Page 90 of Held-

“Two police cruisers just pulled up,” Brayden says, his tone hardening. He turns toward my father, accusation written all over his face. “You called the cops on me?”

My stomach drops. “Dad, tell me you didn't.”

My father looks genuinely confused, his eyes widening as he shakes his head. “I didn't call anyone. I swear it.”

“Then why are there two Sheriff’s deputies getting out of their cars right now?” Brayden snaps, his entire body drawn taut, readiness radiating off him as he gears up for a fight.

I move to the window beside him and peer out. Sure enough, Sheriff Miller and one of his deputies are walking up the path to the guesthouse, their hands resting on their holsters.

“Dad, if you didn't call them, who did?” I ask, panic rising in my throat.

“I don't know,” he insists, and for once, I believe him. The confusion on his face seems genuine.

A heavy knock sounds at the door. Brayden and I exchange glances.

“Let me handle this,” Brayden says, moving toward the door.

My father stands up, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Maybe I should?—”

“No,” Brayden cuts him off. “This is my house.”

I follow close behind Brayden, my heart hammering against my ribs. Something feels wrong. Very wrong.

Brayden pulls open the door, his broad shoulders blocking most of my view. “Sheriff, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Cole,” Sheriff Miller's gravelly voice carries through the doorway. “We need to speak with Cecelia Montgomery. We’ve been told she’s staying with you.”

I step out from behind Brayden, trying to keep my face neutral despite the panic clawing at my throat. “I'm here, Sheriff. What's this about?”

The sheriff’s weathered face is unreadable as his eyes move from Brayden to me, then past us. “Ms. Montgomery, we’ve got a situation.”

Footsteps behind us. My stomach sinks before I even turn. “What kind of situation requires you to come to speak to my daughter, Jim?”

Sheriff Miller’s jaw tics. He’s uncomfortable, and that’s somehow worse. “We received a report this morning,” he says, glancing at me, then away. “From Ethan Kincaid.”

Ice floods my veins. “A report about what?”

His gaze hardens, locking onto mine. “Mr. Kincaid has filed charges against you. Assault and battery. He claims you attacked him at Tony’s.”

“What?” My voice breaks around the word. My knees almost give out, but Brayden’s arm is there, solid around my waist.

“This is bullshit,” Brayden growls. “She didn’t touch him. He’s the one who?—”

“I’m going to have to ask you to step back, Mr. Cole,” Sheriff Miller interrupts, hand drifting toward his holster in a gesture that’s more habit than threat.

My father steps forward. “Jim, there must be a mistake. My daughter would never?—”

“Dad,” I snap, sharper than intended. “Stop.”

Brayden’s voice cuts in, steel in every syllable. “Let’s see the warrant.”

The deputy steps forward, pulling a folded document from his jacket. Brayden snatches it from his hand, scanning quickly. His shoulders stiffen with every line. His fingers curl tight around the paper.

“That fucking son of a bitch,” he mutters.

“Watch your mouth, son,” the Sheriff says, but the reprimand is hollow, almost reflexive. His eyes drift to my wrists. I see the flicker of doubt there.

“Ms. Montgomery,” he says quietly. “I need you to come with us.”