Page 13 of I’ll Find You

“Wait, Rose!” he shouts from the hallway.

Alex is already there. “Pack a bag,” he says, evenly, with the kind of authority I don’t question. Whatever Maxwell sees, he doesn’t follow me further. I hear a soft click of a door in the hall, probably Lucinda crawling into the hole she deserves. Alex follows me into my room as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I move on autopilot, grabbing my books and essentials, including a few changes of clothes. My toiletries go into a duffel, everything placed with trembling hands. Before I can even zip it, Alex takes the bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

Without another word, he leads me toward the front door. The house has gone unnervingly silent behind us, as if it too holds its breath. The hinges groan in protest as I struggle to shut it, the sound scraping through my bones. Outside, Alex opens the passenger door for me, placing my bag in the back seat before slipping into the driver’s side. He shifts the car into drive. I don’t ask him where we’re going. I already know.

Chapter

Ten

Alex

She kept looking at me like I had something to do with her car not starting. I didn’t. But I’m not complaining, not when fate hands me these stolen moments with her. The second she sat beside me, the air between us came alive, charged and electric. I know she felt it, too. I could see it in the way she held herself, in the quickening of her breath, and the faint tremor of her fingers. But it was her pulse that really gave it away, fluttering widely along the side of her neck, just beneath the skin. A delicate thrum, a moth trapped in a glass enclosure, throwing itself against the barrier, desperately trying to break free.

She didn’t realize the window reflection betrayed what she tried to conceal. It showed me every secret. Every rise and fall of her chest. The way her eyes lingered on my mouth. The hunger she tried to stifle shimmered across the illuminated glass. And her scent—God, that scent. It’s so sweet and familiar in a way that I couldn’t begin to comprehend. It wrapped around me, seeped into me, and drowned out everything else. Every rational thought. Every warning. Not that I would’ve listened. Her presence found the hollow places inside me and filled them completely. I still can’t believe it happened this way. When I followed her into her house, all I wanted was more time with her, especially when she said no one was home. I never expected things to unfold the way they did. And now she sits beside me, silent and hurting, as I drive toward my townhome. Toward our home. Because I’m convinced this isn’t by chance or coincidence. It’s something far greater than that. I’m convinced it’s fate, finally giving us our chance.

The roads blur into the darkness, closing in around us the farther we get from her house. The lamplights cast long, skeletal shadows across the pavement as the wind sweeps fallen leaves into whirling spirals of decay along the winding back streets toward my place. She hasn’t spoken once since we left with her bag in tow. I don't push her. I give her the space she seems to need because she's here with me, and that's all that matters. Something eases inside me for the first time all night. A feeling of peace and certainty that I’ll keep her safe no matter what the cost.

I ease the car into my parking spot beside my townhome. The porch light clicks on automatically, washing the siding and evergreen shrubs in muted amber light. It looks small and quiet, tucked among a row of identical units. The drive from the shelter to her house felt endless. Somehow, getting here took only moments. Turning off the engine, she makes no move to open the door. She sits staring at the porch, her expression tight and unreadable, as though weighing whether stepping inside is a mistake. I won't let her second-guess it.

“You okay?” I ask, turning toward her. Concern threads through my voice as I fight the urge to pull her to me. She still hasn’t said a single word since we got in the car.

“Yeah,” she says, but her eyes remain fixed on the window, unfocused. Then she lets out a soft, defeated sigh. “Maybe.” Her hand lifts halfway, hopelessly, before dropping back into her lap. “Fuck. I don’t know,” she admits, and the honesty of it cuts me. I hate it. I want her to be fine and realize that he’s a cheating bastard who doesn’t deserve her. If he had her and then could so easily screw another woman, then he never cared about her in the first place. Not the way I⁠—

I don’t finish that thought. I don’t comment because what could I possibly say?

It’s good that this happened. I’m glad you witnessed it, walking in on them and seeing for yourself.

The truth is too selfish to speak of aloud. Because I am happy this happened. I would be lying otherwise. Even with the truth simmering beneath the surface, the only thing I can admit to myself is that I don’t like seeing her hurt, not by him or by anyone. I want her to smile again, and more than that, I want to be the reason she does.

I close my door and turn, expecting her to follow, but she’s still sitting there. Her head is bowed, and her shoulders are tight around her face. For a moment, panic surges through me. God, please don’t let her cry. If she is, I'm going back to that house and killing him. Slowly. My jaw tics, and fists clench beside my thighs. Her shoulders shake, and that’s all it takes. I rush around the car, yank open the door, and stoop down to her level. My hand lands on her shoulder before I even think about it. She feels impossibly delicate beneath my hand.

“Rose—” I start, but then she lifts her head. And she’s laughing. A loud, unrestrained laugh erupts from her. For a moment, I freeze. Tears flow down her cheeks, but they’re not made of sadness. At this point, she’s practically wheezing. Her hand presses to her stomach as another deep, belly laugh erupts forth, rich and wild in abandon. It’s so unexpected that the corner of my mouth twitches in response as I try to hold mine back. It’s infectious. She turns to me through tear-streaked eyes, cheeks flushed, breathing stuttered, and I’m struck with the sheer force of her presence.

“Did—” she tries, but the words fall apart on a gasp for air. My smile widens, unable to stop it. She tries again, breath hitching between bursts of laughter. “Did you…see th-that?” She points at her chest, completely undone. One leg stretches out of the car, landing between mine on the pavement, as her laughter shakes her entire body. She throws her head back. “The stethoscope,” she wheezes, dissolving into another fit of laughter as fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She brings her hand to her eyes, smearing her mascara and leaving streaks across her face. “God,” another breathless laugh escapes, “I hope he cleans that before he uses it again.” She bites her lips, trying to stifle the laugh, causing her to snort. She’s radiant at this moment. White teeth flashing, eyes shining with tears, and a dimple I never knew she had appearing like a hidden gift meant only for me. For a second, all I can do is stare because I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than her laughing at the downfall of a relationship that was never built to last.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth as the memory of that disastrous scene flashes through my mind, but all of it fades when I look at her. She looks up at me through tear-streaked lashes, mascara smudged, and tears still clinging to her plump red lips. The sight shouldn’t undo me as it does, but it hits me full force. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to smother the surge of want that rises too fast. We are caught in a charged stare-off. Her laughter tapering off as her eyes never leave mine. An unspoken tension lingers between us, something neither of us fully understands, but both of us feel.

I extend my hand to her. She glances at it, unsure as she looks back up at me. My gaze doesn’t waver. I keep my hand outstretched, a silent invitation that’s been hers alone since the moment I saw her at my parents’ house months ago. She hesitates for the briefest second, then places her hand in mine. I close my fingers around hers. It feels warm and trusting, and all mine, as I pull her gently from the car. In that moment, everything feels perfect.

As she rises, she loses her balance when her foot slips on the pavement. She topples forward with a soft gasp, but I’m already moving, catching her before she can fall. One hand finds her waist, the other braces her shoulder, pulling her against my chest. Her palm presses over my heart, and for a breathless second, we stay just like that. Her body molds against mine. Her breath brushes my collarbone. Neither of us moves. Maybe neither of us wants to.

Although there’s something undeniable between us, I can’t hold her like this now. Not when she’s hurting. And not when she needs safety more than anything else. So I force myself to loosen my grip, letting her straighten even though the loss of her hits instantly. She wipes her face, avoiding my eyes, and glances toward the back of the car. Before she can even lean that way, I’m already there, grabbing her bag, and closing the door.

I remind myself that this is about keeping her safe, even if it means letting her step out of my arms, where she belongs.

“I can carry that—” she starts, reaching for the duffle, but I shake my head and angle it out of her grasp.

“I’ve got it,” I say, meeting her eyes, locking the car door with my key fob. The chirp seems louder, echoing through the sleeping neighborhood. The noise makes her flinch, look around at where I live, and realize she is somewhere unfamiliar. “Follow me,” I tell her gently, and guide her up the short walkway toward my front door.

Unlocking the door, I step aside, letting her enter first. She hovers in the foyer, not crossing the threshold fully until I reach past her and flip on the lights. The room brightens beneath the overhead lights, chasing away the shadows. I place her duffel carefully on the floor and move into the living room to turn on a few more lights. When I glance back, she's standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly as she takes in her surroundings.

“This is nice,” she whispers. She wraps her arms around herself, shrinking inward. She looks small and lost, appearing uncomfortable. She glances up at me hesitantly. “Alex, I don’t want to impose⁠—”

I cut her off. “You’re not.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “Are you hungry?” I ask. She nods, and I walk over to the fridge without hesitation. I begin pulling out leftover pad thai. I divide it into one bowl for her, and leave the rest in the plastic container, heating them one at a time. The seltzers are cold in my hand when I pull them from the door.

“Seltzer okay?” Another nod. She shrugs off her jacket, and I’m already stepping forward to take it from her. I hang it carefully in the small closet by the entrance looking like it already belongs there. We both remove our shoes, lining them neatly on the tiled section of the foyer. Her duffel and my keys go on the hooks along the wall, side by side. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home, Rose.” Her name slips out low, softer than the rest, and she watches me with interest. She cautiously sits there, studying me. I grab a fork and slide it into her bowl. When she reaches for it, I shake my head and place the bowl in front of her instead, along with a napkin.

“It might be hot,” I murmur. She blinks at me, an unspoken question written across her expression as she looks up at me with furrowed brows. “I don’t want you to get burned,” I explain. I take my seat at the small bistro table. The townhome is modest and compact. It’s never felt too small before. But with Rose here, the space feels both too tight and too vast all at the same time. I fight the urge to drag her chair closer, to feel her knee brush mine, and close the impossible distance between us. Instead, I sit still. I’ll behave, at least for now.