Page 118 of Held-

“So he's staying in jail?” I need to hear it confirmed, need to know that Ethan won't be walking free anytime soon.

Joe nods. “For the foreseeable future. The charges alone carry potential sentences of fifteen to twenty years. If they add attempted murder, we're looking at much more.”

I let out a shaky breath, relief washing through me. Brayden's hand tightens around mine, his thumb tracing small circles against my skin despite his obvious pain.

“What about the mayor?” Brayden asks. “He's not going to take this lying down.”

“Richard Kincaid is already attempting damage control,” Joe admits. “He's called an emergency press conference for tomorrow morning. My sources tell me he'll be announcing a leave of absence to support his family during this difficult time.”

“Damage control,” I repeat, bitterness coating the words. “That's all it ever is with him. His son tried to kidnap me, and he's worried about his public image.”

“Politics,” Joe says simply. “I have a feeling he will be resigning in the coming weeks.”

“Resigning,” I echo, trying to wrap my head around everything Joe has just told us. It feels surreal, like we've entered an alternate universe where the Kincaids finally face the consequences of their actions. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

“Richard Kincaid is many things,” Joe says, closing his briefcase with a definitive snap, “but stupid isn't one of them. He knows when to cut his losses.”

I glance at Brayden, whose eyes have grown heavy as the pain medication starts to take effect. The bruising along his jaw looks even more pronounced against his paling skin, but the lines of tension are softening. My heart squeezes at the sight of him, battered and broken because of me.

“I should let you rest,” Joe says, noticing Brayden's drooping eyelids. “The arraignment is scheduled for Monday morning. Neither of you needs to be there, but I'll keep you updated.”

“Thank you,” I say, rising to walk him to the door. My legs feel strangely disconnected, as though they’re moving on instinct rather than direction. Shock, probably. The full weight of what Ethan had planned still hasn’t settled in.

Joe pauses at the bedroom doorway. “One more thing,” he says quietly. “The sheriff mentioned that your father was quite...vocal at the station. Apparently, he gave Mayor Kincaid quite the dressing down when he showed up to try to handle things.”

“My father?” I blink, trying to process this new information. “He confronted Mayor Kincaid?”

Joe nods, a hint of admiration crossing his face. “According to Sheriff Miller, the Reverend quoted scripture while informing Richard exactly where he could expect to spend eternity after enabling his son's behavior. Quite colorful for a man of the cloth.”

I can't help the small laugh that escapes me, despite everything. The image of my father unleashing biblical fury on Richard Kincaid is both shocking and strangely satisfying. Maybe people really can change.

“Call me if anything changes or if you need anything at all.”

I walk Joe to the living room where everyone is gathered in awkward silence. My father stands when we enter, his face lined with concern.

“How is he?” he asks quietly.

“The medication's kicking in,” I reply. “He'll sleep soon.”

Joe shakes hands with Big and nods to the others before letting himself out. The click of the door seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence that follows.

Jillian breaks it first, rising from her perch on the armchair. “I'll get some soup for you both,” she says, patting my arm as she passes. “He'll need something in his stomach with those pills.”

I turn to my father, suddenly exhausted beyond words.

“I'm okay, Dad,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “Just...processing everything.” I glance toward the hallway, suddenly desperate to be back with Brayden. “I need to check on him.”

“Go,” my father says, surprising me with his understanding. “We can talk tomorrow.”

I nod, unable to find more words.

Jillian appears from the kitchen with a tray holding two bowls of soup and some crackers. “Take this.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, accepting the tray. My arms feel leaden, my body moving on autopilot.

“We'll stay in the living room,” Big says, his deep voice oddly comforting. “Nobody's getting past us tonight.”

The implicit promise in his words steadies me. I manage a small smile before heading back to the bedroom, balancing the tray carefully.