Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
DEREK
The first thing that hits me is the stillness.
Not empty—just settled. Like the house has taken a long breath and decided to hold it.
Mark and Alex have finally stopped clattering around my kitchen like it’s a tailgate.
The bacon smell is gone, the dishes are rinsed, the counters wiped.
Even the hum of the refrigerator seems quieter than usual, as if it knows better than to compete with the sound of Audra Sullivan breathing in my living room.
She’s asleep on my couch again.
I told myself I’d give her space. I’m giving her space. The armchair across from her is technically space.
It’s also close enough to see the way her lashes rest against her cheeks, the faint crease between her brows that doesn’t fully smooth out even in sleep, like her mind is still trying to solve a problem her body refuses to answer.
I hate that crease.
Mark drops into the chair beside mine with an exaggerated sigh, feet up on my coffee table like he pays the mortgage.
“Say something,” he whispers.
I don’t look away from Audra. “About what?”
“About the fact that you’ve been staring at her for thirty minutes like she’s a stock chart you’re trying to predict.”
“I’m monitoring,” I mutter.
Alex appears behind us with a water bottle in each hand and a plastic bag that crinkles loudly enough to make my eye twitch. He freezes, watching Audra. Then his voice lowers automatically.
“She still out?”
“Yeah,” Mark whispers. “Derek’s been doing his broody gargoyle impression.”
“Mm,” Alex says thoughtfully, handing me one of the waters. “Protective gargoyle.”
“I’m not protective,” I say.
Mark’s grin is immediate, feral. “Sure, buddy.”
Alex lowers himself onto the edge of the other chair, careful this time, the way he gets when something’s actually serious. He nods toward Audra’s face, softer now. “She looks like she’s finally sleeping for real.”
“She was fighting it,” I say before I can stop myself. The words come out like a confession.
Both of them glance at me.
I clear my throat and set the water on the side table. “She kept trying to stay awake. Like if she went under, something bad would happen.”
Alex’s jaw tightens. “That’s… rough.”
Mark’s humor dims but doesn’t disappear. It never does with him—it just shifts into something lighter, meant to keep the air from collapsing. “If she wakes up and punches you, I’m filming it.”
I shoot him a look. “You won’t.”
“I will,” Alex whispers, dead serious. “For evidence.”
Mark snorts. “For memories.”
I drag a hand down my face. “She’s not going to punch me.”
“Maybe,” Mark says. “But she might stab you with words. Those are worse.”
Alex leans back and tilts his head, studying Audra with a kind of guarded respect. “You ever think about how scary it is that someone can just… do that to you? Put something in your drink and suddenly you’re not you anymore?”
My jaw locks.
It’s not the question I’ve been trying not to think. It’s the answer.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve thought about it. A lot.”
“Good,” Mark murmurs. “Because I’m still ready to commit crimes.”
“You’re always ready to commit crimes,” Alex says.
“True,” Mark admits cheerfully. Then he glances at me. “Any word from security? Cops?”
I’d been avoiding my phone for the last ten minutes, like not looking at it could rewind the night. I pick it up anyway, thumb flicking through the notifications.
Two missed calls from my head of security. A text from Levi: YOU GOOD? SHE GOOD? ANSWER OR I’M COMING OVER.
Another from Jamie: IS AUDRA OKAY? (and, underneath, smaller: if you hurt her i will ruin your life.)
I exhale slowly and lock the screen.
“Security sent the footage to PD,” I say. “They detained him outside before he made it to the street.”
“Good,” Alex says, satisfied.
Mark’s eyes narrow. “What about charges?”
“They’ll handle it,” I say, and the hardness in my voice surprises even me. “But if they don’t, I will.”
Mark’s mouth lifts. “There he is.”
Alex gives me a look that says don’t be stupid, and then says it out loud. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not going to do anything,” I snap.
“Mm-hmm,” Mark says, not believing me for a second. “You’re just going to quietly and legally destroy his life.”
“That,” Alex agrees, “is your love language.”
“I don’t have a love language,” I mutter.
Mark’s grin turns sharp. “Oh, you do. It’s called control, and it’s adorable.”
I shoot him a look that could strip paint. He just grins wider and lifts his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay,” he whispers. “Control. Respect. Whatever. Still cute.”
Alex’s gaze flicks back to Audra. “What do we do when she wakes up?”
“We act normal,” I say.
Mark’s brows lift. “Your version of normal is terrifying.”
“Not like that,” I grind out. “I mean… we don’t make her feel like she’s a problem we’re managing.”
Alex’s mouth softens. “That’s actually… good.”
Mark makes a face. “I hate when you’re sweet. Makes my skin itch.”
I ignore him.
Because the truth is, Audra Sullivan is not used to being handled gently. Not by men like me. Not by anyone, if the way she flinched last night is any indication.
She’s all spine and competence and sharpness at the office, because she has to be. Because she learned that if you’re not sharp, people cut you first.
But this morning—this afternoon—she’s been stripped down to raw. And something in me hates the world for making her earn that armor.
The TV murmurs, a nature program she put on before she fell asleep again. River water glints on-screen. A narrator speaks softly about migration patterns. I’ve never cared about fish in my life.
I’ve also never been so grateful for background noise.
Audra shifts.
Not a full wake—just the subtle adjustment of her shoulders beneath the blanket. Her fingers curl tighter around the edge, like it’s an anchor.
I lean forward without thinking.
Mark’s hand lands on my knee, firm enough to stop me. He doesn’t look at me when he whispers. “Let her wake. Don’t pounce.”
I glare at him. “I wasn’t going to pounce.”
Alex snorts softly. “Derek Pierce: famously gentle predator.”
I flip them off with both hands.
Mark grins, pleased. “There it is. You’re back.”
I settle into the chair again, forcing my body to stillness. Not because I’m calm. Because I’m practicing.
Audra stirs again, more deliberately this time. Her lashes flutter. Her face pinches like she’s trying to remember where she is and whether she should run.
She opens her eyes.
For a second, she looks straight through me. Fogged. Lost.
Then her gaze locks.
On me.
On Mark.
On Alex.
Her body tenses—shoulders tight, knees drawing in, instinctive defense.
I keep my voice low. Neutral. “Hey.”
Her mouth opens. Closes.
She swallows, eyes narrowing. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long,” I say. “Maybe twenty minutes.”
Mark leans forward with a grin that’s too bright for the moment. “More like forty-five.”
Audra’s eyes flick to him. A spark of irritation flickers—and relief, because irritation is something she understands. “Forty-five?”
“Time flies when you’re… involuntarily napping,” Alex offers, and the second it leaves his mouth he grimaces. “Okay, that sounded worse than I meant.”
Audra’s lips twitch once. Barely. Like she’s fighting the urge to laugh and hates herself for it.
Good.
I shift carefully, keeping my hands visible, my posture loose. “How’s your head?”
She blinks, and I watch the answer cross her face before she speaks it. “Better than earlier. Still… floaty.”
“Crackers?” Alex asks quickly, already half rising. “Water? Ginger ale? We’ve got options.”
Audra looks mildly alarmed by the sudden customer service. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” Mark says cheerfully. “But you’re going to be.”
She squints at him. “Are you always like this?”
“Yes,” Alex says. “Unfortunately.”
Audra’s gaze drifts past them, taking in my living room like she’s seeing it for the first time. The blanket—mine. The pillow behind her back—mine. The couch—mine.
Her attention returns to my face.
A question sits there. Heavy.
Why are you being nice?
Why is this happening?
Why you?
I don’t let her ask it yet. “Your phone’s on the kitchen counter,” I say. “I didn’t unlock it. Levi’s been texting.”
That gets her moving. She pushes herself upright too fast, sways slightly, and my body reacts before my brain can stop it. I’m on my feet, a hand half-raised.
She catches herself with the couch cushion and glares at me like I’m the one who did it.
“I’m fine,” she says.
I let my hand drop, but I don’t sit. “Humor me,” I say quietly.
Her eyes narrow, but the fight isn’t as sharp as last night. “You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep trying to do everything alone.”
Mark makes a sympathetic face. “He’s been practicing his gentle voice.”
“Shut up,” I tell him without looking.
Audra’s gaze flicks between us again. Something in her shoulders loosens by a fraction. She takes a slow breath.
“Okay,” she says. “Crackers sound… safe.”
Alex beams like he’s just been given a medal. “Yes. Safe food.”
“I hate you,” Mark mutters.
Alex heads for the kitchen with exaggerated stealth, as if the crackers are a high-risk mission. Mark follows, mostly to be annoying, and within seconds I hear cabinets opening and Mark complaining about my lack of real snacks.
Audra shifts her weight, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.
“You can take it off,” I say. “You don’t have to stay wrapped up.”
We stare at each other for a beat, our old rhythm clicking into place—her bristling, me refusing to flinch.
Then her gaze dips to my shoes.
And her expression collapses into mortified horror.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Your shoes.”
I glance down at the clean leather. I changed them. I scrubbed the others in the sink like a psychopath. I threw the socks away. I didn’t tell her any of that.
“They’re fine,” I say.
“I threw up on you,” she says, voice strangled.
“You threw up on my shoes,” I correct calmly. “That’s different.”
Her face goes red. “It’s not different.”
“It is,” I say, because it is. “It means you didn’t choke. It means your body fought it. It means you’re here.”
She swallows hard, eyes shining for half a second before she blinks it away.
The urge to touch her—comfort her—hits fast and sharp, and I lock my hands behind my back like I’m restraining a weapon.
“I’m sorry,” she says anyway, like she can’t help it.
“I know,” I say. “But you don’t have to be.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe in that kind of permission.
From the kitchen, Mark’s voice carries. “For the record, if anyone throws up on my shoes, I’m suing.”
Alex responds immediately. “You’d deserve it.”
Audra’s lips twitch again. This time it’s real.
She closes her eyes for a second, and the smile stays there—small, tired, reluctant.
When she opens them, she looks… steadier.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’m ready for the crackers. And my phone. And maybe… an explanation.”
I nod once. “You’ll get all of it. One piece at a time.”
And for the first time since last night, her shoulders drop like she might—just maybe—let someone carry the weight with her for a minute.