Chapter 18
Three days since Holt and I talked everything through, and it's been good. Really good. Three days of waking up next to him, of easy mornings and easier conversation, of feeling like I can finally breathe all the way. That constant tightness in my chest is just—gone.
The shop hums around me in that familiar rhythm I've learned to love: Finn's radio crackling through some old Johnny Cash song he's playing just to torture Holt, wrenches clanking against metal, the ceiling fan clicking overhead.
Holt's under a Chevy—I can see his boots planted flat, hear him telling Finn something about a busted timing chain.
Finn laughs, that bright sound that fills every corner and makes me smile without thinking about it.
My phone buzzes on the desk. Unknown number.
I stare at it for three rings, that weird instinct prickling the back of my neck. Could be a customer. Could be spam. Could be nothing. But something about it feels wrong, and I almost don't answer except my hand reaches for it anyway, muscle memory overriding common sense.
"Hello?"
"Scout."
Everything stops.
That voice. Sharp-edged and cold, carrying disappointment like a perfume she's worn my entire life. I haven't heard it in months but my body goes rigid instantly, some kind of muscle memory older than thought.
"Mom?"
It comes out barely above a whisper, and I hate how small I sound. Hate it.
"Evan came by the house." No greeting. No how are you, are you safe, are you okay. Just straight into it. "He's very upset, Scout."
My heart starts racing—just this instant acceleration from zero to sprinting, no warm-up, no warning. "What did you tell him?"
"What was I supposed to tell him? He's your fiancé—"
"He's not." The words crack coming out, jagged at the edges. "I left. I'm not marrying him."
"You embarrassed us." Her voice sharpens to a blade, that tone I know too well. "Embarrassed him. Running off like that—do you have any idea what that was like for us?"
"Mom." My hands start shaking, and I watch them tremble like they belong to someone else. Phone vibrating against my ear. "Please tell me you didn't tell him where I am."
Silence.
Too long.
Way too fucking long.
My chest tightens, this band of pressure squeezing until air won't come right. Vision fuzzes at the edges like static creeping in. "Mom. Please."
"He deserves to know where you are. He's worried about you."
No. No she didn't she wouldn't she—
"He's not worried." My voice shatters completely, cracks wide open. "He's angry. There's a difference."
"He loves you, Scout. And you need to stop this childish behavior and come home so we can—"
I hang up. Just press end and stare at the screen, hands shaking so bad the phone almost slips. Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe this isn't happening. Maybe if I just don't believe it—
But she told him. Of course she told him. She's always chosen everyone else over me—appearances, reputation, what the neighbors will say. Why the hell would this be any different?
I call back immediately, and it rings and rings and goes to voicemail, which is somehow worse than if she'd answered.
"Don't tell him." My voice is breaking apart, barely holding together. "Please. Mom, if you ever loved me, don't tell him where I am."
I hang up and just sit there, staring at my phone like it's a live grenade.
He's coming. She already told him. Already gave him this address, probably with directions and everything. He's coming and he's going to walk through that door and drag me back and I'll go because I always go, because that's what I do, that's who I've always been, the girl who can't say no—
Can't breathe. Can't get air. Can't—
The room shrinks around me, walls pressing in from all sides. Ringing starts in my ears, high-pitched and relentless. Cold sweat breaks everywhere at once, and nausea rises fast, throat tight, that metallic taste flooding my mouth.
I need to run. Need to pack. Need to be gone before he gets here because if he finds me—
Movement in my peripheral vision snaps my attention up. Holt rolling out from under the Chevy, wiping his hands. He looks at me and stops cold, his expression shifting from curious to sharp in half a second. Whatever he sees on my face makes him cross the garage fast, boots hitting concrete.
His hands land on my shoulders, grounding weight that anchors me to the moment. "Scout?"
I can't form words. Just shake my head, and tears are already coming because my body's collapsing before my brain can catch up.
"What happened?"
I force it out through the tightness in my throat. "My mom called. Evan—he went to their house looking for me. He knows I'm in Arizona." I can't control my voice, can't stop it from shaking. "He's going to come here."
Holt's grip tightens, not painful, just present. Solid. Anchoring. "Okay. When?"
"I don't know." The words come out with this full-body tremor I can't stop. "Maybe already. Maybe he's already on his way. I have to—I have to leave. Have to run before he gets here. He'll find me. He'll—"
"Hey." Holt's voice cuts through the spiral building in my head, calm as still water. "Look at me."
I do, vision blurred with tears, but I manage to meet his eyes.
"You're not running. Not this time."
Finn appears from the back room, takes one look at us and goes serious in a way I've never seen. No grin. No jokes. Just sharp focus. "What's going on?"
"Her ex," Holt says without looking away from me. "He's coming here."
Finn's whole posture changes—shoulders square, jaw sets, and suddenly he looks older somehow. Harder. "When?"
"I don't know." It's barely a whisper. "Soon. Maybe he's already—"
"Scout." Finn crouches in front of me, forces me to look at him. "You don't have to run. We've got you."
"You don't understand." I'm sobbing now, can't contain it. "He'll—"
"He'll what? Hurt you?" Finn's voice goes gentle but fierce at the same time. "Not while we're breathing. Not happening."
I'm crying harder, overwhelmed by how certain they both sound when all I've got is this clawing terror, this old instinct screaming at me to pack a bag and disappear before Evan walks in and turns me back into the girl who couldn't say no.
Holt pulls me toward the back room, away from the windows, away from the open bay door where anyone driving by could see in. Finn follows close behind. They settle me on the couch and suddenly I'm flanked on both sides, surrounded, held in place by their presence.
I watch Holt pace—his boots on concrete, the set of his shoulders, the way he's already thinking through this, already planning.
It helps somehow, seeing him move. Finn settles next to me, shoulder pressed to mine, and that simple contact becomes the only thing keeping me tethered to right now instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios.
The words spill out before I can stop them, fast and desperate. "You don't know what he's like. He's good at making me feel crazy, like I'm wrong about everything, like I owe him something for running."
Holt stops pacing and looks at me, those blue eyes steady and unflinching. "You don't owe him shit."
"But what if—" My breath stutters in my chest. "What if he convinces me? What if I see him and I go back?"
"You won't." Finn beside me, immediate and certain. "We won't let you."
I laugh, wet and broken. "You can't stop me if I choose to go."
Holt kneels in front of me so we're eye level, close enough I can see the flecks of gray in his irises. "You're right. We can't. But we can remind you why you left. We can stand between you and him if that's what you need. We can make sure you're safe."
My breath catches in my throat and sticks there.
"You're not alone this time, Scout." His hands cover mine, callused and warm and real. "You don't have to face him by yourself."
I can't speak, so I just nod. His certainty is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely.
"Holt knows some of this already," I say after a minute, needing them both to understand what's coming. "But Finn—you need to know what he's like."
Finn goes still beside me, listening.
"He controlled everything. What I wore. Who I talked to. Where I went." My voice shakes but I push through it. "And when I tried to push back, when I said no—" I stop, swallow hard.
Holt's hands ball into fists, knuckles going white. He remembers this part. I told him at the canyon.
"He hit me. Called it dominance, said I wanted it that way, twisted everything I thought I wanted into something that hurt."
"That's fucked up," Finn says quietly, and there's an edge to his voice I've never heard before.
"He'd get mad if I didn't text back fast enough.
He'd show up places I didn't tell him about.
Said he was just worried, said he loved me.
" I wipe my eyes but keep going because they need to know all of it.
"The wedding—I didn't want it. But everyone was so excited.
My parents, his parents. And Evan kept saying it would be perfect, that I'd be happy once it was done. "
Holt's jaw clenches, and I can see him working to keep his expression controlled.
"A few days before the wedding, he hit me hard enough to split my lip." My voice drops lower. "My mom saw it and asked what I did to make him so upset."
Finn makes a sound low in his throat, protective and angry in equal measure.
"So I ran. I couldn't do it. I packed a bag and drove until my car died here."
"You did the right thing," Holt says, voice rough with emotion he's barely containing.
"Did I?" I look between them, these two men who've somehow become my whole world. "I embarrassed everyone. Hurt people."
"You saved yourself." Finn's eyes are fierce. "That's never wrong."
I take a shaky breath, then another. My heart's still racing but slower now, not quite so frantic. His hands on mine. Finn's solid presence beside me. The shop quiet around us.
"I'm scared," I admit, and it feels like pulling the words out of my chest.
"I know," Holt says simply.
"But I don't want to run anymore."
Finn grins despite everything, despite the tension crackling through the air. "Good. Because this town would be complete shit without you."
I laugh—wet and watery but real. "You're such an idiot."
"Yeah, but I'm your idiot."
I look at Holt, needing that certainty from him one more time. "You really think we can handle this?"
"Yeah." No pause, no hesitation. "I do."
The decision crystallizes in my chest, solid and terrifying and right all at once. "Okay."
Holt reaches out and takes my hand again, and I feel the promise in his callused palm against mine. "We're going to face this together. All three of us."
I squeeze back, feeling his strength, his certainty, trying to make it mine.
When closing time finally rolls around, we lock up together. Finn leaves with this long look that says call if you need anything, anytime, I mean it. Then it's just Holt and me climbing the stairs to the loft, and the weight of everything unsaid presses down with every step.
That night I curl up on the couch with Holt next to me, his arm around my shoulders.
His warmth becomes the only steady point in a world that feels like it's tilting sideways.
I can't stop checking my phone—every buzz makes my heart lurch, and I'm waiting for another call, another text, for Evan's name to appear on the screen like some kind of curse.
"He might not come," Holt says quietly into the darkness.
"He will." I know it. Feel it in my bones. "He doesn't give up on things he thinks belong to him."
"Neither do we."