CHAPTER THIRTEEN KELLAN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KELLAN
My palms sweat against the steering wheel, and I keep telling myself to calm down. Not a single text from her since the night at her apartment. Was I too rough on her? Did I hurt her? My heart seizes at the thought of me hurting Opal.
I think it’s safe to say this is no longer about her safety. It was at first, at least that’s what I tell myself. Now it’s something darker—inescapable and devouring.
The twisted part of me that can’t stay away. I don’t even have the choice; the compulsion is beyond gripping and relentless.
What I have for her is a condition. It’s a sickness that spreads until it consumes you. An obsession that blurs the lines of where devotion ends, and possession begins.
My lungs falter at the thought of finally coming clean—of telling her who I truly am. I picture her face, full of horror as I tell her my freakish tendencies. And my heart nearly stops as I pull my work truck into the small lot in front of The Toasted Bean.
I step out, running a hand through my hair and stride to the door, my boots echoing on the wooden floor as I walk up to the counter, desperately trying to slow the thoughts whirling in my head.
I order two pumpkin spice lattes and a couple of muffins.
Carrying the tray, I scan the café. A round table by the window looks perfect. I set the drinks and muffins down, arranging them just so, my eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds.
And then I see her.
God, she is so stunning. Perfect from her hair down to her little toes.
Black leggings hugging her generous curves, a cozy knit sweater, her black hair falling down her shoulders.
I rise as she steps into the café. She smiles immediately, and we hug. Warm and familiar.
Sitting back down, I nod toward the tray. “I got you coffee, and a pumpkin cream cheese muffin.”
Her grin is soft as she looks down at her cup. She whispers barely audible, “pumpkin spice…”
And just like that, the light in her eyes dim. Sadness flickers across her face, tugging at my still thundering heart.
She twists the side of the cup between her fingers. Her demeanor doing a complete three-sixty. She blinks back the wetness in her eyes, the gesture tearing at me.
I lower my voice, “hey, are you alright?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “No…I—Kellan, I am so sorry, but I have to go.”
Before I can respond, she’s on her feet gathering her things. She turns back to me, “Kellan, you did nothing wrong. I just—have something I have to take care of.”
I rise but she’s already, out of the door.
I slump back into my chair, the air suddenly heavy. My chest aches, heart hammering in worry. I pull out my phone, opening her picture, tracing my thumb over her features.
Moments later, it buzzes. A text. My stomach knots. It’s her.
Need to talk. ASAP.
Omw. I quickly text back.
I sprint into the house, ripping off my work clothes and pulling on the black Kade Cross gear. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline surging through me.
Just as I’m stepping out of the door, my phone buzzes again. Another text from her. Suddenly my heart is in my gut.
Help.
I squeeze my phone with shaking hands and type back quickly, my thumbs failing.
Opal… has someone hurt you?
I fling myself into my truck, slam the door, and start the engine. Tires screech as I speed out of the doorway, every red light and turn a blur. My mind races, imagining every scenario, every danger.
I check the app on my phone, heart pounding. Her location pops up—she’s at her apartment. Relief crashes over me, though the tension is still tight in my bones.
I mutter a quick thanks to myself for installing that hidden GPS app on her phone days ago.
I slam my foot on the gas, weaving through traffic. Every second feels like hours. I can’t let anything happen to my sweet Opal.
I won’t let anything happen to her.
I barrel up the stairs of her apartment, heart slamming, breaths sharp. The moment I grab the handle of her door—locked. I lean in straining to hear.
Screaming. A man’s voice. My blood boils. I slam my fist into the door. The shouting continues, sharper, more threatening.
“Oh, fuck no,” I growl.
I raise my foot, and, with one forceful kick, the door flies open.
Inside, I see Opal backed into the corner, eyes wide, terrified. The man stands over her, slurring, screaming into her face.
Her eyes flick to me. A silent plea. That’s all it takes.
And I snap.
The world around me turns red as I lunge for him.
I grab him by the back of the shirt, spinning him around. I slam him against the wall. My first punch lands squarely on his jaw, a crack sounds at the impact.
Rage pours out of me, its primal and unstoppable. He swings at me, but I’m a storm, moving faster than he could ever anticipate.
I grab his collar, slamming him into the countertop, glass and mugs rattling around us. His hands flail, trying to shove me off.
My teeth grit, jaw tight, as I deliver a series of devastating punches to his midsection. The image of Opal trembling and cornered in her own home fuels my protective rage.
He stumbles backward, and I chase, not giving him a second to recover. He tries to scramble for the door, but I catch him, yanking him by the shirt.
He collapses to the floor, and I pin him down, my hands wrapped around his throat. My voice rips out of me, my chest heaving, “She’s mine!” I roar, every ounce of obsession pouring from me. “MINE!”
“Flynn, stop! You’re going to kill him. Please! I need you here with me!”
Her words cut through the haze of fury. My arms go slack at once, and I stumble off him. My eyes land on her trembling face, wide with fear.
When I step back, my hands still shaking, a heat rises to my cheeks. Fuck. I have terrified her even more.
The scum scrambles to his feet, clutching his ribs—probably broken—and leaves a trail of blood across the apartment floor. I watch him stumble out, disappearing down the hall. My muscles still tremble with pent-up rage.
I take a shaky breath, still staring at the broken door. My hands flex at my sides, the adrenaline slowly calming.
“I’ll fix your door,” I mumble.
I finally turn to her. Tears are falling from her eyes, chest rising and falling violently. Relief and fear spread across her face.
Without thinking, I close the distance, pulling her into my arms, holding her tightly. She sobs into my chest, her tears soaking my shirt.
I bend down and pick her up, cradling her to my chest, and carry her to the couch.
I gently push a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, brushing it away from her trembling face.
“I’m going to make you some tea, okay?”
She nods, still sniffling.
I gently grab her chin, our eyes meeting. “You’re safe now.” I say, low and steady.
She nods, and I lean down slowly, pressing my lips to her forehead. I let them linger there, letting her feel every ounce of care I feel for her.
“Stay here,” I murmur, brushing her knee lightly. “I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen, I fill the kettle and grab a mug from the cabinet.
While the water heats, I lift the door, slamming it into place. Someone could easily push it open if they dared. But tonight—I’m not leaving.
I grab the mop from the closet and fill the sink with hot water and floor cleaner. The kettle sings and I turn to it, filling her cup and dropping a chamomile tea bag into it.
I squirt an ounce of honey into the cup, stirring it before I walk it over to her. She takes it with shaking hands.
Quietly, I mop the blood from the floor and pick up any scattered items.
Finally, I sink down onto the couch, her eyes meeting mine. “Opal, can you tell me what happened?”
She sucks in a breath and nods.
Her voice trembles as she explains, and each word lands like a hammer to my chest.
Her ex. The bastard at her door—he was someone who had already hurt her before. Already broken things that should never have been touched. My jaw locks so hard it aches.
She tells me she thought it was me at the door, how he shoved his way inside, how he grabbed her phone. My hands curl into fists at the thought of him in here. Her safe little apartment violated.
“He said you owed him?” I repeat, my voice dangerous.
She nods, tears streaming down her face. “He… he blames me. Says he lost everything because of me. That I ruined his life by sending him to jail.”
My chest burns like fire. He ruined his own goddamn life. And he’s lucky he still even has it. He put his hands on her, more than once. He stole from her. He wrecked her car.
And he thought he could walk back into her life like he still owned a piece of her.
I shift closer, brushing the stream of tears from her cheek. “Opal, you don’t owe him a single thing, not your money, not your time or your fear.”
Her chin quivers, but she nods.
I swallow hard. What I want to say is tell me his name and I’ll finish this tonight. But instead, it’s, “He won’t touch you again, okay? Not while I’m around. And. We’re going to get you a car, okay?”
She lets out a trembling breath. “Flynn, I can’t afford a car right now. I have my apartment, my mother's medical bills, my school debt.”
“Baby doll, that’s not what I mean. You’ve mistaken me. I am going to get you a car.”
She shakes her head with wide eyes, “No…no—I can’t let you do that,”
“And I can’t have you walking to and from work every day and night.”
She looks at me stunned. And she whispers, “How do you know that I walk to work? I didn’t mention that.”
I freeze. My mind scrambles for an easy lie, something, anything, to say. Her question lingers in the air.
My gloved fingers brush hers. “Opal,” I say quietly. “I’ve seen it.”
Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”
My knee bounces under the weight of her gaze. My ribs close in on my lungs. This is it.
I could tell her everything. That I’ve been watching her, following her, sitting outside her apartment every single night. That I follow her home night after night, just to make sure she makes it home safely. That I have this unavoidable urge to protect her.