24. Anika #2
The second motorcycle pulls alongside us on Griffin’s side. I see the rider reaching for something in his jacket.
“Duck!” I scream.
Griffin hunches down just as I hurl my remaining boot across him and out his window. It catches the rider in the shoulder.
“Your aim is terrifying,” Griffin says, straightening up as the motorcycle falls back.
Griffin punches the accelerator, and the car leaps forward with a roar.
“Griffin!” I gasp. “There’s a dead end ahead!”
Where the road meets a pedestrian bridge, concrete barriers block vehicle access. Griffin’s face remains eerily calm.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, eyes never leaving the road.
“No!” I shout, bracing myself against the dashboard.
He laughs as we speed toward certain death. At the last possible second, he wrenches the wheel, sending us sliding sideways into what looks like a delivery entrance beside the barrier. The Bugatti’s tires scream as we drift through the narrow opening with millimeters to spare.
The motorcycle isn’t so lucky. The rider tries to follow our maneuver but clips the edge of the barrier. The bike goes down, sending him sliding across the pavement.
“One down!” Griffin announces triumphantly.
The remaining motorcycle is still behind us, but Griffin seems unconcerned, finally emerging onto the bridge spanning the Aare River.
“I mean, the audacity! Celine is a national treasure.” Griffin is halfway across the bridge now.
Without warning, he slams on the brakes and spins the wheel, executing a 90-degree turn that leaves us facing the oncoming motorcycle. The rider hesitates, clearly not expecting this maneuver.
Griffin revs the engine threateningly, like a bull pawing the ground before a charge.
“What are you doing?” I ask nervously.
“Playing chicken,” Griffin replies, then floors it.
We hurtle toward the motorcycle, which is barreling toward us in the middle of the bridge. At the last possible second, the rider panics and swerves, losing control on the narrow bridge. The motorcycle skids sideways, then topples over the edge into the icy river below with a splash.
Griffin regains control, slowing the car to a reasonable speed as we merge onto a main road. The James Bond theme reaches its crescendo as he calmly turns down a side street and kills the lights.
“And that,” he says, turning to me with a satisfied grin, “is how you lose a tail.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. I’m not sure if it’s from the chase, the near-death experience, or the man beside me looking unfairly handsome while committing multiple traffic violations.
“You’re insane,” I tell him, but can’t keep the admiration from my voice.
“Maybe,” he agrees, reaching over to trace his thumb down my cheek. “But ya gotta admit. I’m more fun than Thomas, right?”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “The bar is very low.”
Griffin’s expression softens. “Sorry about crashing your date.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right,” he chuckles. “I’m really not.”
Deeming it safe again, Griffin casually rolls onto the road that leads toward Gr?chen.
“You’ll stay with me tonight,” he says, serious now. “It’s not safe for you to go home.”
The Bugatti’s headlights illuminate the snow-dusted path as we approach Griffin’s cabin. My bare feet are propped on the dashboard, my body still vibrating with leftover adrenaline.
The dark silhouettes of pine trees seem like a secret hideaway after the madness of the evening. Secluded, and blessedly free of motorcycle-riding henchmen.
“You’re sure more assassins didn’t follow us?” I ask, scanning the shadows.
“Positive.” Griffin kills the engine. “Though I’m pretty sure Thomas is still yammering on and on to an empty chair.”
I snort. “Poor Ivy. She’ll never forgive me.”
Griffin jogs around to my side, opening the passenger door. “Let’s get you inside before your toes freeze.”
Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms. I yelp in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Being chivalrous,” he announces proudly. “You’re barefoot, there’s snow on the ground, and I’m a gentleman.”
“You really don’t have to carry me,” I mumble into his shoulder, though I make no attempt to wiggle free. His arms feel secure around me, and after tonight’s excitement, I find myself relaxing into his hold.
Griffin carries me to the front door, fumbling with his keys while still holding me. It takes three attempts before he manages to unlock it, and I bite back a smile at his determination not to put me down.
The cabin glows with welcoming warmth when Griffin pushes the door open. He sets me down gently on the braided rug just inside, his hands lingering at my waist a moment longer than necessary.
Griffin moves efficiently around the cabin, turning on lamps, adjusting the thermostat.
“You should probably call your mom,” Griffin says. “Those guys might try your place next.”
My stomach drops. I hadn’t thought about that. “I left my phone at Ivy’s.”
“Use my phone. It’s on the counter.”
I dial my mother’s number from memory, praying she answers. She answers on the first ring.
I keep my tone casual as I explain I’m staying with a friend tonight. I carefully avoid mentioning motorcycle chases or assassination attempts. She worries enough about me as it is.
As I speak, my eyes follow Griffin around the cabin. He moves with unexpected grace for such a large man, his shoulders rolling beneath his Henley as he crouches at the fireplace, stacking logs with those thick, competent hands.
“Yes, Mama. I’ll be careful,” I promise, watching Griffin rip up some newspaper and stuffing it under the logs.
Somehow this all feels oddly domestic. The way he lights a match. How his profile glows as the fire catches, small flames licking up around the kindling. Griffin stays there, coaxing it larger, adding another log when the first ones catch. There’s something mesmerizing about watching him work.
“Stay with Helga tonight, okay? Just…as a precaution.”
Griffin glances up, catching me staring. Instead of looking away, I hold his gaze. Something electric passes between us before he smiles softly and returns to his task.
“No, I’m fine,” I assure my mother. “Just a feeling. Please, Mama? For me?”
She finally agrees, though not without questions I have to creatively deflect. I give her my love and hang up the phone.
“She’s going to stay with her friend,” I tell Griffin.
He turns from the fireplace, and his expression softens when he sees me. “Come sit by the fire while I get you something warm to wear.”
He disappears down a hallway and returns with a pair of thick wool socks and a Toronto Titans sweatshirt.
“Here,” he offers. “They’ll be huge on you, but they’re warm.”
I take them gratefully. “Thank you.”
In the small bathroom, I slip out of my dress and pull Griffin’s sweatshirt over my head. It falls almost to my knees, the sleeves hanging well past my fingertips. I roll them up and pull on the socks. They’re massive on my feet, pooling around my ankles like fuzzy leg warmers, but gloriously warm.
When I return to the living room, Griffin has changed into flannel pajama pants and a different Titans shirt. His eyes flicker briefly over my body before he nods to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable while I put on some music. Do you want anything to eat?”
“I couldn’t eat a thing. My stomach is all knotted up from the car chase.”
“Mine is too. But for…other reasons.”
I sink onto his sofa, letting that little comment slide into the ether while he taps around on his tablet screen. “Somebody” by Depeche Mode plays on a big Bluetooth speaker.
Griffin turns, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “Track fourteen, as promised.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest.
Griffin approaches slowly, extending his hand. “Dance with me?”
I hesitate. “Griffin…”
“Just one dance,” he says softly. “After the night we’ve had, don’t we deserve that much?”
I place my hand in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
His other hand settles at my waist, warm and solid.
We sway together in front of the crackling fire as the vocals and simple piano accompaniment wrap around us.
The music is so beautifully melancholy and heart-wrenching, I almost want to cry.
We dance for a moment, the firelight painting everything in amber and gold.
“I was so worried about you,” Griffin whispers against my hair, his arms tightening around me as we sway to the music. “When I saw those men grab you…” His voice catches. “I’m so sorry, Anika. This is all my fault.”
I pull back to look at him. The genuine anguish in his eyes.
“Your fault? How is any of this your fault?”
“I dragged you into this mess with Chase.” His thumb traces circles on my lower back, seemingly unconscious. “I should have known he wouldn’t just accept losing millions without retaliating.”
“I’m a big girl, Griffin. I make my own choices.”
“You wouldn’t be in danger if it weren’t for me.”
“I chose to help, remember?” I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Nobody forced me.”
“Still.” His voice is rough with emotion. “Those men could have hurt you. If I hadn’t circled back…”
“But you did.” I place my palm against his chest, feeling his heart thump steadily beneath my fingers. “You were there when I needed you.”
Griffin’s hand covers mine, pressing it more firmly against his heart. “That’s what scares me. What if next time I’m not? What if you get hurt because of me?”
The firelight casts his face in warm shadows, highlighting the worry lines around his eyes. He looks different without his usual carefree smile. More vulnerable, more real.
I rest my head against his chest again, exhausted from the night’s excitement. Griffin smells like expensive cologne and mint toothpaste, with a hint of something uniquely him beneath it all. His heart thunders steadily against my ear. Or maybe that’s my own pulse I’m hearing.
“Should we call those FIS agents? Let them know Chase is sending people after us?”
Griffin sighs. “I never had their contact information. They always reached out to me, never the other way around. I’ve tried looking up their department, but it’s all classified. No public contact information.”
“That’s convenient.”
My body feels more fatigued with each passing minute, the adrenaline finally draining away.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Griffin says. “Right now, you’re safe here.”
I nod against his chest, feeling oddly at peace despite everything. His heartbeat provides a steady rhythm beneath my ear. We continue swaying long after the song ends. I feel my eyelids growing heavy, and I can’t suppress a massive yawn.
Griffin chuckles. “Am I boring you? Should I talk more about landscaping and classical music?”
I swat his arm. “Stop it. I’m just crashing from a long day. Blind dates, car chases, and kung fu fights take a lot out of a girl.”
“You were amazing, by the way,” he says, admiration clear in his voice. “The way you fought those guys off…I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“My father believed every woman should know how to defend herself,” I explain through another yawn. “He started teaching me when I was six.”
Griffin’s hands move to my shoulders, gently steadying me as I sway slightly. “Come on, sleepyhead. You need rest.”
He leads me down a short hallway to the bedroom, a small, cozy space with wooden beams and a sloped ceiling.
It’s simple but clean, with a wooden dresser and a small bookshelf.
Even though this is Walter’s cabin, I can tell Griffin put his own mark on it.
A large bed covered in a thick handmade quilt dominates most of the room.
One bed. Of course. One very inviting bed that suddenly seems both enormous and tiny at the same time.
The realization hits us both.
“I’ll take the sofa,” Griffin offers immediately.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I counter, too exhausted to feel awkward. “The sofa is too small for you. We’re adults. We can share a bed without things getting complicated.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You sure?”
“Unless you snore. Then all bets are off.”
Griffin laughs, the tension broken. “No snoring, I promise.”
I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to pull back the covers. “Get in bed,” I mumble, my eyes already closing. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bedroom.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Griffin stretches out beside me, careful to maintain a respectful distance.
The bed dips under his weight, inevitably rolling me slightly toward him.
Neither of us moves to correct it. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the occasional pop from the dying fire in the living room.
Eventually we slide under the covers, leaving a gap between us.
But as the clock inches toward morning, that distance disappears.
Almost unconsciously, I reach for Griffin in the dark, curling against his side.
He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arm protectively around me, my head resting on his chest.
“This okay?” he whispers.
“More than okay,” I sigh.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back through the sweatshirt.
“I have a game tomorrow,” he murmurs into my hair. “Against Davos.”
“Mmm,” I acknowledge sleepily.
“Promise me you won’t go to the bar.”
“Griffin…”
“Please, Anika. Those guys are still out there. The bar is the first place they’ll look for you. Come to the game instead. I’ll leave tickets for you.”
“The inventory delivery comes at ten tomorrow,” I explain groggily. “I need to sign for it or lose my deposit.”
Griffin sighs. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“You have morning practice.”
“After practice. Before the game.”
“No, I need to go home for clothes and shoes. And a shower. I’ll ask Lars or Colin to meet me there.”
“You’ll come to the game after?”
“Mmm.” I yawn again, already half asleep. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Griffin’s fingers find mine, intertwining them. “I just want you safe.”
“I know,” I whisper.
We fall silent, our breathing synchronizing. Griffin’s arm tightens around me, and I nestle closer, feeling oddly at home. His steady heartbeat lulling me toward sleep.
“Anika?” His voice rumbles under my ear.
“Mmm?”
“Thomas doesn’t deserve you.”
I smile against his shirt. “Neither do you.”
Just before sleep claims me completely, I feel Griffin press a gentle kiss to the top of my head. The last thing I register is his whispered words.
“I’ve got you, Anika. I promise.”