Chapter Sixteen #2
She glanced toward him between reps. It was just a flicker, a quick instinctive check. Their eyes met. She smiled, but not for the crowd. For him.
Something in his chest cracked. You don’t deserve that trust, a voice warned. Not yet.
Anja shifted beside him. “Kayne.”
Something in her tone cut through the noise. “What,” he asked, not looking away from Chloe.
She held up the tablet. “Drone count just changed.”
That got his attention. He snapped his gaze skyward, then down to the screen.
“Production registered two and the web team two,” Anja said. “I count five.”
The air seemed to thin. Kayne scanned the sky again and spotted it farther back, hanging too still. It had a black casing and no logo.
Wrong.
“Anja—”
“I see it,” she said, already reaching for her radio. “Trying to—”
A sharp mechanical whine sliced through the music, like metal screaming. The black drone jerked forward. Kayne’s blood went cold.
“Chloe!”
She didn’t hear him. She was mid-demonstration, explaining shoulder alignment to the crowd.
The drone screamed lower. Something metallic caught the sun.
No.
Before he could shoot it out of the sky, it dropped a weight plate.
Time fractured.
It fell fast, mercilessly slamming into the stage with a bone-deep crack, so close to Chloe’s head that the rush of displaced air whipped her ponytail sideways. The crowd gasped as one.
Chloe didn’t scream or duck. She was frozen, her eyes wide and brain struggling to catch up to what almost ended her.
The drone veered away, vanishing toward the treeline as if it were a fleeing insect.
Then the world detonated.
People shrieked and ran for cover. Others surged forward, already filming. Equipment toppled. The livestream feed dissolved into chaos.
Kayne was moving before the sound finished echoing. He vaulted the stage steps, grabbed Chloe around the waist, and drove them both behind a barricade, covering her body with his own, every instinct screaming to shield.
Her heart slammed wildly against his ribcage. “I’ve got you, cher,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Her nails bit into his forearm. “It almost hit me.”
“I know.”
Anja slid in beside them, weapon drawn, eyes tracking the sky. “Drone’s gone.”
Chloe sucked in a shaky breath. “If I’d been two inches to the left . . .”
Kayne cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “It wasn’t. You weren’t. I’m here now.”
Her composure finally shattered, and raw, naked fear flooded her eyes.
“Someone really wants me dead,” she whispered.
His teeth clenched. “Then they picked the wrong damn day.”
The noise beyond the barricade swelled. People shouted, and sirens approached, turning the entire moment into a national spectacle. Chloe flinched and pressed her forehead into his shoulder.
“This is going everywhere, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
For once, she didn’t pretend she was fine. She just held on. Kayne held her back, fully prepared to take down anyone who thought they could extinguish her light and walk away.
#
Chloe’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Not violently, nor enough for anyone else to notice. Just a faint, persistent tremor that lived below the surface. Apparently, her nerves hadn’t gotten the memo that the danger had already passed. For now, she amended in her head.
Kayne stayed close, a solid presence at her back while park security and law enforcement swarmed the stage.
The music was off, and the crowd had been pushed farther away.
Someone had draped a jacket around her shoulders at some point, though she couldn’t remember when, only that it smelled of Kayne and steadied her more than it should have.
She remembered the sound, though. That sharp mechanical whine. The rush of air. How close death had come without actually touching her.
You’re okay, she told herself. You’re still standing.
Still, her breath hitched every time someone raised their voice or equipment clanged metal against metal, her body reacting faster than reassurance could catch up.
“Ms. Giordano?”
She turned at the sound of her name and found Aiden Kerr, Sandy’s newest hire, hovering a few feet away, hands half-lifted as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to exist in her orbit right now.
He looked shaken, his normally eager expression pulled taut with concern.
He wore his usual web-team hoodie, sleeves shoved up his forearms, ID badge hanging around his neck, eyes flicking quickly past her shoulder before settling back on her face.
“I, uh, are you okay?” he asked. “That was scary.”
She forced a breath into her lungs and her shoulders back. This was the moment where she could buckle inward, or she could choose something else.
“I’m okay,” she said, surprised to hear how steady her voice sounded. “Shaken, but fine.”
His relief came fast. “Good. That’s good. I saw the feed cut out, and then people started screaming, and I thought—” He stopped himself, swallowing. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. Aiden had always been earnest to the point of awkwardness. Disarmingly so. It made him easy to trust. “Did the stream get shut down cleanly?”
“Yeah. We killed it immediately.” He nodded toward the tangle of equipment and cables. “Sandy’s already drafting a holding statement. She’s kind of a superhero under pressure.”
As if summoned by her own legend, Sandy barreled toward them, phone in one hand, tablet in the other, her sunglasses shoved up into her hair.
“Okay,” Sandy said, brisk and bright and vibrating with adrenaline. “First of all, holy hell. Second of all, are you hurt?”
Chloe shook her head. “No.”
Sandy’s entire body seemed to sag with relief. She reached out, then hesitated, then pulled Chloe into a quick, careful hug anyway. “I don’t care what anyone says. That was terrifying.”
Chloe let herself lean into it for half a second. Just enough.
“I know,” she said quietly. “But I don’t want this to turn into panic. Or pity.”
Sandy’s eyes sharpened. “What do you want?”
Chloe glanced toward the crowd, where people were clustered behind barricades, phones raised and voices buzzing. She felt the shift in the air the moment concern curdled into spectacle.
“I want to finish,” Chloe said. The words surprised her with their certainty. “Not the workout. That’s done. But I want to stand up there and say something. Let people see I’m still here.”
Sandy nodded. “Okay. Then we control the narrative.”
Evan Calder came bounding over. He didn’t slow until he was right in front of her. Before she could brace herself, he wrapped his arms around her in a quick, impulsive, bone-crushing hug.
Chloe stiffened for half a heartbeat.
Not because he’d hurt her—he hadn’t—but because she knew.
She’d always known. Evan’s concern had an edge to it, a hope she’d never invited and didn’t know how to gently dismantle without wounding him.
She forced herself to breathe, patted his shoulder once, and stepped back as smoothly as she could manage.
“Oh, my God,” he said, hands dropping, eyes wide. “That was scary as hell. Are you okay?”
“I am,” she said, carefully steady, grateful when he didn’t reach for her again.
“Two of those drones were ours. I have no idea where the rogue one came from.” His walkie-talkie squawked. “Sorry, I have to take care of this. You sure you’re good?”
At Chloe’s nod, he jogged away, casting one last look over his shoulder. It was protective, earnest, and a little too hopeful.
Aiden shifted, clearly trying to be helpful. “If you want, I can stay nearby. Or, uh, get you water or something?”
“Thanks,” Chloe said gently. “I’m good right now.”
His smile flickered, then settled. “I’ll be over there if you need anything.” He retreated toward the equipment, glancing back once, probably assuring himself that she was still solidly in one piece.
Chloe watched him go, then turned and nearly collided with Leo.
He didn’t say a word at first. He just pulled her into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other firm at her spine. No questions or commentary, just presence.
For a second, she let herself be small.
Then she inhaled, steadying, and stepped back. “I’m okay.”
Leo searched her face, cataloging every freckle for signs of damage. “You almost weren’t.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “But I am.”
He exhaled hard through his nose. “Kayne’s already coordinating with local PD and federal contacts. They’re taking this seriously.”
“Good,” she said. Then, after a beat, “I need to talk.”
Leo’s brows lifted. “To who?”
She tipped her chin toward the press line that had materialized with predatory speed. There were cameras, microphones, and faces already arranging themselves into concern. “To them.”
Leo swore under his breath. “Chloe.”
“I know,” she said. “But I don’t want to hide. I don’t want fear to be the loudest thing in the room or, you know,” she waved her arms, encompassing the area, “outdoors.”
She felt it then. Panic, yes, but also something harder underneath. Resolve. The same stubborn grit that had carried her through grief, failure, and rebuilding everything she’d ever lost.
Leo studied her, then nodded once. “Okay. But I’m right here.”
Kayne moved in without a word, positioning himself just off her shoulder as Sandy cleared a path. The noise swelled instantly.
“Chloe! Chloe, are you hurt?”
“Was this a targeted attack?”
“Do you feel safe right now?”
The questions crashed over her in waves. She stepped forward anyway until the microphones hovered inches from her face. The cameras whirred. In her chest, her heart pounded as if it wanted out of its cage. Chloe took one breath. Then another.
“I’m shaken,” she said, voice clear, eyes steady. “I think anyone would be. But I’m okay. And I want to be very clear about something.”
The crowd quieted.
“This event was about helping kids get the surgeries they need to live. That hasn’t changed. Fear doesn’t get to erase that.”
She felt Kayne shift behind her. Solid. Steady.
“I won’t pretend this wasn’t scary,” she continued. “But I won’t let it make me small, either.”
Cameras flashed and questions followed, but Chloe stood her ground. She was scared but she was still here. And that mattered.