Page 24

“Yes,” I say. “Casey has a restraining order against him. He shouldn’t be here.”

Stellan smirks. “Told you, man. I’m a paying customer.”

The manager stares him down. “You’re also causing my best waitress distress. Your lunch is on me but I don’t ever want to see your face in my restaurant again. Now leave or I’m calling the sheriff myself.”

Stellan rises, pushing the table with enough force to slosh coffee over the rim. “Fine,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll go.” But as he brushes past me, he leans in and drops his voice to a hiss. “Family should stick together. Shame if something happened to yours.”

I want to hit him. I want to claw his eyes out, right here in the middle of the restaurant. But I do neither. I just smile, cold and bright, and say, “Try me, Stellan.”

He storms out, boots thumping across the linoleum. The bell above the door rings twice as he leaves.

The entire restaurant exhales as one, and conversation slowly resumes, but the side-eyes and whispered asides linger.

I go back to Casey, who’s slowly pounding her fist on the countertop.

“It’s okay,” I say, sliding onto the stool next to her. “He’s gone.”

She doesn’t answer for a while. “I can’t believe the jerk came to my work. I should’ve kicked his ass myself.”

Sheriff Armstrong bursts in and assesses the situation, finding it under control. He then takes Casey aside to obtain a statement. Numerous customers also step forward to provide statements that corroborate Casey’s account. Before departing, the sheriff assures everyone that he will issue a warrant for Stellan’s arrest.

After dropping Casey at my mom's place, I'm on my way to our house when Wyatt calls me.

"Are you okay?" he demands as soon as I pick up.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Just really angry."

"Where the hell are you?" I can sense the worry in his voice.

"I'm nearly home." I don’t notice my speed until I pull into our driveway.

I turn off the headlights and sit there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't break. My jaw hurts from clenching, and my ribs feel like they’re being squeezed by a tight wire. I try to calm my breathing, but the adrenaline still courses through me.

It’s only when I see the porch light flip on that I get out, legs jelly and brain running on fumes. Wyatt opens the door before I’m halfway up the walk, and just seeing him almost makes me lose it. My knees buckle, and I collapse straight into his arms. No preamble, no bravado, just pure, raw need. He wraps me up and holds on tight, like he already knows I’m falling apart.

He doesn’t say a word. Just tucks my head under his chin and waits for me to breathe again. His heartbeat thuds slow and even under my cheek, like it’s daring the world to keep spinning out of control.

He steers me into the living room and sits us both down, me in his lap, his arms caging me in from every direction. I start crying before I even want to, fat, stupid tears that burn my cheeks.

“Tell me what happened,” he says, voice low and patient. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

I don’t even know where to start. “He was at the diner. Waiting for Casey. Just… watching her, for hours. Then he threatened us, right in front of everyone.” I can feel myself shaking, not from fear exactly, but rage. “He said, ‘Family should stick together. Shame if something happened to yours.’ Who does that?”

Wyatt’s jaw tightens, the line of it sharp as a cut stone. He’s quiet for a second, but I can see the tension coiling in his forearms, his back, the way he blinks twice before answering. “Did he touch her? Did he put hands on you?”

I shake my head. “No. But he wanted us to be scared. He wanted me to be scared, and I—” My voice cracks. “I am. I’m fucking terrified for my sister. He’s not going to stop.”

"He won't hurt you," Wyatt asserts, his tone unwavering and firm as iron. His voice is infused with a resolute certainty that leaves no room for doubt. "He won't harm your sister, or your mom. Not as long as I’m breathing."

"What if he does something to you?" I ask, my voice tinged with apprehension.

Wyatt doesn't even flinch. His gaze is steady, unyielding. "He won't get the chance," he replies with certainty.

I realize he means it, every word. And for the first time in hours, my heart rate actually drops below warp speed.

He rocks me gently, back and forth, as I tell him every detail of the encounter. By the end, I’m boneless and wrung out, all the anger replaced by heavy relief of feeling Wyatt’s strong arms wrapped tight around me.

Wyatt brushes a thumb across my cheek and wipes away the last of the tears. Then he tilts my face up and kisses my forehead, light and careful, like I’m something precious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says, soft against my skin. “You don’t have to do anything except let me protect you.”

And for once, I don’t argue. I just nod and rest my head on his shoulder, soaking up his warmth until the shakes finally stop.

Later, he carries me to bed and holds me close, his breath in my hair and his hand on my back. For the first time since I moved back to Silver Spoon Falls, I actually feel like I’m where I was always meant to be.

And when I wake up, I know that whatever happens next, I won’t face it alone.