Chapter 30 #2
Then the room moves on. Not because they’re not all still watching. Because this is how this place works. You get one night of big reactions and then everybody starts folding the new thing into normal whether you’re emotionally ready for it or not.
It’s actually kind of helpful.
At least until reality catches back up.
Allison’s phone buzzes against the counter beside her. She glances down. And I know exactly what it is before her face changes. Not dramatically. Just enough.
A slight tightening around her mouth. A little shift in her shoulders. That tiny, instinctive brace people do when they know something unpleasant is standing at the edge of the room waiting for them to acknowledge it.
Drew.
Of course. Because I forgot for about thirty glorious minutes that there’s still one piece of the past I haven’t been able to physically remove from her life with my bare hands.
My whole body goes still.
Allison doesn’t touch the phone right away. She just stares at it for one beat too long before locking the screen and wrapping both hands around her mug instead.
I look down at her. “You gonna answer that?”
Her eyes flick to mine. And because she knows me too well already, she hears everything under the question immediately.
Not just are you going to answer.
Are you okay?
Do you need me?
Do I need to start planning a felony?
“Not right now,” she says quietly.
I nod once.
Because the kitchen is full. Because this is not the place. Because if I push in front of half the women in this room, I’m going to get exactly the kind of looks I deserve. But the thought is there now.
Loud. Ugly. Persistent.
Drew.
Her in his space. Her near him at all. Her having to stand in front of him and end this while he gets to look at her and talk to her and maybe try to manipulate his way into one more shot because men like that never seem to know when they’ve already worn out their welcome.
I hate it immediately.
And because apparently I’ve learned absolutely nothing about subtlety, Allison notices. She takes another sip of coffee and says under her breath, “Don’t.”
I blink down at her. “Don’t what?”
She gives me a flat look over the rim of her mug. “Whatever that face is.”
I lean a little closer so nobody else can hear me. “I have no idea what face you’re talking about, had this one my whole life.”
“The one where you’re about to become a problem.”
I should deny it. Instead, I say, “That’s vague.”
“That’s accurate.”
Across the room, Kya points a waffle fork at us and says, “If you two are whisper-fighting before eight a.m., I need details or I’ll die.”
Dom, who’s walking in behind her with a grocery bag and the expression of a man who’s already had to visit three stores before breakfast, mutters, “Please don’t die before I put this shit down.”
Kya lights up. “Did you find the sour gummy octopus?”
He looks dead inside. “Yes.”
Brooke gasps. “Those exist?”
“Apparently,” Dom says.
Mac takes a long sip of water and mutters, “Men are weak.”
Logan, entering behind Dom with exactly the wrong yogurt brand in his hand based on the immediate expression on Mac’s face, says, “I am trying my best.”
“That’s what worries me.”
The room dissolves into laughter again, and for one second it almost works. Almost pulls me back into the ease of the morning.
Then Allison’s phone buzzes again. And that’s it. That’s the line.
I set my mug down. “Come with me.”
She looks up. “Jimmy—”
“Now.”
Not harsh. Not controlling. Just low enough that she hears exactly how serious I am.
She studies me for half a second, then sets her mug down too and follows me out to the back porch without argument.
The cool morning air hits my face and does absolutely nothing to cool off the ugly, restless thing under my skin.
I shut the door behind us and turn to face her.
She folds her arms over her chest immediately. “Okay,” she says. “What?”
I drag a hand through my hair and try very hard to start this like a normal man instead of one currently one wrong answer away from driving into town and introducing Drew to the business end of a very bad decision. “Do you want backup?”
Her expression softens just slightly. Not because she’s giving in. Because she knows what I mean. “With Drew?”
“Yeah.” I keep my voice even. Or try to. “If you don’t want to do it alone, you don’t have to.”
Her eyes search mine for a second.
And because I’m done pretending I’m not exactly who I am where she’s concerned, I add, “If you want me there, I’m there.”
The wind shifts lightly across the porch, carrying the smell of coffee and cut grass and whatever Whip’s already messing with out in the garage.
Inside, I can still hear muffled voices and Kya laughing too loudly at something one of the guys said.
Life moving on. Family noise. The world still turning. And here I am on the porch trying to sound reasonable while every instinct in me is screaming that letting her anywhere near that man by herself is a terrible fucking idea.
Allison exhales slowly and leans back against the porch railing. “It would just cause problems.”
I don’t answer right away.
Mostly because she’s right and I hate it.
If I show up with her, Drew’s going to react. He’s going to posture. He’s going to turn whatever this conversation should be into a pissing contest because men like him always seem to think they’re one measured tone and one pressed shirt away from winning moral superiority over men like me.
And maybe I could handle that.
Actually, no. I know I could handle that.
The problem is Allison shouldn’t have to. She shouldn’t have to stand between us and referee some alpha male bullshit because I can’t stomach the idea of her alone with a guy who’s already shown me enough attitude to make me want to put him through drywall.
Still, knowing that doesn’t make me like it.
I step closer. “How’s it gonna cause problems if I just stand there?”
She lifts one brow. “Have you met you?”
That almost gets a laugh out of me.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” She straightens and comes a little closer too, enough that there’s barely a foot between us now. “Jimmy, if you show up with me, he’s going to make it a thing.”
“It already is a thing.”
“That’s not helping.”
“No, but it’s true.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself.
I don’t let that distract me. Because the truth is, this is eating at me way more than I want to admit. Not because I don’t trust her.
That’s not it.
I trust Allison. I trust her judgment. I trust her strength. I trust that if she says this is over, she means it.
What I don’t trust is him.
I don’t trust the look in his eyes every time he’s around her. I don’t trust the kind of man who thinks a woman is something he can rescue from the life she actually chose. And I definitely don’t trust a man who already couldn’t handle hearing no with any kind of grace.
So yeah.
I don’t like this. Not one fucking bit.
“I don’t want you in his space,” I say finally.
The words come out lower than I meant them to. Rougher. More honest.
Allison’s expression shifts. Not defensive. Not frustrated. Just…softer.
Because she hears what I actually mean under that too. Not ownership. Not control.
Fear.
Protective, ugly, inconvenient fear.
I scrub a hand over my jaw and keep going before I can talk myself out of it. “I know you can handle yourself,” I tell her. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
I look at her.
At the woman standing barefoot on the back porch in my T-shirt and leggings with coffee still on her breath and enough quiet strength in her spine to make me feel half feral and half humbled all at once.
And because I’m trying this honesty thing now, I answer the way she deserves. “It’s me wanting to shield you from all of it.”
Her face changes again. Not dramatically. Just enough. Enough that I know she feels the truth of it.
I step closer still, slow enough to give her room, and rest my hands lightly on her hips. “This should be simple,” I say. “You tell him it’s over. He says okay. He leaves you the hell alone. End of story.”
Her mouth twitches. “That does sound nice.”
“Yeah.”
“But probably not realistic.”
“No.”
That earns me the tiniest smile. Then it fades again. “I need to do it myself,” she says quietly.
I know.
And maybe that’s the worst part of this whole thing. Because every protective instinct I’ve got wants to step in front of her and handle it and make sure she never has to stand there and absorb one more second of disrespect from a man who doesn’t deserve access to her attention, much less her time.
But she’s right.
This is hers.
And if I’m serious about being the kind of man she can actually stay with, then that means understanding the difference between protecting her and taking over something she needs to do herself.
I hate that lesson already.
My jaw tightens. “I know.”
She studies me. Then she lifts a hand and touches my face, fingers warm against the side of my jaw.
That simple little gesture nearly wrecks me more than anything else this morning. Because it’s comfort. Because it’s trust. Because she’s reassuring me when I’m the one standing here one bad thought away from doing something deeply unhelpful.
“I’ll be okay,” she says.
I cover her hand with mine immediately. Not because I’m trying to hold her there. Because I need the contact. “Yeah,” I say. “You will.”
She tilts her head slightly. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
“Because I don’t like it.”
A soft laugh slips out of her. “I noticed.”
I exhale through my nose and let my forehead drop lightly to hers. “This is going to make me insane.”
“You’re already insane.”
“True.”
She smiles against my mouth before I even kiss her, and that tiny, easy warmth cuts through enough of my tension to make breathing easier. Not easy.
Easier.
When I kiss her, it’s not hard. Not claiming. Not the kind of thing meant to prove a point.
It’s just me needing one quiet second with her before I let her walk toward something I can’t fix for her.
She kisses me back the same way. Soft. Certain. A little sad around the edges because I think she knows exactly how hard this is hitting me even if I’m trying not to wear it all over my face.
When I pull back, I keep my hands on her hips and say, “Then let me at least know where.”
Her brows lift. “So you can what?”
“Know where.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’m giving you.”
She narrows her eyes. “Jimmy.”
“Allie.”
“Are you planning on lurking nearby like a psychopath?”
I consider lying. Instead, I say, “Depends how it goes.”
Her laugh this time is real. Full. Warm enough to punch a hole right through the center of me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
She shakes her head and leans into me for one more second before she says, “I’ll text you.”
That’s not enough.
She knows it too.
But it’s what I’m getting.
So I nod once. And because I can’t seem to stop myself from trying one last time, I say, “You sure you don’t want me there?”
Her expression softens all over again. Then she rises onto her toes, presses a kiss to my jaw, and says quietly, “I want you on my side. Not in front of me.”
And fuck.
That one lands so clean and so hard I feel it all the way down.
Because that’s the difference, isn’t it?
Not whether I show up. Whether I know how to stand beside her without stepping in front of her. Whether I know how to protect her without taking away her own damn power in the process.
That’s what this is now. That’s what being serious actually looks like. Not just claiming. Not just wanting. Not just loving her hard enough to burn.
Standing where she needs me to stand. Even when every violent, overprotective instinct in me is screaming to do the opposite.
I nod once and press one last kiss to her forehead. “Okay.”
She studies me like she’s checking if I really mean that.
Maybe I am too.
Then she smiles, small and soft and just enough to settle the worst of the storm in me. “Okay.”
We head back inside after that.
The noise hits us immediately. The heat. The laughter. The smell of coffee and syrup and Dom’s apparently impossible mission to satisfy whatever demonic craving Kya’s body invented overnight.
And somehow, with Allison brushing against my side and her fingers catching mine for one brief second before she lets go to grab her mug again, it all feels manageable.
Not because I’m not still wound tight over Drew.
I am.
Because I know exactly where I stand now.
At her side.
Where I should’ve been all along.