Page 38 of Held-

“Care to test just how crazy I can be, asshole? Keep fucking insulting her, and you’ll fucking find out.”

“How dare you speak to me–”

Brayden snarls. “You have two choices, Ethan. Take your flavor of the week and leave or stay here and see what happens. Your choice.”

Ethan opens his mouth like he's going to argue, but one look at Brayden's face changes his mind. He grabs Brittany's arm and pulls her away, muttering something about “calling my father” as they retreat through the parting crowd.

My father reaches us just as they disappear, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. “Cecelia, what on earth. This is not the place for a scuffle. Have you no?—”

“Not now, Dad,” I cut him off, ignoring the hurt that flashes across Dad's face. My skin is buzzing with leftover adrenaline, and my heart's pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears.

Dad looks between Brayden and me, his mouth pressed into that thin line of disappointment I know all too well. “This isn't the place for...whatever this is.”

“You're right,” I agree, surprising him. “It's not.”

I look at Brayden. He hasn’t moved, still as stone beside me, but I can feel the tension rolling off him. His eyes catch mine—dark, feral, alive. I should fear that look. Instead, I feel it spark somewhere deep, where fear and want blur together.

“Let's get out of here,” I say, the words coming out before I can second-guess them.

Brayden's expression shifts, surprise quickly replaced by that intensity that makes my knees weak. “You sure?”

“Cecelia,” my father warns, stepping closer. “Think about what you're doing.”

That’s the thing—for once, I’m not thinking. I’m feeling. And right now, all I feel is the desperate need to be anywhere but here, with the entire town watching this drama unfold as though it’s their own personal Hallmark movie gone wrong.

“I'll be fine, Dad,” I tell him, even managing a smile.

“You’re leaving with him?” Dad doesn't even hide his disapproval of the idea.

“Yes.” Without a second thought, I turn to Brayden, reaching down to grab his hand. “Can we please go?”

Brayden nods once, his fingers curling around mine with a gentle pressure that grounds me. “My bike's around the corner.”

Dad's face falls, that familiar disappointment etching deeper lines around his mouth. “The board meeting was difficult enough, Cecelia. This isn't helping matters.”

For a moment, guilt tugs at me—the lifetime habit of trying to please him, to be the daughter he deserves. But then I feel Brayden's thumb brush across my knuckles, a silent reminder that I'm allowed to choose for myself.

“I'll see you at home later,” I tell Dad, trying to soften the blow. “Save me some eggnog.”

He doesn’t answer—just stares with that wounded look as Brayden leads me through the parting crowd. The whispers start immediately, sharp and eager, but this time they don’t make me flinch. Let them stare. Let them talk.

Tomorrow, the whole town will be buzzing about me walking away from the Christmas tree lighting on the arm of a biker…right after nearly throwing hands with her ex-husband.

Good.

Let them choke on the story.

I’m done living small just to keep everyone else comfortable.

“You okay?” Brayden asks as we reach the edge of the square, away from the worst of the crowd. He searches my face, and I realize he's genuinely concerned, not just asking to be polite.

“Yeah,” I say, though I'm not sure if it's true. My heart is still racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

His fingers are still intertwined with mine, warm and solid and real. “If you want, I can take you home.”

The thought of going back to my father's house, of sitting in tense silence waiting for the sermon he will preach to me about my poor decision making, makes my chest tighten. “I don't want to go home.”

Brayden studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the Christmas lights strung across the buildings. “Where do you want to go?”