“They’re the best,” he says quietly, jaw locked. “And they’re friends.”
I watch as they fan out with surgical focus, checking the perimeter, the broken door, even the rooftops. Kaleb glances over his shoulder at me as he passes—dark eyes sharp but kind. He gives Elijah a quick nod, like a silent promise that they’ve got this.
The smallest bit of tension in my chest unknots. Not all of it. But some.
“You’re not staying here,” Elijah says suddenly, voice low but firm.
I turn to him. “What?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m not leaving you here. I don’t care if he broke a window or the whole damn block—I’m not giving him another shot at getting near you.”
“Elijah, I…” My words falter. I look around at the mess, at the spray paint screaming from the wall.
YOU DON’T BELONG TO HIM.
I pull in a shaky breath, trying to make sense of anything, but it all feels upside down. “I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “I have towarn Mia, clean up all this mess, and assess the damage for the insurance.”
I try to focus on anything—something—besides the chaos around me. My hands tremble at my sides, and my lungs feel too tight in my chest. I need something to do. Anything.
Because if I stop moving, if I let myself really look at the broken glass and the furious red paint screaming from the wall, I might fall apart completely.
It’s like ever since that horrible date, everything’s spiraled. First the flowers. Then the notes. The photos. George showing up like a ghost I never wanted to see again. And now this.
Everything’s sideways. Everything except Elijah.
He’s the only thing that makes sense in all this madness. The one steady place I can land on. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I don’t know what I’d do without him. Without his voice, his hands, his calm.
Without the way he says“Good girl”like it’s a promise that I’ll be okay.
Panic pushes into my chest again. But so does something else—his hand, steady and warm at my spine. His presence, grounding me like always.
His hands cradle my face before I even realize he’s moved. “Hey,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
I do. My vision blurs.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We’ll call Mia on the way to your apartment. She’ll be safe. And the team will take care of everything else—cleaning, organizing, documenting the damage for insurance. You don’t have to handle this alone, not anymore.”
I try to speak, but my throat tightens.
His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek. “You’re coming home with me, baby girl. Just until this is sorted. Until I knowyou’re safe. You’re everything to me Ava. And I won’t take a single chance with you. Ever.”
I exhale shakily. The bracelet on my wrist—hisbracelet—catches the morning light. My fingers move to touch it, an old habit now. Something that reminds me I’m his. That I’msafe.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll come home with you.”
His lips brush against my temple. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
And for the first time since I saw the broken glass, I breathe a little easier.
***
The moment I step inside Elijah’s apartment, the air shifts.
Warmth. Leather. Cedar. And him.
It’s calm in the way old buildings sometimes are—like it remembers how to hold people without demanding anything in return. The shelves are neat but filled with life: books, framed photos, a few trinkets from a man who doesn’t share easily but keeps everything that matters.
