I knew it was over.
* * *
LATER.MUCH LATER.I sat wrapped in a blanket, my hands shaking around a paper cup I couldn’t bring myself to drink from.
Creed knelt in front of me again, his movements slower now.Careful.As if I were something fragile he refused to break.
“They’ll prosecute him,” he said.“Federal.International.He won’t see daylight for a very long time.”
I nodded.I didn’t trust my voice with words yet.
“And if he gets out on a technicality?”
His expression hardened—not with anger, but certainty.“He still won’t see daylight.”
That answer settled something inside me.
“And the money?”I asked.
Creed exhaled through his nose.“That’s the next fight.”
I looked up at him.
“For tonight,” he said, brushing his thumb beneath my eye, grounding me, “you survived.That’s enough.”
I leaned into his hand and let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for years.
Creed left to speak with the police and returned later with coffee.I didn’t want it, but I wrapped my hands around the cup anyway—something solid to anchor me while the world tried to stitch itself back together.
He told me Celine was out of surgery.Stable.Sedated.
The doctor had said she was lucky.
Wewere lucky.
“She came back for me,” I said quietly.
Creed nodded once.“She did.”
The silence between us stretched—not empty, not awkward.Steady.The kind that lets you breathe.
“I almost lost you today.”His voice caught on the last word.
“You didn’t.”
He nodded again, as if he needed to hear it twice to believe it.
Once the weight of what Celine had done settled between us—heavy but survivable—Creed went still, his gaze drifting past me, jaw tightening as if the moment had nudged him somewhere I hadn’t followed yet.
He didn’t speak right away.
Then he exhaled and looked back at me, something stripped bare in his eyes.
“I’ve spent my entire life controlling outcomes,” he said.“Power.Risk.Exposure.I thought if I managed enough variables, nothing could touch me.”
“But it did.”
“Yes.”He swallowed.“You did.”
