Not even close.
But I’m not alone.
32
Lincoln
By the timeI finish pulling on a clean shirt, smoothing my hair down with my palm, and checking the mirror one last time to make sure I don’t look like a man who changed outfits three times before settling on the first one, I’m buzzing. Not anxious. Not nervous. Just… keyed up in a way I haven’t felt in years.
This started an hour ago, when her text came through.
I need a distraction.
Those four words went straight to my bloodstream. Not because she needed me—though that stirred something primal—-but because of the thing she said when the shitstorm started.
I don’t regret it.
And now I want to take her somewhere quiet. Somewhere she can breathe. Somewhere she can forget the world is full of people who think they get to decide what we are.
I grab my jacket, shove my phone in my pocket, push open the front door?—
—and freeze.
Because Milton and Korbin are already standing beside my truck. Milton is leaning against the hood like a fucking model,arms crossed, boot kicking a pebble back and forth. His hair is still damp from his shower, and he looks like he hasn’t been still all day. Korbin is pretending he’s scrolling his phone, but he keeps glancing up in sharp little bursts. His jaw is tight. His shoulders are too squared. His whole body screamsdon’t ask,even though he’s clearly waiting for me too.
“What,” I say slowly, “are you two doing?”
Milton shrugs like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “Coming.”
Korbin grunts without looking up. “Making sure things don’t go to shit.”
I raise a brow. “Backup duty?”
“Exactly,” Milton says brightly, a little too brightly. “Moral support.”
“Emotional stability,” Korbin adds flatly.
I snort. “Neither of you has emotional stability.”
“Then she needs us even more,” Milton fires back, smirking.
But the truth is written all over them; the restless set of Milton’s shoulders, the way Korbin keeps pretending to focus on his phone, the sharp, protective look they only get when they actually give a damn.
And the wildest part?
I’m not jealous.
I’m proud.
Proud that they care. Proud that she’s gotten under their skin. Proud that this weird, fragile thing between the four of us is starting to take shape.
The evening light is soft and peach-gold by the time we pull up to her house. The porch light is on even though it’s not dark yet, spilling warm yellow across the front steps. Before I can get my seat belt off, Milton is already reaching for the door.
“Slow down,” I warn him. “You’ll scare her.”
“She’s probably already scared,” Korbin mutters. “The shit she’s dealt with because of the stupid paparazzi…”
My jaw clenches. Because he’s right. I saw the posts. The comments tearing her apart. Her brother isn’t helping. Then the rookie harassing her at work. I know her well enough now to know she tries to fight alone when she’s hurting.
