Chapter Ten
Myles
We wait for the cops to arrive, and then Paris doesn’t let go of me the whole walk back to her parents’ house. Her hand stays knotted in my jacket, her breath shaky, her steps uneven, but she doesn’t pull away. And I don’t force her to.
When we break through the tree line and the house comes into view, the front porch light clicks on. Her parents are already at the door, worried looks etched on their faces. They must have heard the sirens.
“Paris?” her mom calls out.
The second we hit the steps, her dad’s there, pulling the door open wider. His eyes dart from his daughter’s pale face to me, then back to her. “What the hell happened?”
Paris starts to speak, but her voice falters. So I take over.
“Danny Meyers tried to assault her on the road.” My tone is flat, clipped, but it does the job. I don’t sugarcoat it. “He scared her real bad. Good thing I got there in time.”
Her mom gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her dad’s jaw locks tight, his face turning red with rage. “That little punk—”
“He won’t try again,” I cut in, my voice dark with the rage that’s still bristling in my chest.
I should have killed that bastard. But I left that life behind. It won’t do any good to have Paris seeing the man I used to be.
Her mom crosses the room in two strides, gathering Paris into her arms. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
Paris shakes her head weakly, her eyes weary. “I’m okay. Thanks to Myles.”
Both her parents turn to me, gratitude and fury mixing in their faces. Her dad grips my shoulder, squeezing tight. “You saved my girl. I’ll never forget that.”
I nod once, not sure what to do with the weight of his words.
There’s a moment of silence, heavy and awkward, until her mom straightens, her eyes darting between us. She clears her throat. “Well, I think I left the—uh—pie cooling in the oven. Yes, the pie! It needs checking.”
Her dad frowns. “The pie? You never put pie in the oven to cool—”
“Come on, Harold.” She tugs on his arm, herding him toward the kitchen with surprising strength for her size. “We should…check on that. Right now.”
“Susan, what are you—”
“Now.” She all but drags him down the hall, his protests fading as the kitchen door swings shut.
Paris covers her face with both hands, mortified. “Oh my God. I can’t believe them.” Her cheeks flush pink, her shoulders hunching in like she wishes the floor would swallow her whole.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her squirm, cracking a smile at how cute she looks when she’s embarrassed.
So fucking adorable.
“Don’t worry,” I murmur, letting my amusement seep through my voice. “I’ve seen worse parental tactics.”
She groans, peeking at me through her fingers. “They’re ridiculous.”
“They’re parents,” I counter, my lips stretching into a full smile. “Typical. I bet they just want you to be happy.”
“And you?” she asks quietly, her expression turning serious.
The question hangs between us for a while. I stare at her face, trying to guess what she’s thinking.
“Me?”
“What do you want?”
“I—” For the first time in a very long time, I don’t know what to say. You, is the obvious answer. She’s all that I want. But I don’t know if she’s ready to hear it.
“I thought you had left,” she says, her voice catching with some emotion I can’t decipher.
“I couldn’t,” I say simply.
Silence. “Why not?”
I run a hand through my hair, letting out a weary sigh. “Paris, I—”
“Thanks for earlier,” she cuts in stiffly, pointedly avoiding my eyes. “You should probably leave now. It’s a long drive back to Baltimore.”
She turns to leave, but I quickly grab her hand, curling my fingers gently around her wrist. “Paris, please…”
She whirls around, snatching her hand from mine.
“What the hell do you want from me?” she snaps angrily.
“Haven’t you done enough? You followed me, watched me without my permission.
You left roses on my doorstep like some…
some creepy stalker. You made me feel safe and then ripped that safety away!
Who does that? Who pretends to be someone’s savior when really they’re the reason she can’t sleep at night? ”
Her chest heaves with every word, her face flushed with anger, hurt, betrayal. I let her get it out, all of it, because I deserve it. Every accusation. Every burn.
When she finally falters, her breath ragged, I reach for her hand again. Slowly. Carefully.
“Are you done?” I keep my voice steady, though my insides feel like they’re on fire.
She glares, lips pressed tight, but she doesn’t pull away this time.
“Give me a chance,” I beg softly, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Let me explain.”
Her silence is permission enough.
“I never meant for it to be like this. I didn’t set out to scare you.
I just…” I shake my head, searching for the words that feel too big to fit in my mouth.
“The first time I saw you, in the hallway of our building…I fell. Hard. You were light, and I hadn’t felt light in years.
I wanted to get closer to you, but I didn’t know how.
I didn’t know how to be…normal with you. ”
Her eyes soften, just a fraction.
“I noticed you worked late. That you came home at hours when the city wasn’t safe. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else watching you. Someone with bad intentions. So, I followed. To keep you safe. To make sure you got home in one piece.”
Her lips part, her breathing uneven, but she doesn’t speak.
“The photos on my phone…” My throat works. “They were stupid. I know that. But I couldn’t help myself. You smiled at a stray cat, you laughed when Captain burnt a pie…those little moments, Paris. I couldn’t resist capturing them. I wanted to savor them.”
I swallow hard, my voice lowering. “The roses…I found out they were your favorite. So I left them. Not to scare you. To…I don’t know. To remind you someone thought you deserved something beautiful.”
She’s listening, but I can’t let myself hope yet.
I push myself to keep talking, to get it all out.
“I only went into your bedroom the one time, through the window. I overheard a conversation about a missing girl, and I know it’s stupid, I knew it wasn’t you, but I just…
I panicked. Needed to make sure you were safe. ”
Her shoulders sag. The fire in her eyes dims, leaving something softer, something that makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For calling you names. For—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off gently. “I deserved it. Every bit of it.”
We stand there, our hands tangled, silence stretching thick between us. And then, I tug her gently toward me, dropping my forehead to hers.
“I love you, Paris,” I murmur quietly, staring deeply into her eyes. “I’m in love with you.”
“I love you too,” she whispers, her lips spreading in a smile that reflects brightly in her eyes.
I press her body closer to mine, cup the back of her neck, and lower my mouth to hers, kissing her slow and soft. She melts against me, her lips parting, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. I slide my tongue into her mouth, and she moans, the sound ripping straight through me.
I growl against her lips, sliding one hand down to grip her hip, the other tangling in her hair. She arches into me, her body saying everything her words already confessed.
“God, Paris…” I murmur against her mouth. “You’re mine.”
“Yours,” she murmurs breathlessly.
Heat coils tight in my gut, and I’m two seconds from carrying her over to the living room couch when the sound of someone clearing their throat jerks us apart.
Paris’s mom is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded, eyes sparkling with mischief. Right behind her is her husband, trying and failing not to scowl, his ears turning red at the tip.
“Harold,” Susan sing-songs, “looks like the pie isn’t the only thing heating up in here.”
Paris gasps, covering her face with both hands. “Mom!”
I straighten slowly, keeping one arm around Paris’s waist because I’m not letting go of her, not now. Her dad glares at me like he’s weighing the pros and cons of murder.
I meet his stare without flinching, and before I can talk myself out of it, I say, calm and clear, “Sir, ma’am—I intend to make Paris my wife.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a blade. Paris peeks at me from behind her hands, her whole face crimson.
Her mom’s smile breaks first, wide and wicked. “Well, that’s…direct.”
Her dad just groans, dragging a hand down his face. “God help me.”
Paris groans too, burying her face against my chest, her shoulders shaking with laughter. I wrap my arms around her, my heart swelling with a joy that seems almost impossible.
I never thought I was worthy of such grace.