Hayes blinks like he just remembered there are other people in the room. Straightens up slow. Rolls his sleeves like he’s about to drop a bomb.
“I was in the middle of a meeting,” he says. “The meeting where I quit my job.”
And—yeah. That’s not the answer anyone was expecting.
Ford’s brows shoot up so high they could signal aliens. Beck freezes mid-step on his way back from the kitchen.
“Youwhat?” Ford says.
“I quit,” Hayes repeats.
Except his eyes—they’re brighter. Lighter. Like someone just sawed the chains off his ribs and let him breathe.
“Argued with my father,again, told him I was done. Done being his pawn. Done being his heir. Done pretending I give a damn about his version of Whitlock legacy. Then told Peter I can’t do it anymore.” He exhales, and it’s almost a laugh. “And god, it feels good.”
Ford stares at him as if Hayes just announced he’s moving to Mars to herd llamas. “You… quit the job. The job you’ve been killing yourself over since?—”
“Yes.” Hayes cuts him off, but there’s a curve to his mouth now. The kind that’s dangerous. Beautiful. Free. I’m sitting there, shaking like a leaf, and this man might as well have just ripped the sun out of the sky and stuck it in his chest.
Nobody speaks for a second. Then Beck mutters, “Well. Today’s really out here trying to win gold in the Plot Twist Olympics.”
Hayes grins at that. Just for a second. And wow, I forgot what that looked like. Forgot how much the world tilts in the right direction when he does.
Then the grin fades, his gaze snapping back to me, sharp and fierce again. “Lo, we’re gonna fix this. I promise.”
I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
And then headlights sweep across the windows. Blue and red flickers follow.
“Sheriff’s here,” Beck announces.
He swings open the door and leads Sheriff Nash inside.
“What’s going on?” Nash’s eyes dart around the room.
“Lo needs to talk to you,” Beck says, no sugar, no softening.
Nash’s attention shifts to me, and I swear my lungs forget how to work. But I nod, because I can’t keep this in anymore. I can’t keep pretending this isn’t real.
“Can you… sit?” My voice comes out so small I barely recognize it. He nods and takes the armchair across from me, pulling out a notepad.
“Start from the beginning,” he says.
So I do.
“I first met Dylan through my investigative work a few years ago,” I say. My hands twist in my lap, knuckles white. “And it was fine, at first.”
Nash doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. I keep going.
“We were friends. It was harmless.” My throat tightens because I almost want to laugh at the word “harmless.” “Or so I thought.”
I stare at the floor, the words scraping out of me like glass.
“Then he asked me out.”
Beck stiffens behind me. I don’t look at him.
“I said no. And things got weird…” My pulse hammers as I force the rest out. “He couldn’t accept the ‘no,’ so he started to justbeeverywhere. No matter where I went, he followed. No matter what job I took, he found a way to wiggle his way in. Every city. Every state. For years, just chasing me around. It’s why I came back here, to hide out. To stop living in my car for a bit. I hadn’t told anyone about this place. About my past. I figured he can’t find me somewhere that I haven’t mentioned before.”
