The break room is small—nothing more than a closet with a table, two chairs, and a mini-fridge. Steph is sitting in a chair, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Even from the doorway, I can see she's shaking.
"Steph."
She looks up, and my chest clenches at what I see in her face. She's pale—too pale—and her eyes are too bright, like she's fighting back tears.
"Kevin, I'm so sorry," she blurts out before I can say anything else. "I shouldn't have said that. About you being my boyfriend. I just panicked, and didn't know what else to say and—"
"Hey." I cross the room in two steps and crouch down in front of her, bringing myself to her eye level. "Don't. Don't apologize."
"But I put you in a weird position—"
"I don't care about that." I do care, but not in the way she thinks. Not because I minded. "I care that you're okay."
She lets out a shaky laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob. "I'm fine."
"You're white as a sheet and shaking." I keep my voice gentle even though I want to go back outside and finish what I started. "Talk to me."
She closes her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them. "It just... when he grabbed me, it brought everything back. The way Carl used to grab me. The way he wouldn't listen when I said no. The way he'd laugh like I was being ridiculous for wanting him to stop."
Every word makes the rage simmer hotter in my gut.
Carl. Her ex. The piece of shit I arrested several times—and one final time, ten months ago—after Steph got the courage to call 911. I remember everything about that night. The way she'd opened the door with a split lip and fear in her eyes, the defensive bruises on her arms, the careful way she moved like her ribs hurt. I remember the cold satisfaction of putting Carl in handcuffs and the restraining order that followed.
And I remember the way she looked at me like I was the first person who listened when she said she needed help.
"He's not here," I say, forcing my voice to stay calm. Controlled. "Carl can't hurt you anymore."
"I know. I know that." She drops her hands, meeting my eyes. "But for a second, it didn't matter. All I could feel was someone holding me when I didn't want them to, and I just... I froze."
"You didn't freeze," I counter. "You got him to let go. You handled it."
"By lying and saying I had a boyfriend."
"By using the tools you had available." I shift, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. She doesn't need that right now. "There's no wrong way to get someone to stop touching you, Steph."
She takes a shaky breath, and some of the color comes back to her face. "He's going to come back. The guy from the bar. He's been here every night this week."
My jaw tightens. "I've seen him."
"He asks me out every single time. Tonight's the first time he's grabbed me, but..." She trails off, wrapping her arms around herself. "He's just a tourist who enjoys hanging out here. He'll get bored eventually."
"Or he'll escalate." The words come out harder than I intend, and I take a breath. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since Monday."
Five days. Five days of this asshole harassing her, and tonight he crossed the line into putting his hands on her.
"I'm coming here more often," I say, the decision made before I've even finished the thought.
"Kevin, you don't have to—"
"I'm coming here more often," I repeat, firmer this time. "And I'm going to talk to some guys on patrol, see if they can swing by in uniform during their shifts. Make a presence known."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "You think that'll scare him off?"
"If he's just a tourist looking for a good time, yeah. Guys like that don't want attention from cops." I pause. "And if he's not, then we'll handle it."
"Handle it how?"
