Page 47 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

S he barely registered being lifted, the world tilting as he carried her swiftly through the gym. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, steady and strong, a contrast to her own frantic pulse. The sound grounded her, but only for a moment.

She barely had time to register where they were before the soft rush of water filled the space. The locker room .

Then…warmth.

Not scalding, not cold, just lukewarm as the shower rained down over them both.

Tristan still held her, his grip firm yet careful as he slid down to the tiled floor, pulling her onto his lap. The water soaked through their shirt but he didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

“Breathe, baby.” His voice was low and steady. A command wrapped in a plea.

Victoria squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears still escaped, hot and endless.

“I—” She tried to speak, but her throat closed up. Her body was betraying her, trembling beyond her control, suffocating under the weight of it all.

Tristan shifted slightly, pressing her tighter against him. “I got you,” he murmured, his lips near her temple. His hand slid up her back, fingers threading through her wet hair as he rocked her gently. “I got you.”

She clung to him. She wasn’t sure when the sobs started, but once they did, they wouldn’t stop.

The water poured over them, drowning out the rest of the world, leaving only Tristan’s arms around her, his breath against her skin, his body anchoring hers.

He didn’t tell her she was okay.

Didn’t try to make her stop crying.

He just held her.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

Her breathing eventually slowed. The panic receded, leaving exhaustion in its place.

She felt raw, exposed. But Tristan hadn’t moved.

She shifted slightly in his hold, tilting her head just enough to look at him. His dark hair was slicked back from the water, beads of it clinging to his sharp jawline. His shirt clung to his body, completely drenched, but he didn’t seem to care.

His gaze met hers, something unreadable in those deep whiskey-colored eyes.

She swallowed, her voice hoarse. “Why are you doing this?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but it was softer than usual. “Because it’s what you needed.”

Something cracked inside her. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his chest, letting the steady rise and fall of his breath ground her.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself lean on someone else.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid.

The warmth of the water had long since seeped into her bones, dulling the worst of the panic. The trembling had mostly subsided, but the weight in her chest still lingered. Tristan shifted beneath her, his arms tightening briefly before he sighed.

“Alright, tough girl,” he murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Let’s get you out of here before we both end up with pneumonia.”

Victoria blinked up at him, still dazed. “Didn’t take you for the nurturing type, Locke.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t get used to it.”

Before she could respond, he moved, standing effortlessly before reaching for a towel.

He draped it over her shoulders, his fingers grazing her arms as he pulled it snugly around her.

The scratchy fabric should’ve been uncomfortable, but the way he wrapped it around her—careful, deliberately—sent an unfamiliar warmth through her.

He grabbed another towel and gently cupped her cheek with it, the roughness of the fabric contrasting against the tenderness of his touch.

His thumb ghosted over her skin, his brows pulling together as he studied her face. “Are you really okay?” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried so much weight.

Victoria swallowed, her throat still tight.

She wasn’t sure how to answer.

Physically? She’d been worse. Mentally? She was unraveling at the seams.

She tried to smirk, tried to summon some semblance of her usual snark, but it fell flat. “I’m fine.”

Tristan’s jaw ticked. He didn’t call her out on the lie, but the way his eyes searched hers made it clear he didn’t believe a damn word.

After a long pause, he exhaled and pulled back just enough to tug the towel further around her. “Come on,” he said, voice quieter now. “You need to eat. Then sleep.”

She wanted to argue, but her stomach betrayed her with a low, humiliating growl.

Tristan arched a brow, his smirk returning full force. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

She scowled. “I hate you.”

His grin deepened as he guided her toward the locker room exit with a steady hand at her back. “Sure you do, love.”

The cool night air hit her damp skin, making her shiver, but Tristan was already leading her toward his car. Above them, clouds loomed heavy, blotting out the stars. A gust of wind whipped past, carrying the scent of rain.

She barely noticed at first, exhaustion weighing her down. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the drive that something felt… off.

A storm had been threatening all night, thickening the air, pressing in around them.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the road ahead for a split second before plunging them back into darkness. BOOM. Thunder cracked, sharp and sudden, rattling through her bones.

Instinct took over before she could think. Victoria’s fingers closed around Tristan’s hand where it rested on the gear shift, gripping tight.

He didn’t flinch. If anything, his fingers curled slightly, as if he was holding her right back.

The car hummed around them, rain now pattering against the windshield. The tension between them, once simmering beneath the surface, crackled like the storm outside.

Her brows furrowed as she glanced out the window. The streets looked unfamiliar. Shadows stretched long across the pavement, headlights catching the slick sheen forming on the road.

She stiffened. “Wait.”

Tristan didn’t look at her. Her pulse kicked up. The rain grew heavier, streaking the windows. “This isn’t the way to my apartment.”

His grip on the wheel remained relaxed. “Nope.”

“Tristan.” Her stomach twisted. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time.

“Yes, Grace?” He smirked, eyes still on the road.

She turned fully toward him, eyes narrowing. A flash of lightning lit up his face for half a second. “Where the hell are we going?”

“My place.”

“Excuse me?”

Tristan shot her a quick glance, completely unbothered.

The windshield wipers dragged across the glass in slow, methodical sweeps.

“You had a full-blown panic attack in my arms, and you think I’m just gonna drop you off alone in that shoebox apartment of yours?

Yeah, not happening, sweetheart.” His voice was gruff, but there was something else beneath it.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. Rain drummed harder against the roof. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” he drawled. “That’s why you were getting your ass kicked by my father’s goons twenty minutes ago.”

“I had it handled,” she scowled.

“Sure you did,” he mused. “That’s why I found you on the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water.”

Victoria crossed her arms, her cheeks heating. Thunder growled overhead, shaking the car. “You’re such an ass.”

Tristan chuckled. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not leaving you half-naked and crying in a gym shower.”

Her jaw clenched. “Oh, screw you.”

“Not tonight, Grace. You need food. Then sleep.”

Victoria groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm inside her. “I hate you.”

Tristan smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Buckle up, 'cause you’re stuck with me tonight.”

The drive had been quiet. Too quiet. Rain pounded against the windshield, the rhythmic thud nearly lulling Victoria into sleep. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that Tristan had practically kidnapped her for the night, but exhaustion kept her from putting up too much of a fight.

Tristan’s grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale. “My father doesn’t send men out for fun.”

The words hung heavy between them. The kind of heavy that said someone was going to pay for this.

“Why were they after you?” he asked, voice low, sharp.

Before she could speak, he scoffed and cut her off. “No, don’t answer. Doesn’t matter. He thinks I’ve gone weak over you.”

Victoria flinched, but didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed on the storm outside, lightning flashing against the glass like it knew exactly how close everything was to detonating.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel once, jaw tight. “Should’ve known he’d pull this shit.”

A humorless scoff slipped out. “I take one step back from the business and suddenly he thinks I’m distracted…what, over a girl?” He shook his head. “Sending his guys to rough you up just to make a point. ”

Victoria didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the window, watching the storm twist through the sky like it could unravel the one inside her.

When they pulled into the garage, the sound of the storm softened, muffled by concrete walls. Victoria took in the sleek, pristine, and undeniably expensive space. No surprise there.

Tristan got out first, rounding the car just as a flash of lightning lit up the entrance.

Before she could even think about opening the door herself, he was already there.

Thunder rumbled overhead as he pulled it open, his hand brushing her arm as he guided her out.

His touch was light but firm, grounding her against the chill that swept through the open space.

Wordlessly, he led her inside, flipping lights on as they went.

The interior was just as modern as she’d expected.

Open space, sharp lines, and a color palette of black, white, and grays.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed nearly every wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline, except now, the reflection of rain streaked the glass like veins of silver.

Beyond the skyline, dark clouds rolled, swallowing the stars whole.

A jagged streak of lightning split the sky, illuminating the room for a heartbeat before fading.

Cold, but beautiful.

They ascended the floating staircase, the soft hum of the storm pressing in from all sides. Another crack of thunder boomed, vibrating through the glass as they reached what she assumed was his bedroom.

A massive California king bed sat against one wall, the bedding as sleek and dark as the rest of the house. A minimalist dresser, a few abstract paintings, and subtle lighting completed the space.

Victoria lingered near the doorway, arms crossed as she took it all in. The wind howled against the windows, rattling them ever so slightly, as if demanding entry.

Tristan didn’t say anything, moving straight to his closet and pulling out clothes. One pile for himself, another for her. He laid hers on the bed, a t-shirt and a pair of sweats that would undoubtedly swallow her whole.

“I’ll change downstairs,” he said, already heading toward the door. “Come down when you’re done. I’ll have food ready.”

Victoria raised a brow. Rain streaked down the glass behind him, city lights shimmering through the distortion. “You cook?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy.”

“Didn’t peg you as a chef, Locke.”

“Good,” he mused, stepping out the door. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the middle of his ridiculously perfect bedroom, wearing the towel from the gym, with nothing but the scent of his cologne lingering in the air and he growling thunder outside.