Tessa hesitates, her eyes flicking to me.
I give her a reassuring nod.
“Uh, sure,” Tessa says, standing slowly.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
TESSA
Ifollow the women down the hall, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet runner. The condo is quieter back here, insulated from the city noise outside. We pass a bathroom with gleaming marble counters and a bedroom that looks like it’s never been used before we reach the one at the end—the room Logan mentioned.
Penny pushes open the door, and we file inside.
It’s bigger than I expected. A king-sized bed sits against the far wall, dressed in crisp white linens and a charcoal duvet. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, the skyline glittering in the darkness. There’s a reading chair tucked in the corner beside a floor lamp, and a door on the left that I assume leads to the bathroom Logan mentioned.
It’s beautiful. Impersonal, maybe, but beautiful.
Once we’re all inside, Penny closes the door behind us with a soft click.
She turns to me with a gentle smile, though something sad lingers in her eyes. “So,” she says, her voice soft, “Logan filled usin on what’s been going on. And I want you to know that I can take care of this.”
Iris nods, leaning against the dresser. “Truly, you can trust her, Tessa. Penny’s entire job is to fix any problem that comes up with the team or the guys—and she’s really good at it. She has more connections than anyone I know. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
I look at all of them—these women I just met, standing in this beautiful room, offering to help me—and something warm settles in my chest. But reality pushes back against it.
“I appreciate you all trying to help me,” I say carefully, wrapping my arms around myself. “But I really think this is much bigger than you realize. Preston’s family has a huge reach. A lot of influence.”
“We know plenty of people with the same kind of reach,” Penny says calmly. “People who owe us favors. People who would do just about anything to help us. Believe me, a lot of powerful people are obsessed with professional sports, and I’ve collected them as partners over the years.”
She meets my gaze, unwavering. “There’s no problem I can’t solve. I know you may not understand that yet—or believe it—but I need you to try to have faith. You don’t need to run. You don’t need to hide. We’re here for you, and we’ll protect you for as long as it takes.”
“Okay,” I say quietly because I do appreciate their effort. And because a small, desperate part of me wants to believe her.
Penny glances around at the other women, then back at me. “The first step is getting a protection order against Preston. I can fill it out, file it, and make it official. I just need a few minutes of your side of the story, okay?”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath me. The duvet is soft under my palms. Penny pulls out her phone and taps the screen a few times.
“I’m going to record it, if that’s okay,” she says gently. “It’s easier than typing everything out. And if having this many people here makes you uncomfortable, some of us can step out. We just thought the more strong women you had on your side, the better—but whatever you’re comfortable with is what matters.”
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You can all stay. I don’t mind.”
“And you’re okay with me recording?” Penny asks, holding up her phone.
I nod. “That’s fine.”
“Okay.” She settles into the reading chair, her expression open and patient. “Just give us a general rundown. When you met Preston, when you moved in together, when the abuse started, and what triggers him. Then talk about the last couple of incidents. We don’t need much to get a personal protection order—details from the last few events will be enough.”
I nod again, pulling in a shaky breath. “Okay.”
I start at the beginning. I tell them how I met Preston at a fundraiser for the local food bank—one of the rare events I attended during my sophomore year of college. How he swooped in like a knight in shining armor when I was overwhelmed by the crowd. How I thought he was going to be the greatest thing that ever happened to me.
In the beginning, he was perfect. Loving. He was more than loving—absolutely devoted. He texted me good morning every day. He brought me flowers. He told me I was beautiful, special, and worth everything. I felt lucky that someone like him—successful, charming, and put-together—loved someone like me.
After a year of him begging me, I finally moved in with him, relinquishing some of the control I’d worked so hard for after leaving the foster care system.
But once I felt completely safe, things started to change.
