I stand at the window, arms folded tight across my chest, watching the glow of headlights smear across the street below. They stretch and blur together, a restless stream that mirrors the thoughts I can’t seem to quiet.
With careful steps, Locke comes up behind me, handling the space around me as if I were breakable. There’s no rush in his movements, no assumption that I’ll want to be touched, just patience. When his hands settle on my hips, I lean back into him without thinking. The tension in my shoulders eases a bit. I’m tired in a way sleep won’t fix, and his presence is the only thing steadying me right now. It reminds me that I’m still here, still breathing, still held.
“That’s it,” I murmur.
“That’s it,” he says, quietly validating my statement.
I thought the moment the footage went live would feel different. I thought there would be relief, or triumph, or something that resembled victory.But it just feels like something heavy has finally landed whereit was always meant to go. The truth is out. What the world does with it isn’t for me to control.
“They’re not going to let this go,” I say after a moment.
He doesn’t pretend otherwise. “No, they probably won’t.”
I already knew that. Men like Luke don’t operate alone. There were handlers. Managers. People who laughed things off because it was easier than asking questions. People who benefited from silence.I didn’t just pull one thread; I yanked hard on a tapestry that was never designed to unravel.
Still, I’d do it again.
I tilt my head, resting my temple against Locke’s shoulder. “You still think it was worth it?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. No doubt in sight.
The certainty in his voice hits me harder than I expected. Something tight and aching in my chest loosens, just a little. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that answer until he said it.
Outside, a motorcycle cuts through the traffic below, the sound rising just enough to snag my attention before fading again. Locke’s body twitches behind me. It’s subtle, the kind of reaction most people wouldn’t catch, but I feel it immediately. I glance up at him, but his expression is already smooth and unreadable again.
I decide to let it go. I have enough questions spinning in my head without adding another.
“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I nod. “Just tired.”
“Come sit.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the couch, where I curl instinctively into his chest; it’s muscle memory already. The TV is on but muted, headlines flashing across the screen in bold, urgent fonts. Holloway. Allegations. Unverified footage. Sources say.
Even now, I can see the story being reshaped in real time. Sanded down. Softened. Made more palatable.
After all, no one likes to hear that their favorite celebrity has been a violent predator all this time.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I whisper.
“It might,” Locke says, his thumb moving in slow, steady strokes along my arm.
I reach for his hand without looking, threading my fingers through his like it will somehow tie us together.
“Promise me something?” I say.
“What is it?” Locke asks, concern taking over his features now.
“Just, if this blows back on us, we’ll handle it together. As a team.”
“Of course, Arden. Always.” He states it as if it were never a question in his mind.
I believe him, even knowing how risky this seems for both of us. Distance has always been how we survived. Letting each other get this close, especially now, feels like lowering every defense when they might still be necessary. The fact that we’re still here, still choosing it, means more than any promise.
I can feel my eyelids drooping as I stare at the silent TV screen, exhaustion finally taking over.
At some point, Lexi joins us on the far end of the couch after Zoe’s asleep. She curls beneath a blanket, phone loose in her hand, gaze unfocused. She’s been like this since I came out of my room, present but not reallyhere. Smiling when expected to. Laughing a second too late.
