"I don't... I can't..." She was hyperventilating. "The police were here, but they're gone now, and my security is useless and my manager just wants to control the story and I'm so scared, Lee. I'm so fucking scared."
"Where are you exactly?"
"My house. LA. I'm locked in my bedroom, but I don't... I keep thinking he's coming back."
I started walking towards the house. ”He's not. You hear me? He's not coming back. I'm coming to get you.”
"You promised," she whispered. Christ, she sounded so small. "You promised if I needed you?—"
"I'm coming. Right now. I'm already moving."
"My phone's about to die. I dropped it when he... when he grabbed me and the screen is cracked and?—"
"Stephy, listen to me. Lock the bedroom door. Push something heavy in front of it. Stay on the phone as long as youcan, but if it dies, you stay locked in that room until I get there. Six hours. Can you give me six hours?"
"Please hurry." Her voice broke completely. "Please, Lee. I can't... I need you."
The line went dead.
I stood there for three seconds—just three—letting the panic settle into something sharp and focused. Then I turned and strode back toward the party with thunder rolling across my face.
Uncle Owen saw me first. He stepped away from Aunt Lou instantly, the easy warmth in his eyes snapping into concern.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“Steph’s in trouble,” I said, voice rough. “Someone attacked her in LA. I need to get to her. Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask for details. Didn’t need them. He just nodded once—tight, decisive.
“Take my truck to the airfield. I’ll call Tom and tell him we need his jet. That it’s urgent.”
“Uncle Owen?—”
“Go.” His hand closed around my shoulder, grounding me when everything inside felt like it was spinning. “Bring her home, Liam. Whatever it takes, bring your girl home.”
I didn’t want to impose on someone else, but I wasn’t about to argue. Not when it came to Steph.
Wyatt and Ivy reached us in a rush, Wyatt’s hand already coming to my arm, steady and familiar, eyes scanning my face like he was reading every fracture.
“Liam,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”
“Steph’s been attacked,” I managed. Ivy gasped, a hand clamping over her mouth. “I’m going to get her and bring her home.”
Wyatt’s jaw locked. “Tell me what you need.”
Ivy stepped in closer, her energy soft but fierce, the kind of calm that cut through chaos. “We’ll get your guest cabin ready. Clean sheets, supplies—whatever she might need when she gets here.”
“And I’ll tighten security around the ranch,” Wyatt said, already shifting into protector mode. “Just get to her. We’ll handle everything here.”
My chest tightened—not with fear this time, but something that felt dangerously like gratitude. They had never even met her. But they knew me. Knew what she meant. And that was enough.
I nodded once, sharp, because speaking felt impossible. Then I turned and sprinted for the truck.
As I tore down the drive in Owen’s Ford, gravel spitting behind me, I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror: Wyatt already pulling out his phone, Ivy hurrying toward the house, Aunt Lou gathering the family, Clay and Hunter moving with purpose.
All of them stepping in. All of them stepping up. Not because they owed Stephy anything. But because they loved me. And I loved her.
And that was all this family ever needed.
