Me:I think someone’s trying to remind me who my father is.
A minute later:
Eric:Where are you? I’m coming.
I looked around the loft; the flowers on the table, the half-eaten lemon tart from last night, the quiet that suddenly felt like a trap and whispered, “Maybe you should.”
I texted him back that I was staying at the loft above Phoenix and Elyna’s garage. Only ten minutes had passed when I heard a truck engine in the distance.
The knock came faster than I expected. I’d barely tucked the photo back into the envelope when the sound echoed through the loft. My heart kicked hard against my ribs, but when I pulled open the door, it wasn’t Olivier or Nico standing there.
It was Eric.
His hair was still damp, his jaw shadowed, eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite anger but close enough to sting. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he said, voice low.
I stepped back to let him in. “You drove here without asking what it was first?”
“I didn’t need to ask.” His gaze flicked to my hand, to where I still held the folded envelope. “Let me see it.”
For a moment, I hesitated. Part of me wanted to handle it alone and prove I was still the same strong girl who could survive on her own. But the other part of me, the one who remembered how his hands felt on my skin last night, wanted to lean into the steadiness in his voice. I handed it over. He opened the envelope and pulled out the photo.
His jaw flexed once, twice, before he spoke. “Where did you find this?”
“On the step when I woke up.”
His eyes met mine. “You think it’s Olivier?”
“Or Nico. Maybe both.” I forced a steady breath. “They’re reminding me I’m still the girl who turned against her father.”
He looked down again at the photo. “You’ve always been so strong, what you did with your dad took courage. You shouldn’t question yourself.”
The words hit something deep. I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until his thumb brushed the back of my hand.
“I can’t keep acting like they don’t exist, like my father isn’t disappointed, that Olivier isn’t angry,” I whispered. “I ran away but my problems chased me, even if they weren’t in plain sight. They’re out there, Eric. Watching me. Waiting for me to screw up.”
“They’re cowards,” he said quietly. “And they don’t get to decide how you live your life.”
“You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” I countered.
“I’ve spent half my life watching men like your father tear this town apart, families, businesses, everything good about this place, while my family is trying to hold on to what’s worth saving.”
Something inside me cracked. “You can’t protect me from all of it.”
“Maybe not,” he said, stepping closer, his voice a rough whisper. “But I can damn well try.”
The air between us thickened, heavy with everything we hadn’t said since last night. I wanted to tell him not to care, to stay away, but when he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, my resolve wavered. His fingers brushed my cheek, and the world went very still.
“This isn’t just about the photo,” I said quietly.
Eric’s gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. “I know.”
“Then what is it really about?” I asked, my voice softer than I meant. “Last night? Us?”
He exhaled slowly, the space between us shrinking with every word. “Maybe it’s about both,” he said finally. “Maybe I’m trying to figure out which one scares me more.”
My heart stuttered. “Scares you?”
His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes dark and raw. “It’s about you walking around this town like you don’t matter, when you do. You always have.”
