I make a beeline for the rail, skirting past the little kids and their painted faces. I’m three steps down from the bleachers when I hear him.
“Seriously, Sawyer,” Harrison calls. “Why are you running away from me?”
I keep walking. Harrison keeps pace, matching every stride.
“I drove to this shithole to see you. You could at least talk to me.”
“Why are you here?” I say, not turning around.
He fakes a laugh. “Because the office needs you back. I need you back, and?—”
I stop. The shock of it is enough to throw him off his rhythm. I spin and face him, arms crossed. “Cut the shit, Harrison. I saw your phone last night.”
He blinks, recalibrates. “My phone?”
“Lexi.” I draw it out, make him feel the word. “I know it’s not over between you two.”
He smiles like it’s a joke, but his eyes are hard. “Sawyer, come on. She’s just an assistant. It’s nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” I say. “Always have been.”
He closes the gap, grabs my arm. Not rough, but insistent. “You’re not done. You can’t be.”
I look at his hand, then at him. “Let go of me.”
He tightens his grip. “What about everything we’ve built? You’re just going to throw it away for what?—”
I jerk my arm, but he’s got both hands now, trying to draw me closer. I feel my pulse in my teeth. There are people everywhere—laughing, drinking, moving around us—butnobody sees. Nobody cares. Or maybe they see and just don’t want to get involved. That might be worse.
Panic blooms in my chest, sharp and suffocating.
I twist my body, trying to break free, but his grip only hardens.
“I said let go,” I demand, hating how small my voice sounds.
He leans in. “You're making a scene.”
I want to scream. God, I want to. To yell for someone—anyone—to help me. But the words die in my throat. My heart’s thudding so loud it drowns everything else out.
I twist my arm again, panic rising like a fire in my chest.
Then a shadow falls across us. There’s a presence, heavy. Intimidating.
And it’s not until I see the boots planted firm in the dirt that I realizehe’shere.
Trouble.
Out of the pen, broad shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes locked on Harrison like he’s already decided how this ends. He’s still got one hand on the rail he just jumped over, his chest rising with a steady, lethal calm like whatever came before this moment didn’t wear him down, it just wound him up.
I don’t have to scream. I don’t have to beg. Because Trouble doesn’t need me to ask him to protect me.
“Is there a problem?” Trouble says, but it’s not a question.
Harrison drops my arm. He tries to square up, but Trouble towers over him. “We’re fine,” he says, stepping back.
Trouble looks at me. “You good?”
I nod, because pride is all I have.
