Chapter 10
TEN
STELLA
I wake up to the kind of quiet that feels earned.
Not empty. Not lonely. Just… calm.
There’s warm light slipping through the curtains and the soft creak of the cabin settling around us like it’s exhaling. My body is pleasantly heavy, the way it gets when you’ve actually slept instead of spending the night spiraling over worst-case scenarios.
And Jack is here.
Not across the room. Not on the couch. Not on the floor like a noble, suffering statue.
Here—close enough that when I shift, I feel him shift too, like we’re tethered by something invisible and stubborn.
Last night… happened.
We didn’t just almost cross a line.
We stepped over it together and didn’t look back.
I keep my eyes on the ceiling for a second, trying to pretend I’m the same Stella Hart who thought a safe house meant “weird vacation, maybe some board games.”
My cheeks heat.
Because I can still feel his mouth on mine. The way his hands held me like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
I turn my head slightly.
Jack is on his back, one arm behind his head, eyes closed. He looks… dangerous even in sleep. Like the world can’t touch him unless he allows it.
I watch his throat move when he swallows—still asleep, still aware.
“You’re staring,” he rumbles, eyes still closed.
I jerk like I’ve been caught stealing. “I’m not.”
One eye opens, dark and amused. “You are.”
I huff. “I’m… assessing.”
His mouth twitches. “Assessing what.”
“How you manage to look like you could take down a cartel while asleep.”
Now both eyes open. His gaze slides over me—slow, lazy, absolutely not professional. The heat in it makes my stomach flip like I’m back in high school and someone cute just held my hand for the first time.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough.
“Morning,” I whisper, and it comes out softer than I intend.
Jack’s hand reaches out and curls around my hip, pulling me closer like it’s instinct. Like he’s staking a claim he’s too disciplined to say out loud.
My breath catches.
He leans in and kisses me—slow, unhurried, warm enough to melt the last of my nerves.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You okay?”
I blink. “You’re asking me if I’m okay after—”
“After everything,” he corrects quietly.
My throat tightens.
I nod once. “I’m okay.”
Jack studies me like he’s checking for cracks. Then his thumb brushes my cheekbone—gentle, possessive in a way that makes my chest feel full and hot at the same time.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I should move. I should get up. I should remember I’m a functioning adult who has a classroom full of tiny humans to teach.
Instead, I whisper, “You’re very… boyfriend-ish this morning.”
Jack’s gaze sharpens. “I’m not your boyfriend.”
My heart drops for half a second.
Then he adds, voice low, “But I’m also not letting you out of my sight.”
Okay.
That helps. Maybe too much.
I smile, trying to keep it light even as my pulse races. “So… that’s a yes to being possessive, but a no to labels.”
Jack’s mouth twitches. “Get dressed, Stella.”
I gasp dramatically. “You’re evading.”
He kisses my forehead—soft, like it’s a promise he doesn’t want to admit. “Dress. School.”
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling onto my back. “I have to be responsible.”
Jack slides out of bed, and I immediately regret having eyeballs. He’s in sweats, barefoot, hair mussed, body all hard lines and sleepy heat. He looks like a fantasy built to ruin women who have common sense.
He catches me staring again and lifts a brow.
I throw the blanket over my head like that will save me from myself.
“Coffee,” he says, voice amused.
“Yes,” I answer from under the blanket. “Immediately. And maybe a therapist.”
On the drive to the school, I talk because silence makes my brain too loud.
Jack lets me.
He watches the road, checks mirrors, takes the long way like he always does. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other close—like he’s ready to reach for me if I start unraveling.
I tell myself I’m not unraveling.
I’m just… wound tight.
“So,” I say, flipping open my planner in my lap. “I have this idea.”
Jack glances at me briefly. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous,” I say. “It’s good.”
His brow lifts. “Mm-hm.”
I ignore his skepticism and barrel ahead. “It’s a program to help kids at risk.”
Jack’s posture shifts slightly. “Explain.”
“It’s called Safe Steps,” I say, excitement rising. “We partner with the community center and local businesses. We do after-school tutoring, mentoring, snack packs for kids who don’t have enough at home, and we bring in guest speakers—good role models. We create a safe place.”
Jack’s gaze flicks to me again. “You’ve done this before?”
“I started it at my last school,” I say, and my voice warms. “It worked. Attendance improved. Behavior improved. Kids had somewhere to go. Somewhere… stable.”
Jack’s jaw tightens, but in the good way—like he respects it. “And you want to start it here.”
“Yes!” I say, thrilled he’s tracking. “We had funding last month. I saw it in the notes. It wasn’t huge, but enough to start small. Hanover said we’d talk about it this week.”
Jack’s eyes narrow slightly. “You trust Hanover?”
I make a face. “Of course.”
Jack huffs a quiet sound that might be a laugh.
I grin. “You don’t?”
“I don’t trust anyone when it comes to you,” he says.
My stomach flips.
I clear my throat and look back down at my planner like it’s suddenly fascinating. “Anyway, I’m excited. This could help Evan too.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It definitely could.”
We pull into the school lot. Jack parks where he can see the entrance, like always.
“You ready?” he asks.
“No,” I say immediately. “But yes.”
Jack’s gaze holds mine. “I’m here.”
I nod. “I know.”
And somehow… that’s enough to make me step out of the truck.
The morning is a blur of kids and crayons and Levi loudly informing the class that Mr. Sinclair is “a ninja bodyguard who can defeat a bear.”
Jack stays near—never inside the classroom unless he has to, but close enough that I can see him through the door window whenever my nerves spike.
The kids adore him.
They also have no boundaries.
“MR. SINCLAIR!” Levi yells at recess. “CAN YOU DO A BACKFLIP?”
Jack stares at him. “No.”
Levi looks personally offended. “WHY NOT?”
Jack’s gaze flicks to me, deadpan. “Because I’m not trying to die in front of your teacher.”
I clap a hand over my mouth to hide my laugh.
Evan watches from the edge of the group again—quiet, withdrawn, but not completely shut down. When I sit with him for a few minutes during independent reading, he whispers a full sentence about his favorite dinosaur, and I nearly cry.
By late morning, Hanover calls me to his office.
I straighten my blouse, smooth my ponytail, and remind myself I am a professional adult and not a woman who had sex with her bodyguard and then tried to pretend she can function normally.
Jack shadows me down the hall—two steps back, quiet and steady.
Hanover’s office smells like coffee and printer toner and polite disappointment.
He looks up from behind his desk, smiling like he’s about to tell me something wonderful.
“Stella,” he says. “Thanks for coming in. Have a seat.”
I sit.
Jack stays near the door, posture relaxed but eyes alert. Hanover’s gaze flicks to him, then back to me like he’s trying not to acknowledge the tall security man presence in his life.
“So,” Hanover begins, folding his hands. “I looked into your Safe Steps proposal.”
My heart lifts. “Yes?”
He gives me a tight smile. “We don’t have funding for it right now.”
The words land like a cold slap.
I blink. “But— I thought there was—”
“Budget constraints,” he says smoothly. “We have to prioritize core instruction.”
My throat tightens. “It’s tutoring. It’s mentoring. It supports core instruction.”
Hanover’s smile doesn’t change. “I understand. And I appreciate your passion. But at this time, there’s just no money.”
I stare at him, trying to keep my face neutral.
Because I know there was money.
I saw it.
Last month, in the staff notes. It wasn’t imaginary. It wasn’t a rumor. It was written down. A small line item. A community grant. Something.
Hanover keeps talking—about future opportunities, about maybe revisiting next semester—but my mind is suddenly loud.
What happened to the money?
I nod politely. I thank him. I leave without pushing, because pushing would turn my face red and my voice sharp, and I’m trying very hard not to crumble in front of the man who controls my classroom budget.
In the hallway, Jack falls into step beside me.
He doesn’t ask questions until we’re far enough away that no one can overhear.
“What wrong?” he murmurs.
I swallow hard. “He said there’s no funding.”
Jack’s gaze sharpens. “And you believe him?”
I hesitate.
Then I shake my head once. “I knew there was funding last month.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. “You’re sure.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m not making it up.”
Jack nods, slow. “Then the question is: where did it go?”
A chill slides down my spine.
I try to laugh it off—because that’s what I do—but it comes out thin. “Maybe it got redirected.”
“Maybe,” Jack agrees, voice calm. “Or maybe someone redirected it on purpose.”
My stomach knots. And suddenly Safe Steps doesn’t feel like a cute teacher project.
It feels like a thread.
To me.
I glance up at Jack. “Do you think it’s worth looking into?”
His eyes hold mine—steady, intense. “Yes.”
The certainty in his voice makes my chest tighten.
“Okay,” I whisper.
And with Jack beside me, “okay” feels like a plan, not a prayer.
After school, we head back to the safe house.
The kids wave. Levi yells, “BYE MR. SINCLAIR! DON’T GET ATTACKED BY BEARS!” and Jack actually lifts a hand in a small wave, which makes my heart melt into a puddle.
In the truck, I finally let myself exhale. I stare out the window as fields roll by, golden and quiet.
Jack breaks the silence. “Tell me everything you remember about the funding.”
I blink. “You want details.”
“I want facts,” he says. “Dates. Amounts. Who mentioned it. Who had access.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
I pull up the staff email thread on my phone, scrolling. “It was in the notes from September. Hanover said we’d received a community grant… small. Enough for snack packs and two hours of tutoring twice a week. She even asked for volunteers.”
Jack’s jaw tightens. “And now it’s gone.”
I nod. “Gone.”
Jack’s voice is low. “Grayson’s going to want to hear this.”
The mention of his boss makes me tense again. “Is it… bad?”
“It’s suspicious,” Jack corrects. “And right now we treat suspicious like dangerous until proven otherwise.”
I stare down at my phone, stomach churning.
Then Jack reaches over and covers my hand with his—warm, steady, grounding.
“You did good today,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens. “I feel like I didn’t. I couldn’t even fight for my program.”
“You didn’t fight because you were smart,” he says. “You don’t tip your hand until you know what you’re dealing with.”
I glance up at him, surprised.
Jack’s gaze stays on the road. “Also, you kept showing up for your kids. That matters.”
My eyes sting.
I squeeze his hand once, then let it go before I cry in the truck like a cartoon.
Back at the cabin, the tension finally slips. Not the fear. Not the mystery. But the immediate “hold it together” pressure.
Jack checks locks and windows out of habit. I kick off my shoes and curl up on the couch with a blanket, laptop on my thighs, pretending I’m going to revise tomorrow’s lesson plan.
Jack walks into the living room and stops in front of me.
“What?” I ask, trying to sound normal.
He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me—eyes dark, hungry, like he’s been holding back all day.
My pulse jumps.
“Jack,” I whisper.
He steps closer. “You were brave today.”
My breath catches. “I was terrified.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “You did it anyway.”
The praise hits somewhere deep—somewhere tender—and suddenly I’m not thinking about grants or principals or zip ties.
I’m thinking about him.
About last night.
About the way I wanted him all day and had to pretend I didn’t.
Jack reaches down, curls his hand around my ankle, and gently pulls until my legs slide off the couch and my body shifts closer to the edge.
I gasp softly. “What are you doing?”
His voice is rough. “Coming closer.”
My cheeks heat.
He climbs onto the couch beside me, his body crowding mine just enough to make my skin buzz. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone in that same steady, possessive way.
Then he kisses me.
Slow at first—like he’s tasting, like he’s savoring, like he spent the whole day thinking about this too. My hands grip his shirt and pull him in, and the kiss deepens until it’s no longer gentle.
It’s heat.
It’s need.
It’s the ache that’s been sitting under my ribs since the moment Hanover said “no funding” and my world felt out of control.
Jack’s mouth moves against mine like a promise.
His hand slides into my hair, holding the back of my head, keeping me right where he wants me.
My body melts into him.
I make a soft sound that I don’t mean to make, and Jack groans like it costs him restraint. He breaks the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath rough.
I nod, barely breathing. “I’m more than okay.”
His mouth brushes mine again—one quick, hungry kiss—then another. And another.
My hands slide over his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the strength, the steadiness. “Jack,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
“I hate that this is happening,” I admit, voice shaky. “The fear. The unknown. The… why.”
Jack’s mouth pauses at my jaw. His voice turns low and fierce. “We’ll find out.”
My throat tightens. “Promise?”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then looks at me—eyes dark, unwavering. “Promise.”
And for the first time since this started, I believe it.
Because Jack isn’t just watching my back.
He’s holding me together. And when he kisses me again—slow, deep, heated—I let myself forget the missing money and the quiet boy and the questions for just a moment…
and I cling to the one thing that feels certain.
Him.