Chapter 9
Sabrina
I’m sitting between Theo—Ego, uh, whatever—and little Manny Ortega in the too-damn-small-for-me seats at the old, revamped theater where Disney’s favorite Broadway musical is about to start.
And I am so hyper-aware of him—Theo, I mean—that I don’t even hear the opening music when it starts to filter through the auditorium.
His arm brushes mine.
I flinch.
Not because I’m scared.
Because I remember.
I remember exactly how it felt to be wrapped in those same arms this morning.
How it felt to have him pressed up against my body.
His hands on my sex.
His mouth on my breast.
God.
“Miss Rosetto, I have to go to the bathroom,” Manny whispers.
And by “whispers,” I mean yells at full five-year-old volume.
I blink, grateful for the interruption.
Sort of.
“Don’t they close the doors until intermission?” Theo asks.
For some reason, I’m surprised he knows that. Then I remind myself I don’t know anything about him.
Except for his name.
And the fact he can make me come in five minutes or less.
“Well, I know that’s the typical Broadway rule, sure. But this is a special matinee showing for school trips, adult day cares, that kind of thing. So, while the bathrooms might be closed until intermission for the rest of the world, we’ve been given a bit more flexibility.”
“Really? That’s cool.”
It is cool, and I nod in agreement before I turn back to try to reason with my student.
“Manny, we went before we sat down as a class, remember?”
“Uh huh.”
I narrow my gaze.
“Do you think you can hold it?”
“Nuh uh.”
Of course not.
Thank goodness the little boy is as cute as he is mischievous.
“When you gotta go—” Theo murmurs, low and amused right next to my ear.
The breath of his voice there? Yeah.
It does something.
Shivers race up my neck. Goosebumps spread down my spine.
Stupid traitorous body.
I turn to glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best.
“Okay, one second,” I tell Manny, and look down the row of eighteen squirming kids. Mrs. Stuyvesant—the retired grandma-turned-angel-class-volunteer—catches my eye and nods like the saint she is.
I nudge Theo with my elbow.
“Excuse us.”
He stands without a word.
Of course he does. And I do too, pulling Manny up with me, guiding him down the row.
“Where are you going?” I ask Theo when I realize he’s following me.
He raises an eyebrow at me like I’ve just asked the dumbest question on the planet.
“I mean,” I whisper, heat creeping up my neck, “I’m just taking him to the bathroom. It’s fine. I’ve done it a hundred times.”
“You don’t go anywhere alone anymore, remember?” he says, low and firm.
I roll my eyes so hard I practically give myself a headache.
It’s one thing to have a shadow.
It’s another thing entirely to have him as my shadow—especially after this morning.
Because how exactly am I supposed to act normal now?
How do I pretend I don’t remember the way he growled my name against my skin, or the way his hands felt gripping my thighs, or the way he whispered mine like a goddamn spell?
I’m trying to act like nothing happened. But he said some words afterwards, and well, maybe I’m waiting on pins and needles for him to bring it up again.
Like a desperate moron.
I’m oscillating between wanting to climb him like a tree and wanting to scream into a pillow.
“I’m a grown woman,” I mutter under my breath as we step into the hallway, trying to ground myself in something—anything—normal.
“You sure are, Angel,” Theo murmurs from just behind me, his voice low and sinful, “and can I say I appreciate every delicious inch of you.”
I nearly trip over my own feet.
Classy.
Infuriating man.
With his broad shoulders and stupid sexy jawline and that calm, collected I could kill a man with a straw wrapper energy, he’s impossible to ignore.
Even now.
Even after this morning.
Especially after this morning.
I have a sinking feeling this is going to be the longest field trip of my life.
The usher opens the heavy side door, and the noise of the theater dims instantly, replaced by the hush of a darkened service hallway.
He shines a small penlight toward the floor, guiding us forward.
“Restroom’s right ahead,” he whispers.
The corridor is narrow—old building, old bones—so there’s no room for the three of us to walk side by side.
Theo moves smoothly behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, his presence a solid wall at my back.
I turn my head slightly to check on him—and I frown.
Because Theo isn’t the only one behind me.
The usher has slowed. His hand lifts—not with the penlight this time, but something darker, heavier.
“Wait—” I start.
Too late.
He brings his arm down hard. There’s a sickening thud as metal—or worse—connects with the back of Theo’s head.
Theo grunts, dropping to one knee.
“Run!” he shouts, already twisting, already moving, spinning low and tackling the attacker at the knees.
The man yells something sharp and guttural—German, maybe—and suddenly there are more footsteps.
Fast. Closing in from the opposite end of the hallway.
My blood turns to ice.
“Miss Rosetto, I’m scared!” Manny screams.
That snaps me out of it.
“It’s okay,” I lie.
I scoop Manny up without thinking, adrenaline lending me strength I didn’t know I had. We bolt through the first open door we see—an office, maybe a storage room—and I slam it shut behind us.
The lock clicks.
I shove a chair under the handle, then crouch, setting Manny behind a heavy desk, pulling him close, shielding him with my body.
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
I want to help Theo.
I need to help Theo.
But Manny is shaking, clutching my sleeve, and my duty—my purpose—is right here.
The sounds outside explode into chaos.
Bodies slamming.
A sharp grunt.
Someone crashing into the wall.
Then—silence.
A fist rattles the door handle.
I hold my breath.
“Angel? Sabrina!”
Theo’s voice.
Rough. Urgent. Terrifyingly close.
“Angel,” he calls again. “Are you there? Are you hurt?”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.
Manny tightens his grip on my hand.
And I realize something with bone-deep certainty.
Whatever this is—whatever danger followed me here—it’s real.
And so is the man fighting like hell just beyond that door to keep us safe.
“It’s okay. You stay right here, Manny,” I whisper, brushing his hair back gently before turning toward the door.
My heart's hammering, my hands are shaking—but the second it opens and I see Theo standing there, a little banged up but alive, my whole body lets go of the fear I didn’t even realize I was holding.
He’s here.
He’s okay.
And then—I don’t think. I can’t think. I just launch myself into his arms like a ridiculous damsel in distress from every romantic comedy I’ve ever secretly loved.
And he catches me. Of course he does.
His arms wrap around me like steel cables and I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in like he’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning.
“Are you hurt, Angel?” he asks, voice tight.
I shake my head, tears springing to my eyes before I can stop them. Ugh. I’m crying. Because of course I’m crying.
Like a nitwit. Like someone who just went through a near-death experience or something.
“I’m okay,” I murmur, trying to swipe the tears away quickly, even though he’s already seen them. “The man?”
“My team’s got him,” he says, his tone final. Steady. Lethal.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” he murmurs and kisses my head, and that does it.
God, I don’t know whether to kiss him or scream. Probably both.
“Miss Rosetto, I don’t need to use the bathroom anymore,” Manny pipes up from behind the desk, his small voice oddly serious, and I can’t help it—I laugh.
It’s more of a watery, hiccupping snort of a laugh, but still.
“No worries, buddy,” Theo says smoothly, crouching down and shooting Manny a wink that could melt steel. “They have a gift shop.”
“Are you a superhero?” Manny asks, wide-eyed and unblinking.
Theo ruffles his hair and shrugs one big shoulder.
“Nah. It’s just my job to get rid of bad guys.”
“Okay,” Manny replies solemnly, like that makes total sense.
Like this is all just any other ordinary day.
And then Theo stands, takes Manny’s hand—wet pants and all—and just handles it.
He talks the real usher into opening the gift shop early, like it’s nothing.
Like he’s got magic powers or something.
I follow behind, still clutching my heart, still trying to process how the hell I got here—on a field trip, in New York City, after being attacked by a fake usher while the man who kissed me breathless this morning fought off an armed stranger like he does it before breakfast.
And now he’s crouching again, holding up a tiny Lion King-themed child sweatsuit, grinning like this is fun.
“Think this’ll fit our boy here?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
I can only nod, stunned speechless as he pays for it himself and ushers Manny into the empty bathroom where we both wait outside the stall while he changes.
Wet clothes go into a bag.
No complaints.
No drama.
And my throat tightens as I watch him.
It’s not just that he’s hot—which let’s face it, he is.
It’s not just the muscles or the deadly hands or that kiss that rocked me to my soul.
It’s that he cares.
It’s that he was willing to take a hit for me—and then turn around and buy a five-year-old a souvenir tracksuit like it was just part of the job.
And I swear, my poor, confused heart?
It’s in serious danger.
Because I might be falling.
Not just into lust.
But into something else I don’t want to acknowledge, so instead, I simply call it some serious like.
We return to our seats, and other than a quizzical look from Mrs. Stuyvesant—who definitely clocks my pale face and Theo’s fresh bruise—no one else seems to know what happened.
But I guess that’s a good thing.
The kids are none the wiser. The show must’ve kept them distracted, and thank God for that.
I sit in my too-small seat in the too-warm theater with a child-sized hoodie balled up in my lap and a thousand thoughts running through my mind like a stampede.
Theo—Ego, whatever—takes the aisle seat again beside me, the quiet weight of his presence grounding me, even as my pulse hasn’t quite returned to normal.
My fingers brush against the soft fabric of the souvenir sweatshirt and I glance sideways at him.
His jaw is tight, arms crossed, body still alert—watching everyone and everything like the danger’s not over yet.
I guess it isn’t.
By the time the show ends, and the curtain falls, and we gather all our students with only minimal chaos (and one juice box spill), I’m exhausted. My body feels like it’s made of overcooked spaghetti and sheer adrenaline.
We load the kids onto the bus, and I’m halfway to the top step when a firm hand closes gently around my wrist and tugs me back.
“What?” I ask, turning.
Theo stands on the sidewalk, still watching everything. Still alert. He looks down at me, then past me, making sure all the kids are accounted for before he speaks.
“I spoke to the principal,” he says, voice low but steady. “He’s aware something occurred and knows we need to go into my office to file a report.”
“Oh, um, okay,” I say, blinking. Right. Paperwork. That makes sense. I nod, trying not to sound like a complete idiot.
“I thought we’d get a little dinner after,” he adds, eyes meeting mine now. “That okay?”
There’s a beat of silence. A pause in the middle of a New York sidewalk, the kind where something shifts, tilts, rebalances.
“Sure,” I answer—too quickly. Way too quickly. I clear my throat and pretend to smooth my cardigan like I’m not freaking out inside. “Yeah. That sounds fine.”
His lips twitch in the beginnings of a smirk. “Fine?”
“It sounds good, Theo,” I repeat, then soften. “Thank you. For everything today.”
“I just did my job.”
“You saved me, us, both of us.”
“You saved that kid, Angel,” he says, stepping a little closer. “You protected him. Locked the door. Calmed him down. That matters.”
I want to deflect, to make a joke, to brush it off like I always do.
But I don’t.
I just say, “So did you.”
We stare at each other, surrounded by the distant sounds of the city and the bite of winter in the air. Taxis honking, buses screeching, and Broadway foot traffic hustling by.
The city keeps moving after everything that happened today, completely indifferent.
But I’m stuck in place.
Caught between what just happened, what could’ve happened, and what might happen next.
“Dinner,” I say again, like I’m reminding myself. “Okay.”
His smile deepens, just a little.
“Yeah. Dinner. After we hit the office, and leave a report.”
“Right,” I say again, turning toward the second bus. “But I’m paying.”
“Angel,” he drawls, his voice low and dangerous and amused, “you’re gonna lose that argument before it even starts.”
And just like that, my heart goes all fluttery again.
Bum bum. Bum bum.