“Aye, it is,” he says quietly. “Thought you might appreciate it. A little bit of that peace you were looking for.”
I do appreciate it. More than I can explain. Before I can respond, his hand comes to rest on the outside of my thigh, offering a reassuring squeeze. It’s meant to comfort, but instead, a sharp twinge of pain shoots through me. My breath hitches, and I wince slightly before I can stop myself. That’s the leg that took most of the impact yesterday, and the bruise beneath mydress reminds me with every movement that it still hurts like hell.
He notices my reaction and assumes I’m cold. “Sorry, I forgot it’s kind of chilly out here. Let’s get you to Rose’s.”
I nod, choosing not to correct him. It’s easier to let him think it’s the cold, not the pain, that’s bothering me. I shift slightly, trying to adjust my position and reach aroundhim, but as I do, the sleeve of his jacket catches, pulling it up just enough to expose my wrist. He reaches back at the same time to pull my hands tighter around his waist—his touch stills when his eyes land on my arm. “What the hell is this?”
The blood drains from my face. I’d done such a good job convincing myself that if I could keep it out of sight, I could pretend everything was fine. But now, Callan’s eyes are locked on the dark purple bruises wrapped around my wrist like some twisted bracelet. Ugly, splotchy shadows in the unmistakable shape of fingers cover my skin.
He jerks his head to look at me over his shoulder, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and disbelief. His eyes flare with hurt, confusion…fury.
It’s hard to keep up the charade with him looking at me like that. We’re supposed to be lighthearted. Carefree and joking around. I want to go back to that.
Yet, it’s the outrage in his eyes that sticks, and I know it’s not aimed at me. Iknowthat. And when he suddenly swings his leg off the bike and turns to face me, I flinch.
He stops short, and I see the moment he notices. The fire in his eyes fades, giving way to a tenderness that knocks the air from my lungs.
His jaw tenses, and he drags a hand through his hair like he’s trying to get ahold of himself. When he speaks, his voice is lower, gentler. “I would never hurt you.”
He says it like a vow, not a defense mechanism. Then, quieter, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
I shake my head as I force down the knot rising in my throat. “No, you didn’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I just…” The words scatter before they reach my tongue, too tangled to make sense of.
He takes a careful step closer, his eyes glancing to my wrist. “Can I see?”
I hesitate, my instinct to guard it flaring hot, but his gaze pulls the fight right out of me. I nod once, extending my arm and letting him gently take my hand in his. His touch is featherlight as he pushes the sleeve up, revealing the full extent of the bruising.
His breath catches, his jaw clenches, but his touch remains gentle as his thumb brushes over my skin. “Please tell me who did this.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I scramble for words, desperately searching for something that won’t betray the truth or shatter the fragile wall I’ve built to protect myself.
“Bree. Talk to me. What happened?”
The sound of my name almost makes me flinch again. He’s serious now. I don’t think he’s ever called me anything but some playful nickname. Sunshine, troublemaker, lass. He’s not playing now. And once you let someone see the cracks, they’ll either expect you to fall apart or try to fix you. Neither sounds like relief.
“It’s not what you think.” Wow, that came out sounding way less convincing than I intended.
“I think someone grabbed you. Hard. And if I was a betting man, I’d say it wasn’t a female.”
I close my eyes, trying to control my breathing, but it’s no use. The cool night air is suffocating, pressing in on me from everydirection.
“It was just a misunderstanding. I handled it.”
His eyes drill into mine with a fire that’s part frustration, part concern. “Handled what, exactly? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like someone hurt you.”
This is it. The moment I’ve been dreading. The moment I admit the thing I never thought I’d have to say out loud. “It was Dillon…but just once. It was an accident, and no one else knows about it.”
The words are like acid coming up my throat. I hate that I said his name and made it real by letting someone else carry even an ounce of it.
I should’ve kept it locked down and thrown away the key. I know how to survive in silence… It’s safe there, even if it is lonely.
I don’t want pity—I just want to handle it quietly. Despite it all, Callan’s not looking at me like I’m weak. He’s looking at me like I matter, and somehow…that’s worse.
His entire body goes rigid, but his touch on my wrist remains gentle. “Please tell me you notified the authorities.”
I shake my head, my voice coming out quiet. “Callan, he’s a cop. I don’t want to ruin his career. He’s going through some things, and I left him. It’s not going to happen again. I’m also a grown woman, by the way,” I snap, trying to regain some control. “I know how to handle myself.”
My frustration falls flat, crushed by his unwavering concern. His eyes darken, the fury morphing into something even more protective. “I don’t care who he is, Bree. It’s not your job to protect his career. Grown woman or not.”
