She stands just inside my doorway, eyes too wide, breath too shallow, like she’d run here without stopping. Like something chased her all the way to my door.
My grip tightens around my phone. My heart drops hard enough to bruise.
“Hey,” I repeat, stepping closer but slow enough not to spook her. “Honey, what happened?”
Her throat works. Her lips tremble but don’t form a word.
And I swear—swear—I feel something inside my chest crack open. That same protective instinct that used to blindside me years ago when she’d cry into my shirt after long shifts, whenshe’d lose hope over Anna, when she’d force a smile so no one saw the way she was dying inside.
The instinct I thought I buried.
The one I thought I didn’t deserve to feel anymore.
I reach her gently, brushing my fingers against her arm.
She flinches.
Not away from me.
Away from memory.
My jaw locks. “Who touched you?”
Her eyes snap to mine, startled, wet at the corners.
“Caden—nothing, I’m okay, I just?—”
“No,” I cut in softly but firmly. “Someone hurt you. Tell me who.”
Her breath stutters, and for a second I think she’ll deflect again. But then her face cracks—just slightly—and a single tear slips down.
She shakes her head. “You’re already doing more than I can ever repay. I—I don’t want you involved.”
Too late for that.
I lift her chin with two fingers. “I’m already involved.”
Her eyes squeeze shut, and she steps forward—just an inch, maybe less—but it’s enough to break the last barrier between us.
I pull her into my arms.
And she collapses.
Not physically—she’s still standing—but emotionally she folds into me like I’m the only thing keeping her upright. Her forehead drops to my shoulder, her fingers clutching the back of my shirt, desperate and trembling.
My throat tightens so painfully I have to shut my eyes for a second.
God, she feels the same.
Small. Warm. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t still hit like this.
Four years and her body still fits against mine like it never left.
Four years and I still know the shape of her grief by the way she breathes against me.
I wrap my arms fully around her, one hand sliding instinctively to the back of her head, the other around her waist, anchoring her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”
