Chapter 12 Danae #2
His smile fades. Just a fraction. A flicker. “Danae,” he says, and now there’s an edge, like he’s tired of playing nice. “You’re alone. Tired. It’s a ride not a marriage proposal. I’m offering you help.”
“I don’t want your help. I said no. Accept my appreciation for the offer and go about your day.”
“Why?” he presses, stepping into my space enough that I can smell his cologne under the hospital scent. Too clean. Too sharp.
I take a step back. “Because I said no.”
He exhales, frustrated, and for a second his face hardens. Then he smooths it out again like he remembers himself. “Okay,” he shares, raising his hands slightly, surrendering. “Okay. I’m just trying to be kind.”
I don’t answer. He isn’t being anything but a man hoping to have power or something over me. He watches me for a long moment, eyes tracking my face like he’s reading me, like he’s trying to decide what move comes next. Then he nods once, stiff. “Fine,” he says. “Go back inside.”
I don’t wait to see if he follows. I turn and walk toward the doors, every instinct screaming to get into light, into people, into safety.
The hospital doors whoosh open and cold air wraps around me. Inside, the brightness makes my eyes ache. My footsteps echo on the tile. A security guard glances up, sees my face, and his posture shifts like he knows something’s off.
“Everything okay, Danae?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically. “Just car trouble waiting on my ride.” I walk past him, heading deeper into the lobby where there are cameras and people and noise. Only when I’m near the vending machines do I pull my phone out of my pocket with trembling fingers.
“Miles,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’m inside.”
His voice is immediate, hard and low. “You okay?”
I press my forehead to the cool glass of a vending machine for half a second. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. He made me uncomfortable, but I’m safe inside now.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear his breathing. Controlled. Angry. “Don’t apologize,” he says.
My throat burns. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“You don’t owe anyone politeness when they’re ignoring your boundary. No is a hard line. It’s final and it’s not something needing explanation,” he says, and the way he says it makes my eyes sting as emotions fill me.
I squeeze my phone tighter. “How long until someone gets here?” I ask.
“Soon,” he says. “Stay inside until they’re with you. Don’t go back out alone. You’ll know when they get there it’s my people. But until then, I need you inside. Don’t take a walk or give the car another thought.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
I glance toward the glass doors. Dr. Reeves isn’t visible from here, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. A shiver crawls up my arms.
When I hang up, I sit in a hard plastic chair by the waiting area and try to slow my breathing. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Two flat tires. It keeps looping through my head.
Two.
Not one. Two. Could it have been nails? A pothole? Some freak thing? Or—My thoughts snag on Dr. Reeves’s face out there. The way he stepped outside at just the right time. The way he seemed to know what I was dealing with before I told him.
I swallow hard.
No. Don’t spiral. Don’t do that. I force myself to focus on Miles’s words.
I’ll have someone to you within thirty minutes.
Miles doesn’t say things he can’t back up. Even from states away, he speaks like he can reach through the phone and put himself between me and the world.
I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know why he does it.
But he does.
I sit there under the too-bright lobby lights, listening to the hum of the building, watching a couple of tired people shuffle toward the elevators, watching security do another slow round.
And I wait.
Trying to trust that help is already on the way.
Trying not to look at the doors and imagine someone standing out there, watching. Even as the anxiety climbs I hear him in my head and it soothes me. Let your man be a man and trust I will get this handled.
My man.
He’s all man. And I do trust he will have it handled.
All of it is proven when a man wearing a leather vest with a different patch than Miles and Raff wear.
No, his has a skull and the words Saint’s Outlaws on his vest. The patches on the front read President and Wrath.
The man is menacing, but once he approaches me a wide smile crosses his face before he greets me to let me know my car is ready.
While I stayed in here, he got a call from Miles. He brought three of his brothers and fixed my car. And I was able to get home to grandpa before his caregiver had to clock an additional hour since I always schedule some overlap to allow for me to be late.
Miles stepped in from states away to save my day. I wish he was here so I could show him my appreciation. Since he’s not, I make a mental note to give it to him in the near future even if I only get a weekend trip to North Carolina to do so.
Yeah, I have it bad for the man who has come into my world and left me filled with butterflies since the beginning.