Chapter 7
Ryan
My hands won't stop shaking. I count backwards from ten, then again, but it’s not working. So, I try a different technique my former therapist taught me. Five things I can see. Four things I can touch. Three—
Fuck, just get to the elevators.
I keep walking, but I can't stop thinking about the way Connor’s head snapped sideways, blood seeping from his lip. My stomach twists.
Dad never laid a hand on me. Not once. Even when I broke his favorite fishing rod or tracked mud through Mom's clean kitchen. And my foster dad—he'd sooner cut off his own arm than hurt me.
But Connor's father backhanded him.
And Connor just smiled and wiped the blood away as if it was nothing.
Like he was used to it.
I'm almost to the elevators when voices drift around the corner. I ease closer, then peek around the bend. Mr. Callahan's standing in the middle of the hallway, jabbing his finger at the air while Veronica faces him, shoulders drawn back.
“—irresponsible of you, Veronica. This could have been avoided. You should have told me he was gay.”
“Don’t pin this on me. No one’s ever seen him remotely show interest in men before.” Veronica crosses her arms in front of her chest. “And Connor doesn't have to be gay, you know. He could be bi or pan or queer.”
“Sounds more like he’s playing games.”
He's not wrong.
Mr. Callahan straightens, hands in his pockets. “Your mother and I spoke. Benedict will step—”
“Ben isn't part of your business deals.” Veronica pokes her father in the shoulder. “I'll fix it.”
“And if you can't?”
The pause that follows makes my chest tight.
“Then we find another way. Just leave my brother out of it.”
“In this family, we all serve the greater good.”
Veronica snarls, then walks off. Her father shakes his head and follows. Once they’re out of sight, I step out and hit the button for the elevator. This day needs to be over.
When the doors slide open, I step inside and press the lobby button before running a hand over my hair. It’s getting long. Need to buzz it.
Need a lot of things . . . like a way out of this nightmare.
And a single night of actual sleep instead of curling up in the library's second-floor study carrels. But asking for help means losing my scholarship.
Then how am I supposed to earn my accounting degree? Sure, I can attend community college back home. But I don’t want to burden my foster dad with college tuition expenses. He’s done enough for me already.
Not to mention, Connor also threatened my life.
Would he go after Larry?
Yeah, he would definitely use my foster dad as leverage.
I scrub my hands over my face. I have to stick this out.
When the elevator reaches the lobby, I step out and make my way to the exit. Fresh air fills my lungs, the sun warming my skin. For a moment, I can almost pretend everything’s okay, that I’m somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
I take a deep breath and exhale, some of the tension leaving my body. I do it again, forcing my muscles to relax. Years of therapy have made me more conscious of my own body.
I head toward Connor’s Maserati at the far end of the parking lot.
“Henneman.”
Fuck, he sounds pissed. I take a deep breath and turn around.
Connor stalks toward me, jaw set, blood still oozing from the split on his lower lip.
“You okay?”
“Shut the fuck up.” He storms right past without a glance.
I follow, easily catching up. Up close, his mouth looks worse—swollen, already turning purple. My molars grind, fingers clenching and unclenching.
He whirls on me. “Stop staring. Stop fucking staring!”
I look away, but not before he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the blood. He’s never done that after fighting on the ice.
Last season, after a brawl, he and Jackson were all bloody smiles. The way their teeth were stained, it looked as if they’d brushed them with the stuff.
But now it’s like he’s trying to hide what happened.
So, I give him space by stepping a foot away and remaining silent. Sometimes that's all you can do. Just be there without making it worse.
“Connor.”
We both stop and turn as Veronica approaches, heels clicking sharply on the asphalt.
Connor shoves his hands into his pockets and shoots her a smile that’s all teeth and no joy. “Come to congratulate me?”
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Her upper lip twitches, nose scrunching. “Next time you want to burn the world down, remember you're not the only one who gets caught in the fire.”
“Then maybe you should stop standing so close to me. Unless you like smelling like smoke.”
Her hand flies out, connecting with Connor's cheek.
“Enough.” I step between them, shielding Connor. I've watched him get hit twice today, and I'm done. “You made your point.”
Veronica's eyes snap to me. “Oh, so the puppet speaks?”
“I'm not anyone's puppet.”
“Right. You just come out of nowhere and married one of the wealthiest people in the state?” She lets out a harsh laugh. “How dumb do you think people are?”
Connor growls, eyes narrowing as he steps around me. “Maybe my father was onto something when he suggested I marry Ben.”
Her face goes white, then flushes red with fury.
“Ben isn't for sale.” She steps closer to Connor. “Not to you. Not to anyone. Go near him, and you'll wish you'd stayed out of our family's business entirely.” Her gaze flicks to me. “That goes for you, too.” She spins on her heels and walks away.
When I face Connor, he’s staring off into the distance. “Are you—”
“Get in the car.” He walks to the driver's side.
I climb into the passenger seat without another word. Connor gets in, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.
“You fuck this up or give them any ammunition to use against us, and I will end you,” he says without looking at me.
I should be scared. But after today, he just sounds desperate. So, I don't cower. Instead, I shift, facing him directly. “How about just asking for help?”
“Stop talking.”
“You need me.” I keep my voice calm, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole reason you drugged me and blackmailed me into marrying you?”
His nostrils flare, his breathing harsh.
I quirk a brow.
We’re in this situation because he needed help. But would I have married him if he’d actually asked? Would anyone have stepped up?
He stares at me, saying nothing, before he turns away and puts the car into gear. “Sleep in the room from now on. No more disappearing. And no dating. I meant what I said about that.”
“Heard you the first time you mentioned it.”
I press my palms against my eyes. Three nights in the library have left me running on fumes. And everything aches.
But I can't handle sleeping in the same room as Connor.
Or anyone else.
It's why I play like shit during away games. Hotel rooms mean roommates, and being that vulnerable with someone else there . . . I just can't.
Connor has enough ammunition on me. He doesn't need to know I'm so fucked up I can't sleep with another person in the room.
The rest of the drive back to campus is silent. He hasn't blinked in at least a minute, and his breathing is too measured, too careful.
I rest my head against the passenger door window and sigh. Can’t get the image of his father striking him out of my head. Or how Connor just took it like it was normal.
But it’s not.
In the same way it’s not normal that I panic when someone touches me, even though I crave it. Or how I don’t feel safe in my own skin.
And while my current situation is yet another step further away from normalcy, maybe it’s time I become the person who stands up instead of standing by. “We stay married until you're free from your father.”
“What?”
I grip the door handle to steady myself, my pulse pounding in my ears. “We stay married until you don't need this anymore. After, I want my life back. And I want you to stop threatening me. Those are my terms if you want this to work.”
“Why?”
“Because of the shit I saw today. Because I don’t want to be the reason someone else gets dragged into this nightmare. Unless . . . you’d . . . prefer Ben.”
He pulls into a parking spot and kills the engine but doesn't move to get out. He just sits there for a moment, hands still on the wheel. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I quirk a brow. “Regret what?”
“Agreeing to your terms.”