Chapter 18
Axel
Ipull into the parking lot behind Pike's Perk thirty minutes early, killing the engine with a satisfied smile.
The Oxford Hotel suite is booked, I've arranged for champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries to be waiting in the room, and I've already handled the brewery schedules so I can focus entirely on Sadie for the next twenty-four hours.
The anticipation has me practically vibrating.
Last night was… intense. The way she responded to me, the hunger in her kiss, the soft sounds she made beneath me on that couch, I can't get enough.
But it's more than just physical. Something shifted between us when I showed up at her door.
A wall came down. She let me see her, really see her, vulnerable and wanting and unguarded.
I exit my truck and head toward the stairs that lead up to her apartment. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the parking lot, the air crisp with early autumn. I spot her car parked in its usual spot, and I'm halfway across the lot when I notice it.
A large manila envelope tucked under her windshield wiper. No markings, no visible address, just a blank envelope stuck beneath one of the wiper blades.
My good mood evaporates instantly. Something about it feels wrong. I scan the parking lot, suddenly alert to every shadow, every sound. It's mostly empty this early, just a couple of cars belonging to café staff. No one loitering, no one watching.
But someone was here. Someone put that envelope on her car, knowing exactly which vehicle was hers.
My first instinct is to take it upstairs to Sadie. It's her mail, after all. But something stops me, the memory of her face when she talks about Oregon, about the court case. The fear that darkens her eyes whenever her phone rings with an unknown number.
I look up at her apartment windows. The lights are on; she's getting ready for our weekend. Probably packing, maybe even feeling excited about getting away. I picture her face if I bring this up to her, how the light would fade from her eyes, how tension would reclaim her body.
I glance around the parking lot once more, then back at the envelope in my hands. This isn't some random piece of mail. Someone placed it here deliberately, someone who knows which car is Sadie's, someone who knows where she lives and works.
My jaw clenches. Whatever this is, it isn't good news. And I'm not letting it ruin our weekend before it even starts.
Before I can second-guess myself, I slide my finger under the metal clasp, loosening it. The envelope opens easily, and I take a deep breath before looking inside.
Inside the envelope is a single photograph. My hands go flat on the hood, fingers locking hard enough to ache as I stare at the image.
It’s Sadie, standing behind the counter at Pike's Perk, Poppy perched on her hip.
It's an intimate moment, Sadie smiling down at her daughter, completely unaware she's being watched.
The photo is clearly taken from outside, through the café window, but with a powerful zoom lens that captures every detail of their faces.
Across the bottom of the photo, written in bold red marker: "I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE."
"Fuck," I whisper, my jaw locking so hard my teeth ache. My hands shake as I turn the photo over.
Nothing on the back, no note, no signature, no demands. Just the implied threat in those five words.
Elliot. It has to be. The man Sadie's been running from, the reason for the court case, for her constant vigilance. This is his way of letting her know he's found her, that he can get close to her and Poppy whenever he wants.
I scan the parking lot again, my alertness at a ten.
Is he here now? Watching us? Watching me hold evidence of his stalking?
The thought makes my skin prickle but also turns my fear into something sharp and dangerous. Let him try to get near her. Let him fucking try.
I slide the photo back into the envelope, my mind racing. What do I do now? The obvious answer is to go upstairs, show Sadie, call the police. Document the harassment for her custody case.
But I picture her face when she sees this, the terror that will replace the rare happiness I've glimpsed in her lately.
The way she'll shut down, retreat into protective mode, cancel our weekend.
She'll be looking over her shoulder every second, jumping at shadows, convinced Elliot is about to appear and snatch Poppy away.
Just when she was starting to relax. Just when she was allowing herself to trust me, to hope for something better.
I glance up at her apartment again, then back at the envelope.
My first instinct is to protect her by telling her everything, but what if the real protection she needs right now is space to breathe?
Twenty-four hours away from this place, where she can feel normal before facing the legal battle ahead?
I tuck the envelope inside my jacket, decision made.
I won't show her. Not tonight, not tomorrow.
I'll let her have this weekend without fear.
When we return, I'll tell her everything, help her file a police report, talk to her lawyer.
But right now, what she needs most is a break from the constant terror.
As I climb the stairs to her apartment, guilt gnaws at me. Am I doing the right thing, keeping this from her? Or am I just another man making decisions about her life without her consent?
No. This is different. I'm not hiding it forever, just delaying the inevitable crash back to reality. Giving her one night of peace before the storm hits again.
I knock on her door, pushing down my anger, my fear, my racing thoughts. When she opens it, smiling up at me with those fucking lips, all I can think about is her.
"Hey," she says, stepping back to let me in. "You're early."
"Couldn't wait to see you," I reply, forcing a lightness into my voice that I don't feel. The envelope seems to burn against my chest where it's hidden inside my jacket.
She laughs, a soft sound that makes me even more certain of my decision. "Eager, are we?"
"Very." I pull her into my arms, holding her perhaps a little too tightly. Over her shoulder, I see her packed overnight bag by the door, ready for our escape. "You all set?"
"Almost." She pulls back, studying my face. "Everything okay? You seem tense."
I smooth my expression, pushing down the rage and fear simmering beneath the surface. "Just excited for our getaway. Been looking forward to it all week."
She accepts this, turning to grab her jacket from the hook by the door. "Rowan's going to pick up Poppy from daycare. I've written down all her routines, medications, favorite foods…"
As she chatters about arrangements for Poppy, I make a mental note to text Trent. I need someone watching the café while we're gone, someone who can keep an eye out for suspicious activity, unfamiliar faces. Someone who can alert me if Elliot shows up.
"…and I've got her favorite blanket packed for Rowan's place," Sadie finishes, zipping up her jacket. She looks lighter somehow, almost carefree. The knowledge that someone is watching her, threatening her by proxy, makes my jaw clench.
"Perfect," I say, picking up her bag. "The suite is all set. We've got dinner reservations at eight, but we can cancel if you'd rather just do room service."
"Let's play it by ear." She smiles up at me, and I'm struck again by how beautiful she is when she's not afraid. "I'm just happy to be getting away."
I lean down and kiss her, gentle but thorough. When I pull back, her eyes are soft, cheeks flushed. "Me too," I murmur.
As we head down the stairs to my truck, I tap out a quick text to Trent.
Me: Need you to keep an eye on Pike's Perk this weekend. Will explain later.
He responds immediately.
Trent: Everything ok?
Me: Not sure. Just be watchful. Let me know if anyone suspicious hangs around.
I slide my phone into my pocket as we reach the parking lot. As I open the truck’s passenger door for Sadie, I scan the parking lot again, my grip tightening on the handle.
Is he watching us right now? Taking more photos? Planning his next move?
The thought makes me want to gather Sadie in my arms, shield her with my body, take her somewhere no one could ever find her. The intensity surprises me. I've never been the protective type before, at least not like this, not with this bone-deep need to keep someone safe at all costs.
"You’re tense," she says.
I glance over, letting her see the promise in my eyes. "Just thinking about what I’m going to do with you when I finally get you alone."
Her expression softens. She reaches across the console and places her hand on my thigh, a gesture so casual and intimate. "I'm looking forward to it too," she says. "Thank you for arranging all this."
I cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. "You deserve it."
As we pull out of the parking lot, I can't help checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, looking for cars that might be following us. My chest tightens, the secret pressing on me like a loaded weapon. I’m holding back what could break her, but I’ll carry that weight if it means she gets one night of peace.
She’ll hate me for it later, maybe, but I’ll take her anger over her fear any day.
But I also know Sadie. I've watched how she operates, how tightly wound she keeps herself, how vigilant she is about every potential threat.
If I show her that photo now, our weekend is over before it begins.
She'll spiral into panic, probably drive straight back to check on Poppy, maybe even decide she needs to run again.
No. I made the right call. I'll protect her this weekend, give her the break she desperately needs, and then I'll handle this. I'll tell her everything when we get back, help her document it for her case, make sure she and Poppy are safe.
"You're quiet," she observes as we hit the highway, Denver-bound.
I force myself to relax my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "Just thinking."
"About?" She's watching me with those perceptive eyes that seem to see right through my bullshit.
I search for a half-truth. "About you. About us. Whatever this is becoming."
That gets her attention. She shifts in her seat, turning more fully toward me. "And what is it becoming?"
I glance at her, then back at the road. "Something I wasn't expecting." I take a breath. "Something I don't want to mess up."
She's quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "I wasn't expecting it either," she finally says, her voice soft. "You kind of blindsided me, Axel Slade."
Despite everything, the fear, the guilt, the anger simmering beneath the surface, I find myself smiling. "Good blindside or bad blindside?"
"I'm still deciding." But there's a teasing note in her voice that makes the corner of my mouth hitch up before I can stop it, a quiet ease loosening my shoulders.
We fall into easier conversation after that, talking about the café, about my brothers, about the hotel I've booked.
I tell her about the champagne waiting in our room, the room service menu I've already studied, the spa services available if she wants them.
I watch her face light up with each new detail, the worry lines around her eyes softening.
This is why I'm keeping the photo from her, I remind myself. So she can have this, these moments of genuine happiness without fear shadowing every smile.
But as the Denver skyline appears on the horizon, guilt gnaws at me again. I'm making decisions for her, just like Elliot probably did. Deciding what she can and can't handle. Keeping information from her "for her own good." The justification sounds hollow even in my own head.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Sadie asks, breaking into my spiral of self-doubt.
I glance at her, taking in her relaxed posture, the soft smile playing at her lips. She looks happier than I've ever seen her, more at ease in her own skin. The contrast between this Sadie and the tightly wound, hypervigilant woman I first met is striking.
"Just wondering what I did to deserve you in my life," I say, the words coming out more raw and honest than I intend.
Her smile falters slightly, a flash of vulnerability crossing her face. "I'm the one who should be wondering that," she says quietly.
I reach across the console and take her hand, threading our fingers together. The envelope crinkles slightly as I shift in my seat, a physical reminder of the secret I'm keeping, the trust I'm betraying even as I convince myself I’m doing the right thing.