Finn's whole posture changes—shoulders square, jaw sets, and suddenly he looks older somehow. Harder. "When?"
"I don't know." It's barely a whisper. "Soon. Maybe he's already—"
"Scout." Finn crouches in front of me, forces me to look at him. "You don't have to run. We've got you."
"You don't understand." I'm sobbing now, can't contain it. "He'll—"
"He'll what? Hurt you?" Finn's voice goes gentle but fierce at the same time. "Not while we're breathing. Not happening."
I'm crying harder, overwhelmed by how certain they both sound when all I've got is this clawing terror, this old instinct screaming at me to pack a bag and disappear before Evan walks in and turns me back into the girl who couldn't say no.
Holt pulls me toward the back room, away from the windows, away from the open bay door where anyone driving by could see in. Finn follows close behind. They settle me on the couch and suddenly I'm flanked on both sides, surrounded, held in place by their presence.
I watch Holt pace—his boots on concrete, the set of his shoulders, the way he's already thinking through this, already planning. It helps somehow, seeing him move. Finn settles next to me, shoulder pressed to mine, and that simple contact becomes the only thing keeping me tethered to right now instead of spiraling into worst-case scenarios.
The words spill out before I can stop them, fast and desperate. "You don't know what he's like. He's good at making me feel crazy, like I'm wrong about everything, like I owe him something for running."
Holt stops pacing and looks at me, those blue eyes steady and unflinching. "You don't owe him shit."
"But what if—" My breath stutters in my chest. "What if he convinces me? What if I see him and I go back?"
"You won't." Finn beside me, immediate and certain. "We won't let you."
I laugh, wet and broken. "You can't stop me if I choose to go."
Holt kneels in front of me so we're eye level, close enough I can see the flecks of gray in his irises. "You're right. We can't. But we can remind you why you left. We can stand between you and him if that's what you need. We can make sure you're safe."
My breath catches in my throat and sticks there.
"You're not alone this time, Scout." His hands cover mine, callused and warm and real. "You don't have to face him by yourself."
I can't speak, so I just nod. His certainty is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely.
"Holt knows some of this already," I say after a minute, needing them both to understand what's coming. "But Finn—you need to know what he's like."
Finn goes still beside me, listening.
"He controlled everything. What I wore. Who I talked to. Where I went." My voice shakes but I push through it. "And when I tried to push back, when I said no—" I stop, swallow hard.
Holt's hands ball into fists, knuckles going white. He remembers this part. I told him at the canyon.
"He hit me. Called it dominance, said I wanted it that way, twisted everything I thought I wanted into something that hurt."
"That's fucked up," Finn says quietly, and there's an edge to his voice I've never heard before.
"He'd get mad if I didn't text back fast enough. He'd show up places I didn't tell him about. Said he was just worried, said he loved me." I wipe my eyes but keep going because they need to know all of it. "The wedding—I didn't want it. But everyone was so excited. My parents, his parents. And Evan kept saying it would be perfect, that I'd be happy once it was done."
Holt's jaw clenches, and I can see him working to keep his expression controlled.
"A few days before the wedding, he hit me hard enough to split my lip." My voice drops lower. "My mom saw it and asked what I did to make him so upset."
Finn makes a sound low in his throat, protective and angry in equal measure.
"So I ran. I couldn't do it. I packed a bag and drove until my car died here."
"You did the right thing," Holt says, voice rough with emotion he's barely containing.
"Did I?" I look between them, these two men who've somehow become my whole world. "I embarrassed everyone. Hurt people."
