Chapter 1 - Nicole #2
Boone looks... Good. Fucking good. He looks like an avenging angel. All six-foot-three of solid muscle and righteous fury, brown eyes dark and dangerous, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his stubble.
He's in his usual work clothes. Worn jeans, dusty boots, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal those powerful forearms. His brown hair is messy like he's been running his hands through it. He smells like horses and hay like every single time.
"You okay?" he asks me, not looking away from Jason.
"I'm okay," I manage. "I'm fine now."
"Did he touch you?"
The question is casual. The tone is not.
"He tried," I admit. "I said no. He didn't listen. That's when I locked myself in the bathroom."
Boone's jaw clenches tighter. "Tried how?"
"His hand on my leg. Then higher. I stopped him before—" My voice cracks. "I stopped him."
"Good girl." The praise makes me clench my thighs. "Colt taught you well."
He did. Colt made sure I knew how to protect myself, how to fight back, how to get away. But knowing self-defense techniques and actually using them when you're scared and outnumbered are two very different things.
"I want to be very clear about something," Boone says, turning his attention back to Jason. "Nicole said no. That's the only word that matters. You didn't listen. You trapped her. You tried to force yourself on her. Do you understand what that makes you?"
Jason swallows hard. "Look, man, I didn't—"
"Answer the question."
"I don't—"
"It makes you a rapist." Boone's voice is flat, factual, terrifying. "Maybe not legally, since she got away. But in every way that actually fucking matters? That's what you are."
"Fuck you, I'm not—"
Boone slams him against the wall again. "Yes. You are. And I want you to remember this moment. Remember how it feels to be powerless. To have someone bigger and stronger than you decide what happens to your body. To be scared and trapped and helpless. Remember it."
"Get the fuck off me!" Jason tries to struggle, but it's like watching a child fight a bear.
"I'm going to let you go now," Boone continues, voice deadly calm.
"And you're going to leave. You're going to stay away from Nicole.
You're going to stay away from every woman in this town.
And if I ever—*ever*—hear about you pulling this shit again, I will find you.
I will hurt you. And I won't stop until you understand in your bones what it means to respect the word 'no. ' We clear?"
Jason nods frantically.
"I can't hear you."
"We're clear! Jesus Christ, we're clear!"
Boone releases him. Jason stumbles, catches himself against the opposite wall, and for a second I think he might actually run.
Instead, he spits blood on the floor and glares at Boone. "You're gonna regret that, asshole. I know people. My uncle's a cop. You just assaulted me—"
That's as far as he gets before Boone's fist connects with his face.
Jason drops like a puppet with cut strings. Just... crumples to the floor in a heap, out cold.
"Oops," Boone says flatly. "My hand slipped."
I stare at Jason's unconscious body. At Boone standing over him, breathing hard, knuckles split and bleeding. At the raw, protective fury still burning in his eyes.
And I think: *I am so completely, irrevocably, stupidly in love with this man.*
"We should go," Boone says, turning to me. His expression softens immediately, all that violence transforming into kindness in the space of a heartbeat. "Before someone calls the cops. Can you walk?"
"Yeah." My voice comes out breathy. "Yeah, I'm fine."
He offers me his hand. That big, scarred, bloodied hand, and I take it without hesitation. His fingers close around mine, warm, rough and steady.
"Come on, sweetheart," he murmurs, guiding me over Jason's body and down the hallway. "Let's get you home."
Sweetheart.
He's never called me that before.
I follow him through the party in a daze. People stare but no one stops us. Boone keeps my hand in his, keeps his body between me and anyone who gets too close, and doesn't let go until we're outside in the cold night air.
His truck is parked halfway on the lawn, driver's door still open, engine still running. He was in such a hurry he didn't even turn it off.
He was in such a hurry to get to me.
"In you go." He opens the passenger door and helps me up like I'm something precious. Clicks the seatbelt across my chest. Closes the door gently.
Then he's sliding into the driver's seat, putting the truck in gear, pulling away from that house and that party and Jason's body.
We drive in silence for maybe thirty seconds before I start shaking.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry I called you, I just… I didn't know who else… Colt was probably drunk and I couldn't—"
"Hey." Boone's hand finds mine again, threads our fingers together. "Don't apologize. Not for this. Not ever."
"You were probably in the middle of something and I—"
"Nicole." He squeezes my hand. "Look at me."
I turn to face him. His profile is carved from stone in the darkness, illuminated only by the dashboard lights and the occasional streetlamp.
"I will always come when you call," he says. "Always. No matter what I'm doing. No matter what time it is. You hear me?"
My throat closes up. "Boone—"
"You did exactly the right thing calling me. And I'm glad you did." His jaw clenches again. "If you hadn't... if he'd managed to break down that door..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.
"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for coming. Thank you for—" I gesture vaguely. "All of it."
"Don't thank me for basic human decency."
"It's not basic. Not everyone would have done what you did."
"Then not everyone deserves to call themselves a man."
We fall quiet again. Boone keeps driving, keeps holding my hand, keeps being exactly what I need without me having to ask.
This is why I love him. Not because he's gorgeous, though he is, God help me. Not because he's strong or capable or protective, though he's all of those things too.
I love him because when I needed help, he came. No questions. No judgment. Just immediate, absolute action.
I love him because he's the kind of man who will drive too fast and punch out assholes and still call me "sweetheart" with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
I love him because he's Boone, and I've never stood a chance against that.
Not that it matters. Tonight doesn't change anything. He saved me because that's what he does. He saves people. It doesn't mean he sees me as anything more than Colt's friend who got herself in trouble.
But for right now, driving through the dark with his hand in mine, I can pretend it means something more.
I can pretend I matter to him the way he matters to me.
Just for tonight.