the same one he wears when plans derail and someone needs to quietly reroute the entire night without panic.
“Yeah,” he says. “No injuries. Knife, yes. Contained. Police are handling it.”
He listens, eyes tracking the room on instinct. His gaze flicks—quick, sharp—to me, then to Ollie, then back to the wall.
“No,” he adds evenly. “Nothing else.”
There’s a beat. Another.
“Yeah. I’ll call you back once we’re clear.”
He ends the call and pockets his phone. “Rachael’s looped in,” he says. “She’s drafting statements in case this leaks.”
I nod, thinking back to his words. I’m pretty sure nothing else means exactly what I think it does.
He didn’t say Oliver Marshall kissed me in a room full of people. Didn’t say I kissed him back. Didn’t say the world almost tilted off its axis.
Miles’s gaze meets mine again, steady and knowing. “You good?”
I nod once more.
Before he can press, the door opens again and two police officers step inside, expressions professional and neutral. One of them is already holding a notepad.
“Mr. Ortiz?” the taller one asks.
“That’s me.”
“And Mr. Marshall.”
Ollie straightens beside me. “Yes.”
They explain the process—statements, identification, timeline. Routine words for a not-routine moment. They separate us to opposite sides of the room. I hate that.
I answer questions with clipped precision, irritation simmering under my skin. Where was I standing? Did I know the woman? Had I interacted with her before? Did I recognize her from prior events?
“No. No. No.”
I keep my answers tight because if I loosen my grip even a little, the image of that blade flashing toward Ollie’s chest is going to take me out at the knees. Across the small room, I can see Ollie answering his own questions. He looks composed, calm. Almost eerily so.
Anyone else would think he’s fine.
I know better.
His hands are trembling. Barely, but I catch it when he reaches for a bottle of water and steadies it with both palms. I catch the way he takes a slow breath between answers like he’s counting them.
He’s holding himself together because that’s what he’s always done.
The officer asks if I want to press charges.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Ollie’s head snaps up.
“Rafe—”
“No,” I cut in, voice sharp. “Absolutely yes.”
The officer nods, jotting something down.
Ollie doesn’t argue, but his jaw tenses. I can feel the tension radiating off him even from across the room.
Good. Let him be annoyed. I don’t care.
My sister chooses that moment to barrel into the room, Luis right behind her. Her eyes are wide, face pale. Marco is a step behind him.
“Rafe,” she says, crossing to me and wrapping me in a hug so tight it almost knocks the air out of my lungs. “What the fuck?”
I hold her back just as fiercely. My hands are shaking now that I’m not pretending they aren’t.
She pulls back, grips my shoulders, eyes scanning my face. “You with me?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say. “We’re fine.”
Her gaze flicks past me. Then she freezes. Her mouth opens slightly before she leans in close, voice barely above a whisper. “Were you just kissing Ollie Marshall?”
I clamp my mouth shut. Every instinct screams deny. Deflect. Lie. Instead, I take a breath and say the only thing I can manage. “Later.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Later?”
“Later,” I repeat. Because my husband kissed me, and he did it in front of everyone. Because I kissed him back, and my entire internal framework is currently on fire.
Rosa stares at me for a long beat, then exhales slowly. “Okay,” she says. “Later.” She squeezes my arm once and turns toward Ollie.
Marco is already there, pulling Ollie into a hug that’s all solidity and care. Lindy joins a second later, arms wrapping around Ollie’s shoulders, murmuring something I can’t hear but can guess at.
Ollie leans into it for half a second longer than strictly necessary. That does something sharp and painful to my chest.
The officers finish up, exchange a few more words with venue security, then step out to handle things on their end. The room exhales collectively.
People start peeling off in ones and twos.
Eli comes in briefly, face drawn, eyes still too bright. He squeezes my shoulder, then Ollie’s. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “About all of this.”
“Not your fault,” Ollie says immediately.
Eli nods, jaw locked. “I’m heading out with my family.”
“Go,” I tell him. “We’re good.”
Drew leaves soon after with his partner, both of them subdued. Seth lingers until Vinny gives him a look that says I’ve got this, and then he heads out with the rest of the band.
The room empties until it’s just me, Ollie, Vinny, Miles, Rosa, Luis, Marco, and Lindy. There’s also a couple of people I don’t know, who’d arrived with Ollie.
Miles glances at his watch. “We should move before anyone outside gets ideas.”
Vinny nods. “Back exit’s clear. For now.”
I look at Ollie. He looks back at me, eyes wide, raw, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. He’s freaking out. Fuck, so am I. But he looks like he’s about three seconds from bolting if I don’t anchor him to something.
I make the decision before I can talk myself out of it. “Come back to mine,” I say.
The words hang there for barely a beat. Ollie doesn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
Okay.
Rosa’s eyebrows go up again, but she keeps her mouth shut. Marco gives Ollie another quick hug. Lindy squeezes his hand.
Ollie murmurs goodbyes, thanks everyone for coming, apologizes unnecessarily. He hugs Marco’s wife—Carol, I realize belatedly—and nods politely at a guy I don’t know, who I assume must be Lindy’s husband.
Miles steps in front of me before I follow. He lowers his voice. “Be careful.”
“With him?” I ask.
“With yourself,” he says quietly. Then he pulls me into a hug. “I love you.”
“I know,” I say, voice rough.
We move as a unit through the back corridor, Vinny in front, Ollie and me in the middle.
There’s a crowd outside—smaller than the front, but still there. Phones, whispers, a ripple of recognition.
Ollie’s hand slides to the small of my back. It’s instinctive. Protective. Intimate.
Public.
My breath catches so hard I almost stumble.
Twelve years. Twelve fucking years, and he’s never touched me this way in public. I can feel the heat of his palm through my jacket, steady and sure.
What the fuck does this mean?
We reach the car. Vinny opens the door, ushering us inside before anyone can get too close.
The door shuts. The world goes quiet again, and Ollie and I sit side by side in the back seat, close enough that our knees almost touch.
Neither of us speaks as the tension hums between us, electric and unbearable. I stare straight ahead, heart pounding, mind racing, because everything just changed, and I have no idea what comes next.