Chapter 29 #2
I didn't turn on the radio. Didn't call anyone. Didn't second-guess. Just drove with white knuckles and a pulse that wouldn't calm. My vision swam. Tears kept falling—hot, silent, relentless. I swiped at them with the back of my hand. The sleeve came away dark with mascara.
I couldn't stop. Didn't want to.
For the first time in three months, I wasn't driving toward obligation.
Not toward my father's hospital bed or the bookstore's crumbling foundation or the weight of debts I hadn't earned.
I was driving toward something I wanted.
Someone.
Gideon.
The realization settled bone-deep. Terrifying. Inevitable. True.
I wanted him. Not the contract. Not the safety net stretched beneath my collapsing life. Not even the pleasure that left me trembling and ashamed in equal measure.
I wanted the man who held me through nightmares.
Who asked about my mother's favorite books like the answer contained secrets.
Who fed me when I refused to care for myself.
Who touched me with hands capable of violence but chose gentleness instead.
Who broke bones protecting me from wolves.
Who let me go because my safety mattered more than his need.
My chest ached.
Sharp. Clean. Undeniable.
I needed him. Not because I was trapped or desperate or running out of options. But because somewhere between cruelty and tenderness, dominance and vulnerability, punishment and care—
I'd fallen.
Hard.
Completely.
The lakeside mansion rose ahead. Dark windows stared back like hollow eyes. No lights. No warmth. Just stone and glass and emptiness.
My stomach dropped.
What if he meant it? What if don't come back wasn't protection but rejection? What if I'd waited too long, pushed too hard, broken something irreparable?
I pulled into the driveway. Killed the engine. Sat trembling in sudden silence.
The house loomed. Shadows gathered in corners. Something felt wrong.
I climbed out slowly. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes. Cold air bit my face. The lake whispered behind me—low, endless, indifferent.
I walked toward the front door.
Stopped.
Stared.
The window beside the entrance—shattered. Glass glittered on the stone steps like broken stars. A chair leg jutted through jagged edges. Inside, darkness. Destruction. The aftermath of rage I recognized because I'd felt it building in him for weeks.
He'd destroyed something. Maybe everything.
My breath hitched.
I climbed the steps carefully. Avoided the glass. Stood on the threshold between wanting and having, fear and faith, the woman I'd been and the one I was choosing to become.
My hand lifted. Hovered over the door.
What if he didn't answer?
What if he did—and sent me away again?
What if I'd misread everything? What if his softness was strategy, his care was control, his protection was possession and nothing more?
I swallowed hard. Knocked anyway.
The sound echoed. Hollow. Final.
Silence stretched.
My throat closed. Tears burned fresh tracks down my cheeks.
I pressed my palm flat against the wood.
"Please still want me."
The words hung in cold air.
I waited.
Trembling.
Desperate.
Choosing him anyway.
The door swung open.
Not Gideon.
The man filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features softened by perpetual amusement.
Dark locks fell carelessly across his forehead.
His eyes sparked with mischief even now, even looking at my tear-stained face.
Wedding ring glinted on his left hand. I recognized him instantly from Gideon's photos, from glimpses at the arena.
Hades.
The team captain. Married. The only one Gideon seemed to actually trust.
His eyebrows lifted. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"Oh." He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. Voice rich with barely contained laughter: "Hmm. Gideon. Your…"
He let the sentence trail off deliberately. Weighted. Significant.
My cheeks burned.
His grin widened. "Well, whatever she is, she's here."
"The fuck are you talking about?" Gideon's voice cut through from somewhere deeper in the house. Rough. Raw. Wrecked in ways that made my chest ache.
Hades threw a lazy salute toward the interior. "I'll go." He stepped past me onto the porch, pausing just long enough to lean close. His voice dropped—conspiratorial, warm. "Be gentle with him, Belle."
Not a warning.
Permission.
He walked down the steps whistling softly, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered by the shattered glass crunching beneath his shoes. His car door slammed. Engine purred to life. Taillights disappeared into darkness.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Uneven. Getting closer.
My breath stopped.
Gideon appeared in the doorway.
He froze. Stared at me like I was a ghost. Like he'd conjured me from desperation and couldn't trust what his eyes showed him.
His hair stuck up in wild directions. His shirt hung open, bloodstained.
His right hand—swollen, wrapped in fresh bandages, fingers splinted wrong.
Dark circles hollowed his eyes. Stubble shadowed his jaw.
He looked like he'd been fighting something bigger than loan sharks.
Fighting himself.
Losing.
His voice came out hoarse, disbelieving, "Belle?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out except a broken sound—half sob, half his name.
His expression cracked. Something raw and desperate flooded his face. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"I told you—"
"I know." My voice shook. "I don't care."
His jaw worked. His good hand gripped the doorframe hard enough his knuckles went white. "Belle—"
"I came back," I whispered. "I chose to come back."
And then I reached for him.