"They will." His voice was certain. "Because you're going to tell them the truth."
THE NEXT THREE HOURSwere exhausting.
I called every parent personally. Explained that my accounts had been compromised by the same person who'd been stalking me. That Rhodes was former Marine turned professional bodyguard. That Valor Springs PD and Austin PD were both involved. That security at Saturday's competition would be extensive.
Most were supportive. Lisa Lindsey said Harper wouldn't miss this competition for anything. Dawn Sutherland asked if there was anything she could do to help. Maria Torres thanked me for being honest.
But Christine Chambers hesitated. "I just need to think about it," she said quietly. "Crystal's safety has to come first."
"I understand." And I did. "Whatever you decide, I respect it."
By eight-thirty, I'd made it through the entire list. Exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. But done.
Rhodes drove us home in silence. I stared out the window, watching Valor Springs pass by—the town square with its string lights, Sweet Sage Bakery closing for the night, familiar streets I'd walked a thousand times.
This was my home. These families were my community. And someone was trying to destroy it all.
BACK AT THE HOUSE,I collapsed onto the couch.
"I can't protect them." The words came out flat. "My students, their parents—I can't stop whoever's doing this."
Rhodes sat beside me. "You're doing everything possible."
"It's not enough." I pressed my hands to my face. "What if something happens? What if they target one of the girls? What if—"
"Presley." His hand on my shoulder stopped the spiral. "Listen to me. You've reported everything. Security's in place for Saturday. Police are involved. Mae's tracking the hacker. You've done your part."
"But I should be able to—"
"What? Catch them yourself?" His voice was gentle but firm. "That's my job. Your job is running your business and coaching those girls. Let me handle the threat."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist there had to be something more I could do.
But he was right. I'd taken every reasonable precaution. The rest was beyond my reach.
"I hate this," I said quietly. "Feeling helpless."
"You're not helpless. You're trusting me to do what I'm trained for." He pulled me against his side. "There's a difference."
I leaned into him. My heartbeat gradually slowed. The panic from earlier finally loosened its grip.
"This is what you meant last night," I said after a moment. "About letting go."
"Partly."
"Not just in the bedroom."
"Everywhere it matters." His arm tightened around me. "Knowing when to hold on and when to let someone else carry the weight."
I processed that. Letting go didn't mean giving up. It meant knowing my limits and trusting the right people when I reached them.
"Your turn," I said, pulling back to look at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "My turn for what?"
"When's the last time you let someone else carry the weight?"
Silence. Resistance flickered across his face, then fear, then raw grief.
