Chapter 18 Ridge #2
She steps into the night, her jacket pulled close, shoulders angled inward like she’s bracing against more than the cold. Her hair spills forward, catching the blue light. She’s distracted by something on her phone, not fully paying attention to where she’s walking.
She isn’t vulnerable, necessarily, but she’s exposed.
I lean forward, my pulse ticking up when I see a man with a hoodie pulled over his head walk up behind her. At first, I convince myself he’s just another guy leaving the bar.
But then I can see he is making a beeline for her. He’s moving faster, and she’s completely oblivious.
That’s enough.
I’m out of the car before I consciously decide to move, feet hitting the pavement hard as I close the distance.
“Hey,” I shout.
The man turns. He isn’t startled or defensive. Just surprised.
I register that too late.
My fist connects with his jaw before the thought finishes forming. The impact sends him down hard, his body hitting the pavement with a wet crack. He groans, hands flying to his face.
Coco spins toward me, eyes wide. “What the fuck, Ridge?”
Adrenaline burns through me, sharp and unforgiving. “No one puts a hand on you,” I say, voice low. “Not ever.”
“Jesus Iggyt, Ridge,” she says, eyes flashing. “Have you lost your mind? What did you think you were doing?”
“I thought you were in danger,” I say. I don’t soften it.
Her voice hardens. “The only danger in my life is you. Goddammit.”
The man groans again, pushing himself upright. Coco drops to her knees beside him, hands steady on his shoulders.
“Iggy, are you okay?” Her tone shifts instantly. She consoles the man on the ground, lifting his head onto her thighs as he holds his jaw.
Iggy.
Something cold drops through my stomach.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Yes, Ridge,” she snaps. “That’s Iggy, my friend. He was messing around trying to scare me, and you just laid him the fuck out.”
Iggy blinks up at me, jaw already swelling. “Nice to meet you,” he mutters.
I don’t answer.
My hands unclench slowly. The surge drains out of me, leaving something heavier behind. Heat crawls up my neck. I acted without confirming the threat. Again.
I step back.
I don’t trust myself to say anything that won’t make this worse. I turn and walk toward the car.
Behind me, Coco helps Iggy to his feet.
“No worries,” he says lightly, like he’s trying to smooth it over. “I’ll go clean up. See you later.”
He scurries away and turns a corner. The street goes quiet again.
“Ridge!”
I keep walking.
My chest heaves as I reach the car. Guilt presses down hard and familiarly. Overreaction, patterned behavior, acting first, sorting it out later.
I’m not some testosterone ogre, so why did I just do that? The clink of her heels on the street closes in fast. She grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Wait,” she says. “Just—wait.”
I look down at her hand, then up. Her eyes have softened, searching instead of cutting.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “For snapping. I’ve been on edge all day. Don’t leave like this.”
The words hit deeper than the accusation did.
I pull my arm free anyway. “It’s not a good idea, Coco.”
“Why not?” She steps closer. “You showed up. You clearly care. So talk to me. Iggy is fine.”
“I was driving by,” I lie. The deception sticks in my throat. “Saw him grab you and thought you were in trouble. That’s it. You’re fine. Your friend looks like he will be fine. You should go home.”
Her hand drops. Hurt flashes across her face before she folds her arms tight.
“I don’t need someone else controlling my life,” she says. “But thank you very much.”
I look away. Everything about this is wrong. Coming here. Letting myself get that close. Losing control in public.
“Go home, Coco,” I say, already turning away.
“Ridge!”
I don’t stop.
Each step forward tightens the mess in my head. I took what should have been a silent moment and turned it into a scene. Another reminder that proximity makes me reckless.
If I turn around, I’ll say something I shouldn’t. Or worse, I’ll stay.
I reach the car and get in, slamming the door harder than necessary. My hands grip the wheel, knuckles whitening as the engine hums to life.
I sit there for a few moments to calm myself, staring at the dashboard. I need to let this go.
But for some goddamned reason, I can’t.
Before the thought finishes forming, I’m opening the door again. My boots hit the pavement as I lean against the window frame.
“Coco,” I call. “Stop.”
Her shoulders stay tight as she keeps walking, heels striking the pavement with purpose. Arms crossed. Head down. A clear, deliberate choice not to engage.
I stand there for a second longer, watching her put distance between us, wondering if this is a sign we should both let it go.
Then I swear under my breath and get back in the car.
I don’t follow closely or crowd her, but I ease the car forward at a crawl, matching her pace from the street. Every instinct I have tells me to drive away. Every other instinct tells me that letting her walk alone right now is worse.
She doesn’t look at me when I pull alongside her. She doesn’t slow down or even acknowledge the car at all.
Fine.
She clicks her fob, and the yellow parking lights on her car blink twice, followed by the click of her lock disengaging. She’s already opening her door when I cut my engine, waiting for her to get in and drive away.
For half a second, I think this is it. But then she leans back against her car, with her arms crossed tight across her chest, and looks at me with a shit-eating grin.
“You done glaring at me,” I say, “or are you going to say something?”
“I’m deciding whether to tell you to fuck off again,” she says.
“Fair.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a pen. Then my wallet. I flip it open and tear a receipt free. The movement is rougher than it needs to be.
I write the number quickly and step back just enough to keep space between us.
“This isn’t an invitation,” I say, holding it out. “And it’s not a promise.”
She eyes the scrap of paper. “Then what is it?”
“If you ever feel unsafe,” I say. “You call. You don’t hesitate. I don’t care what time it is.”
Her expression shifts. Not soft. Not angry. Something quieter.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then nothing changes,” I say. “You live your life. I stay out of it.”
She takes the paper anyway.
“So,” she says, voice low and steady. “What’s your excuse this time?”
I get out slowly, gravel crunching under my boots. I shut the door and lean against it, keeping a distance that I don’t trust myself to close responsibly.
“Excuse for what?”
“For acting like I’m helpless,” she snaps. “Again.”
“I wasn’t going to stand there and watch someone grab you.”
She exhales, looking away, fingers tapping against her arm. “Iggy wouldn’t hurt me. You didn’t know that, of course, so I understand why you reacted.” Her voice softens when she looks back at me. “But why were you there?”
I could lie again. I almost do. But something in her expression makes it pointless.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. The admission scrapes on the way out and leaves a lump in my throat. “I told myself I was just driving, that I needed somewhere quiet to think. You said last night you were coming here, and I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you.”
She doesn’t respond right away. She steps closer instead, closing some of the space I was holding onto like a shield.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” she says quietly. “All day.”
That does more damage than anger would have.
“You told me this morning there’s no future here,” she continues. “That this can’t work. But every time you show up, it makes me question whether you actually believe that.”
“I do believe that,” I say, rubbing my beard. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. This isn’t simple, Coco. You know that.”
“You kidnapped me,” she says. Not accusing, just stating a fact.
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like wanting is the issue,” she says. “You keep showing up, and then you keep telling me it can’t happen. Pick one.”
The words hit low and sharp. I feel them in my jaw before I think them through.
“I’m trying to protect you,” I say.
“From what?” Her voice cracks just enough to matter. “From you?”
I don’t answer. There isn’t one that wouldn’t sound like a lie.
She’s too close now. I catch her scent, the warmth she carries, the way her attention stays fixed on me like she already knows what I’m about to do.
My hand brushes her arm before I decide anything. That’s all it takes.
“Maybe I am trying to protect you from me,” I say, voice rough.
Her breath stutters. The alley goes still, the quiet pressing in.
“Then stop,” she whispers.
When I kiss her, it’s immediate and unrestrained. All the control I’ve been holding back collapses at once. She grips my shoulders and pulls me in hard, like she’s been braced for this. The sound she makes against my mouth strips away whatever hesitation I had left.
I turn her and press her back against my car, crowding her space. She arches into me without thinking, and that reflex hits deeper than anything deliberate ever could.
My hands slide along her waist, grounding and claiming all at once. I stop myself before it goes further. Barely.
“Ridge,” she breathes, lips at my jaw.
“Iggyt,” I mutter. “You don’t make this easy.”
She smiles against my neck, small and knowing, and it nearly breaks me.
I pull back abruptly, forehead resting against hers, breathing hard. My grip tightens at her hips like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“This is a mistake,” I say.
She doesn’t argue.
“So is leaving.”
I straighten slowly and force space between us. My hands drop. The air is colder without her there.
“Get in your car,” I say quietly. “I’ll watch until you’re gone.”
Her expression shifts, disappointment and understanding tangled together. She nods once. “Are you really doing this?”
I don’t answer. All I want to do is grab her and pull her to me and never let her go. But being with me would only hurt her, would only bring more danger to her.
Before she turns away, I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. The contact is brief. It’s enough.
“This is for the best,” I say quietly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
She holds my gaze a second longer, like she’s memorizing my face. Then she turns and gets into her car. The door shuts softly.
I don’t move until her headlights cut through the alley and she pulls away.
Only then do I lean back against my car and close my eyes, breathing through the pressure crowding my chest.
I turn and drive my fist into the brick wall.
“FUUUCCCCCK.”
The word echoes down the empty alley, swallowed by the night.