Oliver didn’t hesitate. He didn’t say a word. He reached for me with both arms like he’d been waiting for permission. And then I was there—wrapped tight against him, every muscle in my body giving out the second his chest met mine.
His arms came around me fully, one at my lower back, the other up high, bracing the back of my head. He didn’t squeeze too tight. He didn’t rock or shush or say anything stupid. He held me, his steady breath a rhythm I could match.
I tucked myself closer, the weight of my body melting into his. My cheek pressed to the front of his T-shirt, and I could feel everything—his heartbeat, his breath, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the cotton. His thumb traced a slow path across the ridge of my spine, between my shoulder blades.
His other hand cradled my head, fingertips splayed wide against my scalp. He stroked once through my hair, and my breath caught at the tenderness in it. No one in my life had ever held me or been this gentle and careful with me, and his comfort undid the thin restraint I had.
I didn’t mean to cry.
The tears started slow, then all at once. Silent but steady, soaked into the fabric of his shirt before I could wipe them away. I clenched my jaw, trying to hold the rest in, but he whispered, “I’ve got you,” like he could feel me slipping again. “Let it out, Sloane. I got you, okay?”
“God, this is embarrassing.” I sniffed and tried to pull back, but his grip around me tightened.
“No, it’s not,” he said quietly. “I’m not done holding you. Give me this…a few more minutes. I need this too.”
We stayed like that for a few minutes, his reassuring hand rubbing circles on my back as his chin rested on my head. He trembled, and his heart raced, and it hit me that he was truly worried for me. This kind, gentle man was worried about me. “He didn’t touch me, Oliver, not really.”
“You’re fucking bleeding and shaking, Sloane. That’s more than enough damage. God,” he snapped, his grip around me tightening. “Too close, that’s too close for me.”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to flinch at the truth in his words. My eyes burned. My throat ached. The cold reality of it all hit me again—how close Hayes had gotten to actual violence. How I had kept telling myself I was in control, that I could de-escalate, redirect, regulate his anger with enough calm tone and grounded language. That was what I’d been trained to do. That was what worked ninety percent of the time. But this… this was the ten percent.
“I’ve done hundreds of sessions,” I whispered, still pressed to him, still breathing in the scent of his skin and cologne. “I’ve worked with every kind of resistance, rage, grief. But this…” I shook my head, the tremble crawling back up my arms. “I’ve never felt like that before. Never had someone look at me and see nothing.”
Oliver’s jaw flexed against my temple. “You need to report it.”
“I will,” I said quickly. “I already have to write the incident log. Protocol requires immediate documentation and notification to Mac and HR.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said, pulling back enough to stare at me in the eyes. “I mean a full report. You need to make sure he doesn’t return. Ever.”
My stomach twisted. “If I do that, his career’s over.”
His eyes flared. “So what? You could’ve gotten severely hurt, Sloane. Do you not see that? He was twice your size. If I hadn’t walked by…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. I’d looped that moment at least a dozen times already.
“I get it,” I whispered. “Believe me, I do. I just… this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. I built systems. Training. De-escalation methods. Boundaries. I followed every damn rule.”
“And it still happened,” he said, quieter now. “That’s not your failure. That’s his. So I don’t want to hear for one second that this is your fault. That is unacceptable.”
The truth of the event hit somewhere deep and hollow. I’d spent years preparing for every worst-case scenario. But I’d never really believed an event like this would happen to me. That one of my own—one of the people I’d worked so hard to support—would cross the line in a way that could’ve ended with me in a hospital room. While this was different, it felt the same as failing my brother. I didn’t stop his downward spiral. I didn’t stop him before he ruined his career, and life. And here I was, missing the signs from Hayes too.
My eyes welled up again, and Oliver cupped my cheek, smiling softly at me. “Come on, Doc. Let’s go report. I’ll be with you, okay?”
I nodded, and despite all the reasons I shouldn’t want to be near him, I couldn’t stop the pull toward him.
14
OLIVER
The elevator ride was silent but not uncomfortable. She stood beside me with her arms crossed tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeve. I kept one step behind her in case she needed space. She didn’t say anything when we exited the elevator, just led the way down the hall to her door with slow, measured steps. I hated how her shoulders stayed rigid, like the tension hadn’t left her body since we exited the stadium.
God, my fingers made fists when I thought about what Hayes could’ve done to her. Hours had passed, but the anger and worry remained in my skin. Her bandages were still on, red, and images of her wide eyes and fear as she stared at her office gutted me. I forced myself to take a breath—settling my heart rate. Now was not the fucking time to have an episode.
Sloane paused with the keys in her hand, then glanced up at me just outside her door. Her mouth parted like she might say something, but nothing came out. She hesitated for a full second before turning and unlocking it. When it clicked open, she kept her hand on the handle, fingers trembling slightly, like she wasn’t sure what came next.
“Do you… want to come in for a bit?”
“Try and stop me,” I said, softer than I intended. The smile she gave me wasn’t full, but it was there, and that was my goal. She stepped inside, and I followed her in.
