She did.
His face was too close. His eyes, relentless. There was nothing cold in them now, only heat. Only care.
“Arden.” His voice came low. A warning wrapped in restraint.
Her lips parted like she might say something. But instead, another tug at her lip. The first rose on her windshield. The notes at the bar. The anonymous texts. The silent weight of being watched.
It all rose up like smoke.
A pause.
“It’s not a big deal.”
His patience snapped.
He moved fast. One hand at her waist, the other at the back of her neck; she was pressed full against him, flush from shoulders to knees.
“You don’t get to decide that. Not when someone’s trying to scare you. Not when?—”
He broke off. His jaw clenched.
Not when I care about you.
He didn’t say it.
She felt it anyway.
Her eyes burned.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t argue.
Because she knew.
Gideon exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. He wouldn’t press, not yet. Not when she was bracing for a fight.
But this? This wasn’t over.
“You’re not facing this—or anything else—alone.”
She swallowed, gaze flicking up to meet his. Something flickered behind her eyes. Vulnerable. Raw.
Gone before he could name it.
Her hands had fisted in his shirt. At some point, she’d started holding on. She didn’t know when.
It wasn’t calculated.
It was instinct.
And he let her.
Let her hold on.
His hands settled on her waist, firm and grounding. His fingers flexed once, anchoring them both.
She wasn’t delicate.
She wasn’t small.
