I jolt, and my breath catches,
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently. “I believe you.” He steps closer, but doesn’t crowd me, his hand still resting lightly, like he’s there if I need him, but willing to wait if I don’t. “I’m not him,” he says quietly. “I’m not your ex. I won’t doubt you. And I will never hurt you.”
The words settle into me like sunlight after a storm. Like climbing into bed and settling under warm blankets.
“You’re safe with me, Stormy.”
My body moves before my mind catches up. One second, I’m upright, blinking through tears, and the next I’m falling into him, chest hitting his like the familiar, grounding scent I’ve come to crave is home.
Ford catches me without hesitation, arms wrapping around me tightly.
He’s not just holding me up but anchoring me. His hands press gently into my back and the curve of my shoulders. His thumb traces gentle circles, slow and comforting.
I sob into his shirt, the sound wrenching from somewhere deep, where all the cracked parts live. And he holds me tighter. His breath is steady against the top of my head.
Ford doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t have to. The silence is soft. It’s shelter. It’s enough.
39
Ford
Ihold Stormy close. Her sobs shake against my chest, each one piercing me like a blade finding bone—a pain I welcome if it means she can let it out. So, I stay steady. I let her cry, unravel, and feel it all. No fixing, no rushing, just presence. Just her and the wreckage, safe in my arms.
I’m still shaken and furious over how that lowlife, Will, thought he could touch her, scare her, make her feel threatened, speak to her that way.
As soon as Stormy ran out of the book club, I was on my feet, ready to chase after her, but I had to make sure Mom had a lift home first. He must’ve slipped out in the few moments it took to speak to her, without me even realising.
Hell, I knew he was a dick. But I never expected this.
After discovering Stormy wasn’t outside, I had a feeling this was where she’d go. But when I pulled up and saw Will’s truck parked out front, I hesitated in confusion.
I watched them through the windows. At first, it looked intimate. I felt gut-punched, distraught.
But then I saw how he held her. The way she pulled against him and struggled. Something was wrong, so I was out of the truck and through the door in seconds.
Terror softened into relief when she saw me, and the flash of recognition wrecked me.
I wanted to rip his head from his shoulders.
But now, her sobs soften against me, less jagged and hollower. I finally speak.
“I’m sorry, Stormy,” I whisper, guilt slicing through me. “I should’ve been here sooner. Should’ve stopped him before he laid a finger on you. I should’ve …”
She looks up. Her face is blotchy and red, her eyes raw, but she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
I loosen my hold, take her face gently in my hands, and swipe the tears trailing down her cheeks.
“I know,” I say, voice breaking. “But I’ll never forgive myself for not being here.”
She gives me a weak, fragile smile.
“You came. You stopped him. That’s all I needed.”
I lean in just enough. My forehead almost touches hers. The thought of what could’ve happened if I hadn’t arrived … it’s too much to bear.
“I swear to you, Stormy … he’ll never touch you again.”
