Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
The soft sheets are warm against my skin, but it doesn’t compare to the heat that still thrums through my veins from earlier in the kitchen, then again in the shower.
Beck’s body curves against me, soft and pliant, in the crook of my arm. I can’t help but run my hand over her smooth skin.
“We didn’t use a condom tonight. I’m really sorry. I’m up to date on testing and everything is good, so you don’t have to worry about that.” My chest tightens at my lapse in memory. I’d been so caught up in her, in us, that I’d completely forgotten, and that’s not like me.
She drags her hand over my chest, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I know. Don’t be sorry. I was just as eager as you. I’m on birth control and had myself tested after you know who. I haven’t been with anyone since.”
Her reassurance makes the tension ease a little, but my mind won’t slow down. We still need to talk, and now that we are lying here in the silence and safety of her bedroom, maybe she’ll be ready. I’m not complaining—far from it—but I know she was distracting me with sex.
Holding her hand over my heart, I gently squeeze. “Before we go to sleep, we still need to talk.”
She freezes for a beat, her breath catching, and I feel the subtle shift in her body. Her wide blue eyes meet mine, and I know she’s holding something back.
“Hey.” I cup her cheek and run my thumb back and forth over her jaw, grounding both of us. “Tell me about the text messages from Braden.”
She hesitates, biting her lip. “It’s not really a big deal. He wanted me to know he saw me.” She attempts to give me a reassuring smile, but it falters.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, holding her in place, gently but firmly. “Please talk to me. We’ve talked about this. You don’t have to deal with him on your own. But to help, I need all the information.”
We lie in silence as she trails her fingernails over the coarse hair on my chest.
“Beck.” I squeeze her hip.
Swallowing, she slips out of my arms and gets out of bed.
Her long braid rests down her spine, and her hips sway as she walks naked across the room.
I sit up against the headboard, blanket falling to my lap, and watch her as she pulls a white fleece robe from behind the door.
I’m momentarily disappointed when she wraps it around herself, hiding from me.
She crouches to the floor, rummaging through her bag until she finds her phone, then returns to the bed without a word. I open my arm, and she crawls to my side so I can hold her.
Biting her bottom lip, she takes a steadying breath before silently placing her phone in my palm. The weight of it feels heavier than it should. Not the phone, but the trust that comes with it.
“You can just tell me,” I say softly, but she shakes her head.
“No, this is easier. I want you to see.”
When I turn the phone over in my hand, the screen wakes up and asks for the six-digit password.
“741123,” she says without prompting.
I enter them and open her messages. Braden’s name sits at the top. I tap, and the screen fills with words that I don’t want to read.
“Are you sure?” I ask, searching her eyes. Though I want to know—need to know—I would rather hear it from her lips. I feel like I am invading her privacy.
“I’m sure.”
Scrolling up, I stop at the messages from today.
My shoulders tense and jaw locks tight as I read. The familiarity of his words twists something ugly inside me. Anger? Jealousy? A reminder that they have a past that won’t easily be erased.
I hate how easily he crosses the line.
Picturing her.
Remembering her.
Believing he still has unlimited access to her even after all their time apart.
The corner of my lip lifts and my chest warms when I read how she hands him his ass. She doesn’t placate him. She shuts him down. Clear, dismissive, and final. That’s my girl.
I toss the phone onto the bed behind me and pull her down so she’s lying beside me. She studies my face for a moment and then asks quietly, “Are you mad?”
“At you?” I shake my head. “Never. At that piece of shit? Furious.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her chin dipping.
Cupping her jaw, I raise her face. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. He’s the problem. Not you.”
She exhales a soft puff of breath. “If I had cut him off sooner, this wouldn’t be happening now.”
“We don’t know that,” I say, trying to reassure her.
But I have worked with many women who believed leaving would be the end of it.
Through my clients’ eyes, I’ve watched abusers shift tactics when their control begins to slip.
Charm is traded for intimidation. Silence for surveillance.
They find new ways to keep the woman from truly moving on.
The relationship is over, but danger often isn’t.
The idea of her facing that alone isn’t something I’m willing to accept.
I lie there for a moment, the weight of what else I need to say settling heavy on my chest. I hate that I must tell her what happened at Bob’s tonight. She’s already carrying more than her fair share, but putting it off feels worse.
I take a slow breath, staring out the dark window behind her for a moment before looking back at her. “There’s something else,” I say. “Something you need to know.”
Her body tenses against me. “Okay?”
I slide my hand over her arm, thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm.
“At Bob’s tonight…you know how I had a flat tire?”
“Yeah?” she drawls out, narrowing her eyes.
“When I went outside with Dillon, he told me that someone had slashed all four tires.”
Her breath catches, sharp. “No! Braden?”
“Most likely.”
Her shoulders sag as the weight of it hits her. My hand slips beneath her robe, gliding along her ribs so I can hold her a little tighter.
“I’m so sorry, Ryan.” Her voice hitches as tears well in her eyes. “I hate he did this. I’ll pay you back. I’ll replace them.”
Pulling back just enough to look at her directly, I say emphatically, “Hey.” My hand tightens around her waist. “No. Absolutely not.”
She blinks. “But…”
“No buts. You’re not paying me back for something he did,” I say firmly. “This isn’t on you.”
“Ryan…”
I shake my head once, cutting her off. “No, Beck. I won’t hear it. He has crossed the line too many times. Dillon has already dealt with the tires, so we can handle the rest. You and me. Together.”
Her eyes get glassy with unshed tears, and she presses her forehead to my chest. Stroking the top of her head, I hold her there—exactly where she needs to be. This situation is going to end, and I’ll be with her every step of the way.