Chapter 14
Kade
The water’s hot, borderline scalding but I let it hit my shoulders anyway. Let it burn the stress out of my muscles, rinsing off the grit of the day.
I close my eyes and press both palms to the tile, letting the water pound against the back of my neck. But it doesn’t wash her out of my head.
That look on her face when she realized the order was wrong—pure panic. Like she thought she was about to get destroyed for it.
I’ve seen people screw up on site a hundred different ways, seen nervous new hires freeze up, but that wasn’t nerves. That was something deeper. Older. Something she didn’t know how to hide fast enough from.
And when she flinched, when she pulled away like I might hurt her, I felt sick. Not at her. At whatever the hell put that fear in her in the first place.
I scrub a hand over my face and step out of the shower, water dripping off me as I grab a towel. I should let it go. People have pasts. Not everyone wants to be saved or fixed.
Still…
I dry off, tug on a pair of sweats, and head for the kitchen with my phone in hand. I scroll aimlessly for a second before her name lights up my brain again.
Then I remember what Liv said about her kitchen sink. I wonder if it’s still leaking, if she’s still having to use a bowl.
It’s a simple maintenance fix and maybe it’s a reason to check in without pushing too hard.
I shoot her a text.
Me: Hey. Random one, I forgot to ask if your sink was still leaking?
Liv: Yeah, it’s still leaking, but it’s not too bad.
Me: Want me to swing by and take a look?
Liv: Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.
Me: You’re not. I’m already out. It won’t take long.
She doesn't need to know that I'm not really out at at all, but at home, fresh from the shower, searching for excuses just to be able to see her.
I wait a beat as the little dots that tell me she’s typing appear, then disappear again. Then, finally, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Liv: Okay, I’m just going to jump in the shower quickly. See you soon.
I grab my keys and head out the door, telling myself it’s just about fixing a leak. That it’s a small thing, just to make sure she’s really okay after today.
It takes about fifteen minutes to get from my place to Liv’s. I knock once, then again, louder the second time.
Just as I’m reaching for my phone to text her, I hear the quick sounds of footsteps behind the door. A second later, it swings open—and there she is.
Wrapped in a white towel, water still dripping from her skin, hair damp and curling at the ends.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” she breathes, cheeks flushed. “I was in the shower longer than I was meant to be. Come in, I’ll just run upstairs and get dressed.”
She steps aside, and I walk in, doing everything I can not to let my eyes drift too far down her bare legs. A hint of pink creeps up her chest and neck, and I force myself to focus on anything else.
Get your shit together, man.
She was crying in her office a few hours ago. Flinching like you’d raised a hand to her.
I watch the curve of her ass disappear up the stairs, then drag a hand down my face with a sigh.
I wander into the kitchen to give her space and maybe give myself time to breathe.
The house smells faintly like whatever soap she just used, clean and soft, like her.
I spot the sink and crouch beneath it, opening the cupboard and locating the tap.
It’s leaking, alright. Steady, rhythmic drips tapping against the basin like a clock counting down the seconds until she comes back down.
I grab the wrench from my bag and get to work, but my mind isn’t on the pipe. It’s on the way she looked earlier today—wide-eyed, shaking, like someone had yanked her back into a place she thought she’d left behind. Like she wasn’t in that office anymore but somewhere else entirely.
Someone else had put that fear in her. And I hate how much I want to find him and put my fist through his face.
The leak tightens with a twist of the wrench, and the dripping stops. Still, I stay crouched for a second longer, jaw clenched, trying to level out my breathing.
Then I hear her coming down the stairs.
Her footsteps are slower now, softer. When I look up, she’s dressed in leggings and a hoodie, her damp hair pulled back. The vulnerability is still there, just beneath the surface, but she’s trying to tuck it away.
She offers a small smile. “Did it behave for you?”
I straighten up, wiping my hands on the rag I brought. “Yep. Just needed tightening.” I pause, searching her face. “You sure everything else is okay?”
She nods, too quickly.
But I don’t push. Not tonight.
Instead, I gesture toward the tap. “You should be good now. But if it acts up again—”
“You’ll come back?” she says, half-teasing, but her voice is quiet.
Our eyes lock.
“Yeah,” I say. “I will.”
She tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away, trying to hide her shyness.
Silence stretches between us for a beat too long, the kind that buzzes with something unspoken. I clear my throat, searching for neutral ground.
“Have you eaten yet?”
Her brows lift in surprise. “Uh… not really. Just snacked.”
“I could grab us something? Pizza or Chinese or… whatever’s still open.” I offer, wanting more than anything to have more time with her.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “But I want to.”
Her expression softens, and that small wall she keeps trying to rebuild is already cracking again. “Okay,” she says. “Pizza sounds good.”
A little bit of the weight in my chest loosens.
I order while she grabs a couple drinks—water for her, beer for me and we settle onto the couch with enough space between us to pretend this is casual.
But I can feel the tension in the air, humming quietly like static. She keeps glancing at me when she thinks I won’t notice. And I keep noticing.
“I’m sorry again about today,” she sighs as her fingers wrapped tight around her glass.
“Liv,” I say, shaking my head, “you don’t have to apologize.”
“I do. I—” Her breath catches slightly. “I don’t like reacting that way. It’s not who I want to be.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Not if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to pretend either. Not with me.”
The air shifts again, quieter, heavier. Her throat works as she swallows, and she gives the smallest nod. Like maybe she’s letting the truth of that in. Just a little.
The doorbell rings, breaking the moment, and I stand, but not before I see the way her shoulders lower, like something in her finally let go.
I grab the pizza, toss the guy a tip, and return to find her smiling softly, like maybe, just maybe, she feels safe here.
And hell, if that isn’t all I want for her.