“Step back from her,” I said, the words ripping from my throat before I even knew what they were. My voice sounded too calm for how fast my heart was going. “Right now.”
Hayes turned, chest heaving, pupils blown. His nostrils flared when he saw me. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I said step back.” I moved closer, slow but firm, placing myself between them. She looked so small behind me, like a shadow of herself. Seeing her threatened made my throat close up. “You need to walk out of this room. Now.”
He took a step toward me, his jaw twitching, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. “You here to play fucking hero, James? You gonna tackle me in the shrink’s office? You don’t know shit about me.”
“I don’t have to,” I said, keeping my feet planted. “But I do know if you come any closer to her, I’ll drop you right here.”
He blinked—once. Then laughed. It was harsh. Ugly. “That right? You think you’re tougher than me now? Because you’re younger? Because you’re not broken yet?”
Sloane’s voice cracked behind me. “Marcus, please. Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”
He rounded me again, and this time I saw it before it happened—his hand lashed out toward the wall of her office, grabbing the framed diploma behind her desk and ripping it down. The glass split on impact, and pieces flew. One clipped her forearm, another her cheek, and she flinched—still trying to stay upright, still trying to talk him down.
That was when I lost it.
I lunged forward, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and shoved him so hard his back hit the filing cabinet. “Back. The fuck. Off.”
Hayes blinked like he hadn’t realized I’d actually do it. His arms tensed like he might swing, but he didn’t. His eyes were wild, nostrils flared, but something else hid behind it now. Confusion, maybe. Shock.
“Get out,” I said again, breath low, jaw tight. “You’ve already crossed a line. Don’t make it worse.”
His gaze bounced from me to Sloane, then back. She hadn’t moved. Blood was seeping from her hand. Her shoulders had dropped like the air had left her lungs. She looked hollow.
“Fuck this,” Hayes muttered. He shoved past me and stormed out, the door crashing against the wall before slamming shut behind him.
Silence collapsed the room.
I turned back to her.
She was staring at the blood in her palm like it didn’t belong to her.
Her hand trembled in mine, blood still pooling faintly in her palm, streaking across her lifeline. I wanted to punch a wall. Find Hayes and finish what I started. But none of that would help her right now. So I breathed through it. Focused on her instead. I found a first aid kit sitting off to the side.
“I’m going to clean this, okay?” My voice stayed low. Gentle. I peeled the gauze packet open with steady hands, even though my pulse was still screaming.
She nodded once, but her shoulders were stiff. Her good hand gripped the edge of the chair, her jaw trembling. Her whole body was tense, coiled, and I hated that too—how hard she was trying to keep her emotions all in.
“This’ll sting,” I said softly, warning her before I poured antiseptic onto the cotton pad. The second it touched her skin, she winced. Her breath hitched like she hadn’t wanted to react. Like even that tiny sound might make her seem weak.
I didn’t let go of her hand.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe,” I said, swallowing the emotion in my throat at how rattled she was.
Her eyes flicked to mine—wet, unblinking. Her mouth parted like she wanted to answer, but nothing came out. She didn’t move away, though. She let me press gauze to her palm, wrap it snugly, and anchor it with tape. The silence between us felt thick. Charged.
Her forearm had a thin cut, beneath the elbow, already crusted red at the edges. I shifted closer, lifting her arm gently into my lap to brace it while I cleaned the scrape. She tensed, and I looked up.
“Are you alright?” I asked again.
She gave the barest nod. Her chin trembled.
I cleaned the wound slowly, carefully. Every motion deliberate. I didn’t rush. I didn’t look away from her, not once. Not when she flinched, not when her breath caught, not when the corner of her mouth pulled tight like she was barely holding it together.
Then I saw the blood at her hairline.
“Your head,” I said, my voice tightening. “You’ve got a cut.”
