9. Plausible Deniability
Chapter nine
Plausible Deniability
Melina
I need distance. My whole body is still buzzing from the kiss—swollen lips, overheated skin, heart racing.
I retreat to the kitchen without a plan, searching for a distraction. A glass of water. Something to anchor me. I brace against the counter like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
I drink, hoping to steady myself. No use. He lingers everywhere—his mouth on mine, the heat of him, the rough way he said my name.
Then I hear his footsteps behind me. The scrape of a chair against tile as he pulls it out and sits. He doesn’t close the gap. He waits, giving me space.
When he talks, it’s quiet. “Talk to me.”
I exhale sharply, looking at the sink. “About what?”
“You know what,” he says. “You ran in here for a reason.”
A humorless laugh slips out. “I needed distance.”
“From me?”
I turn slowly. He’s watching me, bracing for impact.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes shift, and for the first time, I see pain buried there. “Why?”
“Because you make me feel things. Things I haven’t felt for a long while.”
A shadow crosses his face, but he doesn’t push.
So I keep going. “I’ve lived so much of my life in survival mode, I don’t trust myself to pick someone who won’t—” My voice breaks.
His jaw flexes. “Someone who won’t hurt you?”
I nod, my gaze falling to the floor. Stillness stretches, and when he speaks again, his words are softer but edged with steel.
“Who hurt you, Melina?”
I shut my eyes, trying to force the memories away. But with Matt here, saying it feels safer than swallowing the silence.
“Darren.” The name burns as it leaves my mouth. “Harper and Declan’s dad.”
He freezes, his body rigid, tension stretched taut like a rubber band about to snap. His fists ball at his sides, bracing for a battle already lost.
“He wasn’t a husband or a father. He was a monster. A monster that I let him into our lives.”
I can’t tell him everything. Not yet. The fact that I’m considering it at all surprises me. I’ve never told anyone. Not Lee. Not Nicole. Not even my parents.
I take a deep breath, desperately trying to hold myself together. “It’s in the past.”
His eyes meet mine, blazing with fury. “Is it?”
I nod. “He’s in prison. Drugs.”
For now.
The thought sends a chill through my bones. I refuse to think about what will happen when he gets out. If I go there, I’ll fall apart.
“I wish I’d known you then,” he says.
I blink. “Why?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I would’ve ensured that bastard never laid a hand on you.”
Matt lets the quiet linger for a beat, then he asks, "What about Spencer’s dad?"
“He walked away and never looked back,” I admit, my voice low. “He hasn’t seen Spencer in months.”
I swallow hard, the truth settling heavy in my chest. Saying it out loud makes the guilt harder to ignore.
“He was cruel, especially to Harper and Declan. Not physically abusive, but the kind of man who always made you feel small. Worthless. Sometimes I hate myself for not having the courage to walk away first.”
Matt’s entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders drop, jaw loosens, and something raw flickers across his expression as he absorbs the weight of all I’ve lived through.
“I never talk about this,” I whisper. “With anyone.”
He nods and rises, the air shifting as he steps closer. Hesitant, controlled, giving me space to stop him if I need to. When he reaches me, his hands lift to my face, warm and firm. His thumbs skim lightly across my skin. Memorizing me.
"None of that was your fault, Melina," he says quietly. "Not then. Not ever."
His words settle something in me I didn’t realize I was still carrying. There’s no pity in them—just truth.
“Men like that break others because they’re weak. They project their failures and insecurities onto those closest to them. I will never let anyone hurt you again. Do you hear me?”
My breath shudders. I lean into his touch, grounding myself, my fingers resting softly against his chest. I barely know this man, yet somehow, I feel the honesty in every word.
I exhale, forcing some of the weight out with it. “Okay,” I murmur. “Enough heavy for one night.”
“Understood.”
I wet my lips, nerves sparking. “Can I ask you a question?”
His gaze holds steady. “Of course.”
“You said you’ve never been married. Ever come close?”
His hands fall from my face. He sighs, eyes darting away briefly. The hesitation in him is palpable, the fear that what he’s about to admit will send me running for the hills.
“Melina…” His voice dips low, rough. “I’ve never even been in a serious relationship.”
I blink. “What?”
How is that possible?
He breathes out through his nose, hand drumming against the counter. “I enlisted right out of high school. Never really had the chance. Never stayed in the same place long enough.”
I study him. “And now?”
“Things are different now. But a husband… a father… that’s not something I ever envisioned for myself.”
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “I don’t think there’s much you wouldn’t be good at.”
He huffs a laugh. “You’d be surprised.”
“Like what?”
He pauses, then shrugs. “Letting people in.”
This isn’t news to me, but hearing him say it aloud hits differently. He’s built a fortress around his heart, walls too tall for anyone to climb. And some part of me knows—if he can’t be vulnerable with me, we’ll never have the intimacy I crave.
Before I can respond, he shakes his head, dismissing it. “Forget it.”
No. Not this time. “Matty—”
“People leave, Melina. One way or another. Doesn’t matter if they walk away or get taken—you end up alone just the same.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I say softly. “But if you never let anyone in, you’re already alone. I think I’d rather love someone and lose them than never know love at all.”
Something shifts in his expression, a faint crack in the armor. It’s subtle, but it’s there—he’s turning my words over, wanting to believe in them.
I reach for him, threading my fingers between his. He hesitates for a breath, then his hand tightens around mine—firm, needing, as if holding on is the only thing keeping him steady.
I trace my thumb over his knuckle, the rough skin grounding me. Then, quietly, unexpectedly, he says—
“My dad was a mean drunk. He left when my mom got pregnant with the twins. Things were better after that, but by then the damage was done.”
Suddenly, his fear of becoming a father makes a lot more sense. It’s not much. A sliver of truth. But from Matt, who keeps everything under lock and key, it feels like a rare glimpse behind the walls.
“How old were you?”
He isn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze drifts to some invisible point beyond the room. “Eight.”
My mind floods with images of a sad little boy, big brown eyes, battered and bruised by the very person who was supposed to protect him. The ache in my chest is unbearable, so I do the only thing I can—I step into him, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my lips to his cheek.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I whisper.
He tenses at first, then exhales and sinks into me, his hands circling my waist. We hold on, letting the weight of everything we just shared settle between us—until my cell buzzes on the counter, shattering the moment.
“Sorry,” I mutter, grabbing my phone, fully expecting a text from one of the kids. But when I glance at the screen, my vision stutters.
Funny how easy it is to break something fragile. Makes you think, doesn’t it?
My heart slams against my ribs, the words blurring as tears sting my vision. I turn away, not wanting Matt to see me like this—vulnerable and weak.
“Melina.” His voice cuts through the static, steady and controlled, a fortress in the storm. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” My speech falters.
“You’re lying.”
The tears spill over. I can’t stop them. He’s behind me now, his hand warm on my shoulder, urging me to face him.
“Look at me.”
I shake my head.
“Please.”
When I don’t move, he turns me gently. His eyes lock on mine, taking in the wet tracks down my cheeks. His jaw works, but his touch stays soft.
He takes the phone from me, reads the message, and stills. Fury ignites in his gaze, sharp and unflinching. Then, he tosses it back onto the counter and pulls me into his arms.
That’s when I break. A sob tears out of me, raw and helpless. My fists clutch at his shirt as my body shakes.
“Why is this happening to me?”
“I don’t know, Mel.” His voice is low and steady against my hair, a vow carved from stone. “But he won’t touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”
I collapse into him, his arms tightening around me—immovable, like nothing could pull me free. He doesn’t say it to comfort me or to make me feel safe. He says it because he means it. And somehow, I believe him.
His hand traces slow, even strokes along my back until the panic dulls and my breath steadies. Only then does he ease away.
“I need to talk to Steele.” He dials, then puts it on speaker. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
Steele doesn’t miss a beat. “I was about to call you. Traced those blocked numbers—it’s a burner, no registered name. I have a backdoor trace running. Lit up with that text she just received—last ping an hour ago, gas station off 12th. Two miles from you.”
“Same burner for all three?”
“Yes.”
“Do I even want to know how you got this?”
“Probably not.”
“Plausible deniability, then.”
“The phone’s gone dark again,” he states. “Only powering up long enough to play games.”
A cold weight settles over me. He’s close. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Steele keeps going. “There’s more. I backtracked the burner’s IMEI to the point of sale. It was bought with the same stolen credit card used to rent that car three weeks ago.”
It’s him. No question now.
“Were you able to look into that rental company?” Matt’s tone is calm, measured.
“Some hole-in-the-wall place with no real security,” he replies. “Owner refused to cooperate, so I had to… apply some pressure.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Means I threatened to report his shady business practices if he didn’t hand over his surveillance tapes.”
Matt’s lips curl, just slightly. “Atta boy.”
“The footage is grainy as hell,” Steele continues. “But I sent it to an old contact who specializes in image enhancement. Could take a bit, but he’ll clean it up.”
Matt nods. “Send it to me, anyway.”
“Already did. We need to get ahead of this asshole. Meet me at the precinct tomorrow—I’ll give them everything I’ve got and make sure they treat this as a legitimate threat.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “If they don’t, we’ll handle it ourselves.”
Steele snorts. “Obviously.”
The two of them are so casually lethal about it, I almost laugh. Almost. But the reality is, we now have irrefutable proof that someone is hunting me.
Steele’s voice softens a fraction. “We’re going to get this motherfucker, Melina.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Steele.”
As soon as Matt ends the call, the atmosphere thickens. I rub my arms, feeling that same cold prickling sensation like someone’s watching me. When I look up, he says, “I’m staying the night.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Matt, I-I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I can sleep on the couch, but I won’t leave you here alone.” Then he adds, “I promise I’ll behave.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”
His shoulders ease, just enough. “You won’t be.”