They stared each other down.
Cassidy held her breath, watching. Jean-Paul had always preyed on anyone he could control—people who felt small, uncertain, unsure. But he knew he couldn’t control Zach, and he couldn’t control her anymore. She saw it in his eyes. He knew it.
But she also knew what he was capable of. He fought dirty, always had. She’d seen him coax others into throwing the first punch so that he could cry victim and press charges. He was smarter than he looked—and slippery. But here, in this town, it was clear to everyone: He didn’t belong. And no one was buying his act.
“You’re going to regret this, you stupid bitch,” Jean-Paul spat out in French, and by the gasps, she could tell enough people had heard and understood.
Before Zach could even move, Madison appeared—her fist flying.
She punched Jean-Paul square in the jaw. He dropped like a wet towel. A wet towel in an expensive suit.
“That’s for insulting my friend,” Madison said coldly. “And for disrespecting our town.”
She turned to Cassidy. “I took French in high school. The swears are about all I remember.” She cracked her knuckles. “You alright?”
Cassidy nodded, still trying to process everything. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Good,” Zach said. “But Liam’s not. He saw the whole thing.”
“Well… not the whole thing,” Madison corrected, glancing at Zach. “He saw the part where Jean-Paul got down on one knee, everyone clapped and cheered… and then he bolted.”
Cassidy swore under her breath. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers flying across the screen, dialing Liam’s number. She pressed the phone to her ear as the ringtone droned on, over and over again.
No answer.
She pulled the phone away, her fingers trembling as she typed:
Liam, I can explain. It’s not what you think. Please call me.
She hit send, staring at the screen, willing the three dots of a reply to appear. Nothing. No text. No call.
Nothing.
She looked up, her reflection in the café window catching her off guard—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, panic etched across her features beneath the twinkle of holiday lights.
“I have to find him,” she said, almost apologetic, to Madison and Zach.
She didn’t wait for them to reply as she half walked, half jogged down Oak Way, scanning for his truck.
She reached his shop, breathless, heart hammering, and tried the door.
Locked.
She cupped her hands around her face, peering into the darkened interior, hoping—praying—to see him moving inside.
Nothing. No lights, no movement. Just her reflection, pale and frantic, staring back.
Cassidy’s breath fogged the glass as she leaned her forehead against the door, her eyes closing.
She had no idea where he was.
THIRTY-SIX
LIAM
Sunday, December 14th
Liam didn’t tell anyone where he was going—except Jackson. And even then, it was more of a text than a conversation.
