And Anselsnapped.
His hand left my waist in an instant. “Hey — HEY!” His voice boomed, louder than I’d ever heard it. A growl, almost. Primal. “Back thefuckoff?—”
The crowd hushed in a way chaos sometimes does, like the eye of a storm. And then —
“Don’ttouchher,” Ansel snarled, chest heaving as he pointed a finger at the man with the camera. “You get that close again, and I swear to God?—”
“Sir, relax?—”
“No,I’ve already been to jail once this morning for assaulting a man. You think I care if I make it two before noon? Back away from her.”
I realized then my shoulder was bleeding. A small cut, but enough. He turned to me, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. Barely.
And then hereallyturned on them.
“You want a fucking photo? Take it now. Take a good,longlook at the guy who’s gonna make sure every single one of you never works again if you so much asbreathein her direction without permission.”
It wasn’t just anger in his voice. It waspower. The type of rage that didn’t need yelling to be heard.
He didn’t wait for a reply. Just took my hand again, jaw tight, and guided me the rest of the way to the door — opening it, pulling me in, shutting the world behind us.
Inside, everything was quiet.
I was shaking. My shoulder throbbed.
“Let me see,” he said softly. Voice gentler now, like a switch had flipped. He was already guiding me to sit down at the edge of the entryway bench.
“I’m fine?—”
“You’renot.”
“It’s a scratch,” I laughed, trying to wave it off. “Seriously. I’ve gotten worse from opening cardboard boxes.”
But he was already stalking down the hallway, returning seconds later with a half-stocked first-aid kit and that wild look still in his eyes. “Sit.”
“Ansel—”
“Sit,” he repeated, gentler this time, voice already softening even as the tremble in his fingers betrayed him.
I sat.
He crouched between my knees, hands careful as he peeled back my sleeve, frowning at the small scrape like it personally offended him. His fingers brushed against the cut, and his jaw ticked.
“You’re shaking,” I murmured.
“Iknow,” he bit out. “Jesus, Juniper. They swarmed you. That assholehityou.”
“I’m okay.”
“You could’ve fallen. Could’ve cracked your head. Could’ve gotten trampled.”
I reached for his wrist, thumb stroking over the frantic pulse there. “But I didn’t.”
He didn’t say anything — just pressed an alcohol wipe to my shoulder a little too roughly.
“Ow,” I hissed. “You trying to punish me or help me?
