Page 58

Chapter thirty-eight

One word, small and frayed

Chase

It doesn’t buzz, it blasts . Loud and urgent, lighting up my screen with red letters and Zoe’s name.

EMERGENCY ALERT: SOS ACTIVATED

DEVICE LOCATION: Walnut Street – ALLEYWAY

For a second, I can’t move. I’m suspended in a state of silence, my brain racing to catch up with the instant rush of adrenaline pulsing in my ears.

Then everything inside me snaps.

I don’t think, I just run.

Keys. Wallet. Phone. I don’t even grab a coat. I’m barefoot when I tear out of my bedroom, jamming on the first pair of slides I see by the front door. My heart’s already beating too fast, my vision narrowing around the edges.

She sent an SOS. She sent it.

That means she knew she wasn’t safe.

I sprint to the elevator, jamming the buttons like that’ll make it move faster. The doors slide open into the lobby, and I tear through it so fast I nearly crash into the front desk counter, but there’s no Nate behind it.

He’s always here, always perched on that stool with his headset in, nodding at residents like he runs the building. But now there’s nothing.

The parking lot doors slam open, and I tear across the concrete to my SUV, keys already in hand.

I throw myself into the driver’s seat, engine growling to life under me.

The car screeches as I reverse out of the garage, tires spinning hard enough to smoke.

I jam my phone into the dash, fingers fumbling to dial as I hit the gas.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s my girlfriend,” I bite out. “She triggered an emergency alert on her phone. She’s in trouble. She’s somewhere in a fucking alleyway on Walnut, between RiNo and Five Points.”

“Sir, I need you to remain calm—”

“No, you don’t. You need to get someone there, right now.” I take the corner too fast, the seatbelt cutting into my chest. “If you don’t get there before I do, I swear to God , I will kill whoever’s with her. I’m not bluffing. I’m not stable. Get someone there. ”

There’s a pause. The operator’s voice stays calm, but it’s faster now, running down addresses, descriptions, asking me for the cross street, telling me to wait for backup.

But I don’t wait, I keep driving. I hit the alley just as the GPS pulses again—Zoe’s dot is still active. Still moving. Still her.

I hit the brakes so hard, I jolt forward in the seat. The SUV screeches to a stop outside a brick warehouse with a side alley half-shielded from the street. I don’t even close the door behind me—just rip it open, and bolt.

Then I see her.

Pinned against the brick wall, screaming something I can’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears.

And him. Nate.

Fucking Nate.

For one second, I stop breathing.

Then I detonate.

The roar tears out of me so fast and raw, it doesn’t even sound human. It’s everything—fear, fury, grief, panic—compressed into a single sound.

He turns just as I come flying at him, full speed and no hesitation. My shoulder drives into his ribs, and we crash to the pavement.

“GET THE FUCK OFF HER!”

Zoe slumps down against the wall behind him, conscious but barely. Her body looks like it’s folding in on itself, skin pale, hair stuck to her clammy cheek. Her eyes find mine, and she releases a shaky breath as though she’s been holding it for hours.

Nate scrambles to his feet, panting. “It’s not what you—”

I punch him mid-sentence.

One hit. Full force. Square to the jaw.

He hits the ground, and I’m on him. No refs or penalties, no rules to stop me. Just fists and fire and her blood on his sleeve .

“You touched her,” I snarl, landing a fist to his gut.

“You hurt her.” Another to his ribs.

“You put your fucking hands on her.”

He grunts and curls in, trying to block his face, but I see red. I am red. It tunnels everything into bone and breath and the need to end him .

Another punch.

Her cheek, bruised.

Another.

Her wrist, red and raw.

Another.

I will break every bone in his fucking face.

“Chase.”

One word, small and frayed. My name on her lips. Barely above a whisper, but it hits me harder than any check I’ve ever taken.

My head snaps toward her. She’s slid down the wall into a crouch, arms wrapped around her knees. Her chest is heaving, lips trembling, and there’s a bruise blooming across her cheek.

Her eyes meet mine, and I forget the rest.

I stumble back from Nate, dropping to my knees in front of her. My breath saws out like I’ve run ten miles, and my hands are fucked, but I don’t care. I don’t even feel it.

“Zoe.” My voice breaks on her name. “Jesus—fuck—I’m here. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

She tries to smile, but it doesn’t land. “You look like shit.”

I choke out a laugh that turns into a sob.

She lifts a shaky hand and rests it against my chest, fingers curling into the fabric and tugging me closer to ground herself, to prove I’m real.

My eyes move over every inch of her, cataloguing. I want to press a kiss to every place that hurts, fill every crack with the care and softness and love she deserves. I want to give her back every second she had to fight without me.

“Don’t,” she says, voice cracking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

My throat cinches. “You’re not broken, baby.”

“He drugged me.”

The words gut me, and my palm slides to the back of her head, tenderly cradling her like something fragile—but she’s not . She’s steel and fire and fucking here , and I will never stop holding her now I’ve got her back.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “It’s over. You’re safe, I swear.”

The sirens scream sharp and urgent as cars skid to a stop around us. Red and blue strobe across the brick walls as cops flood the alley. Medics, too. Barked orders and rushing feet blur into background noise.

Zoe flinches and grabs my wrist, like she’s bracing for another fight.

“Hey, hey,” I say quickly, cupping the unbruised cheek, forcing her eyes back to mine. “It’s just backup. Medics and cops. All here to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

She nods again, slower this time, but the grip on my wrist doesn’t ease.

Someone suddenly yells for me to step back. I don’t. One of the EMTs crouches beside us.

“Sir, we need to check her out. Can you step back?”

“She stays with me,” I growl. “I’m not leaving her.”

Hands grab at me, but Zoe’s voice cuts through the chaos.

“Don’t touch him!”

It’s loud, firm, and the clearest she’s sounded since I found her. The officers hesitate, and the paramedics swarm in. She tries to push up on her own, but her legs sway beneath her. When I reach for her, she shakes her head and grits her teeth, getting upright without help.

One of the EMTs gestures for her to sit on the gurney, but she doesn’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“Ma’am, we just need to evaluate you—”

“That’s fine, but with him beside me.”

I step forward instantly and take her trembling hand, and she threads our fingers together, squeezing tight.

We ride together to the ER. I sit beside her, one arm braced around her shoulders, anchoring her to me. She doesn’t lean in, she’s too stiff and tense. But she doesn’t let go of my hand, either.

When we reach the hospital, she walks under her own power. Refuses the wheelchair. The nurse looks like she wants to argue, but doesn’t.

Inside the exam room, they begin their assessment. A trauma nurse, quiet and efficient, runs vitals while a hospital advocate sits nearby, a clipboard in hand. Zoe answers every question flatly.

“What did he use?” the nurse asks gently. “Do you remember what he put in your drink?”

“Not sure,” Zoe says. “Head’s fuzzy, but I didn’t black out.”

My hands fist at my sides.

“Did he hit you?”

“Shoved me,” she replies with a nod. “Slapped me, dragged me. Tried to get me into his car.”

She pauses, her eyes flicking to mine.

I can see it, the frustration in her eyes. She’s answering everything, but it’s costing her. The nurse and the advocate are doing their jobs, ticking boxes, logging injuries, building a case. But every question is about what he did to her.

None of them ask what she did. How she fought, how she clawed and kicked and ran.

Zoe Carlson doesn’t walk out of a situation like this without leaving a mark. She’s fire and fury wrapped in skin, and right now, she needs to hold onto that, to remind herself of what she did. The part that makes her stronger than him.

I press her hand to my chest, where my heart is thundering so hard it might burst.

“Tell us,” I murmur. “Tell us what you did.”

She exhales, like the pressure in her chest finally found a crack to escape through. “I knew something was off when he ordered my drink because I never told him what I liked. He said it was my go-to and he’d seen me order it after a Storm game.”

She swallows. “Then he commented on my nail color. Said it suited my skin tone. I got a DM weeks ago with that exact phrase, from a burner account.”

My jaw is clenched so tight I feel it in my temples.

“I activated the backup phone. The one you made me carry,” she says, turning to me as her voice wobbles. “Sent the SOS. Then I slammed his car door into his shin and ran. He chased me.”

She flexes her bruised knuckles. “I elbowed him, twice. Kneed him and stomped on his foot.” She pauses, huffing a humorous laugh. “That would have hurt, these boots are Chanel.”

Fuck, I love you. Sharp and stubborn and mine.

“Then I clawed at him. Spat in his fucking face. He shoved me into the wall again, but I didn’t stop…” She swallows, and I track the movement in her throat. “I didn’t stop… I kept yelling. Fighting. Anything to slow him down.”

Her voice cracks slightly, just enough to break something inside me. I look down at the floor, not wanting her to see my eyes getting glassy as she continues.

“That’s when I started hearing sirens. And then, Chase…”

I’m shaking. Not from fear, from rage. From imagining all of this happening while I was halfway across the city, eating cereal and feeling sorry for myself while I refreshed game tape like it fucking mattered.

The nurse clears her throat. “Did he… touch you in any other way?”

Zoe stills beside me. “What?”

“I just need to ask, Ms. Carlson. Did you black out at any point? Is there any chance he—”

“No,” she says firmly. “I was conscious the whole time. He didn’t… He didn’t do that.”

My vision tunnels at the thought, and I want to be sick. I want to go back and finish what I started, make him suffer. Fucking kill him.

The advocate asks if she wants to press charges, and Zoe doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She signs the form, but doesn’t let go of my hand once, and when we’re alone again, the silence stretches between us. She shifts on the bed, drawing her knees up, resting her chin on them.

My hand is still tangled with hers, and I’m not sure either of us is ready to let go. She squeezes her fingers again around mine, and when I finally lift my head, her eyes are already on me.

Mine are wet.

I don’t even realize it until one tear drops onto my cheek and burns its way down.

Zoe tilts her head. “You’re crying,” she says, softly surprised.

I drag in a breath of sandpaper. “You were nearly taken from me. I think I’m allowed a breakdown.”

“Yeah, but”—she shifts slightly on the gurney, lips quirking—“you cry ugly.”

A broken sound escapes my throat. It’s her defense mechanism. Humor sharp enough to deflect anything, even this. Masking pain with sass. And God, it makes me want to both laugh and fucking fall apart, because I know exactly what she’s trying to hold together.

“Seriously,” she says. “There’s a lot of jaw clenching and nostril flaring. Very dramatic.”

“I just beat a man half to death for you,” I rasp. “Let me have this.”

She presses her forehead to mine, voice hitching. “You’re such a lunatic.”

“I’d do it again,” I whisper. “I’ll do it a thousand times if it means keeping you.”

Zoe closes her eyes and for a moment, she’s silent.

“I thought I could handle it alone,” she says, voice cracking. “I thought if I just got the footage and fixed it—”

“You shouldn’t have had to fix anything, baby.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But if I’d seen you too soon, I might’ve just folded.”

I bring our joined hands to my lips. “Fold, then,” I say softly. “Fold with me.”

Her face twists, that brave little mask faltering just for a second.

“Don’t be sweet right now,” she says thickly. “You’re gonna make me cry, and then they’ll give me the victim pamphlet and I’ll have to throw it at someone.”

“I’ll take it for you,” I say, tracing a soft finger down her face. “You can throw it at me. I’ll let you.”

Zoe exhales a breath that trembles at the end. “God, I missed you.”

“I never stop missing you. Ever,” I whisper.

She looks back down at our linked hands.

“I feel like I’m supposed to say something brave right now,” she murmurs. “But I think I left all my fight in that alley.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I say softly.

She swallows hard and nods, her gaze dropping again. A nurse walks past the door, and Zoe tracks the movement, bracing for whatever comes next.

“How long till they discharge me?”

“Soon, I think.”

She nods again, then curls her fingers tighter around mine.

“I just wanna go home,” she says.

I don’t ask where that is, I just hold her hand a little tighter.

“Okay.”

Not a promise or a fix, just a vow to keep following her.