Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Summer
I barely remembered the drive home. My body moved on autopilot, my mind replaying Jake’s broken voice over and over again, his desperate plea clinging to me like a second skin.
My hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, my knuckles aching from the pressure, but I couldn’t bring myself to loosen them.
Every time I blinked, I saw his tear-filled eyes.
Every time I exhaled, I felt the weight of his fear pressing into my chest. My heart was racing, my stomach twisted in knots, and by the time I pulled into my apartment complex, I was so emotionally drained that I wasn’t even sure how I had made it home in one piece.
I stepped out of the car, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me.
The night air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in my veins.
My body felt heavy, my thoughts clouded with exhaustion, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed and pretend, for just a few hours, that everything wasn’t falling apart.
I reached my door, fumbling with my keys, my fingers trembling as I tried to slide the right one into the lock.
But before I could, I felt it—a presence.
Someone was watching me.
I froze, my body going rigid, my breath catching in my throat.
Slowly, I turned my head, my gaze landing on a shadowed figure leaning against the wall a few feet away.
My stomach clenched, my pulse spiking before my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
Broad shoulders. Sharp, knowing eyes. A tailored jacket hanging loosely over a crisp shirt.
Malcolm.
I exhaled sharply, my grip tightening around my keys as irritation flickered through the chaos already swirling inside me. Of all the nights for him to appear, why did it have to be this one?
"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice came out rough, raw from the emotions still clogging my throat.
He didn’t answer right away. He just watched me, his expression unreadable, his gaze scanning my face like he could see right through me. Like he already knew I was unraveling. "You look like you’re about to break," he said finally, voice low, careful.
I gritted my teeth, shoving my key into the lock. "Not your problem."
He didn’t move, didn’t argue. Just tilted his head slightly. "You sure about that?"
Something in his tone, in the quiet way he spoke, made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I hated how easily he could read me. How, even after all these years, he still knew how to slip past the walls I so carefully built.
I pushed the door open, stepping inside. "Go home, Malcolm."
Before I could shut the door, his hand caught it. Not forcefully, not aggressively—just firm enough that I couldn’t close him out.
"Talk to me." His voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the command in it.
I clenched my jaw, looking anywhere but at him. "I can’t do this tonight."
He didn’t let go of the door. "Then when?"
Frustration surged inside me, bubbling beneath the exhaustion. I let out a harsh laugh, shaking my head. "God, you are so insufferable."
"And yet, you’re still standing here, talking to me."
I hated him. Hated the way he could still slip under my skin so effortlessly. Hated the way my body reacted to the warmth of his presence, to the way his voice curled around me like something solid, something steady.
Hated how badly I wanted to give in.
I let out a sharp breath, stepping back, allowing him inside. "Fine. Five minutes. That’s all you get."
He stepped through the door, his movements slow, controlled, like he knew he had already won this battle. I shut the door behind him, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
"So," he said, watching me carefully, "are you going to tell me what’s going on?"
I opened my mouth to brush him off, to tell him it wasn’t his business. But before I could, something inside me cracked. A tremor started in my chest, climbing up my throat, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
The weight of the night, of everything I had been trying to carry on my own, came crashing down all at once. My breath hitched, my vision blurred, and before I could stop myself, a choked sob tore from my lips.
Malcolm was in front of me in an instant.
His hands found my arms, his grip steady, grounding. "Hey," he murmured, his voice calm, soothing, as if he had been expecting this. "Breathe."
I tried. I really did. But the moment I felt the warmth of his touch, the moment I saw the concern flicker in his eyes, the dam inside me broke completely. My body shook with silent sobs, and suddenly, I wasn’t just crying—I was falling apart.
Malcolm didn’t hesitate.
He pulled me into his arms, wrapping me up in warmth, in strength, in something I hadn’t realized I needed until it was too late.
I buried my face into his chest, my fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me upright. His arms tightened around me, one hand smoothing over my back in slow, soothing strokes, the other resting against the back of my head, holding me close.
I hated how safe I felt in his arms.
Hated that, in this moment, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to leave them.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t rush me. He just held me, letting me break, letting me pour out every unspoken fear, every suppressed emotion I had been carrying for far too long.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. My sobs eventually quieted, my body still trembling, but no longer falling apart. My fingers loosened their grip on his shirt, but I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.
His voice was softer when he spoke. "Tell me everything."
And for the first time that night, I did.
I told him about Jake. About the adoption. About the fear in his voice, the terror in his eyes. About Peter Hale and the power his family held. About how I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I couldn’t let that man take Jake.
Malcolm didn’t interrupt. He listened. Really listened. His grip on me never wavered, his body still and solid, like he was anchoring me to something real.
When I finally finished, my voice hoarse, my throat raw, he was silent for a long moment.
Then he exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing lightly against my spine. "You’re not doing this alone."
Something in my chest twisted, something dangerous and unfamiliar.
I shook my head. "Malcolm, you don’t?—"
"I do," he cut in, his voice firm, unwavering. "And I’m not letting you fight this battle by yourself."
I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. "Why do you even care?"
His jaw tightened, his grip on me just a little firmer.
"Because I know what it’s like to be the kid no one fights for," he said quietly.
The words hit harder than I expected.
I stared at him, my heart hammering in my chest.
There was no teasing in his expression, no amusement. Just truth.
And maybe… something else.
Something I wasn’t ready to name.
The air between us shifted.
Malcolm’s gaze dropped to my lips for just a fraction of a second before he looked back up, his hands tightening against my waist.
I should have stepped back. Should have created distance before the heat between us became something I couldn’t control.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t move at all.
And neither did he.