Page 19

19

M ichelle

Brooks made the entire concept of being with him feel possible. I had gotten all my work done, studied without distraction, enjoyed every inch of his body, and laughed more than I had in months. He insisted on watching car-crash movies—the kind that were so bad you couldn’t look away—and somehow, they were entertaining as hell.

"Just one more," he had said, grinning at me with that cocky, stupidly charming smirk that I was quickly becoming addicted to. And somehow, that turned into Anchorman, which was still playing in the background as I lay curled against his chest, his arm draped firmly around my stomach. It felt natural, easy, right—like we had been doing this for months, not just weeks.

Brooks shifted slightly, his grip tightening around me, his voice deep and teasing. “Comfortable enough?”

I pressed against him, inhaling his scent—clean, woodsy, entirely him. “Almost.”

He let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and I sighed in contentment when he held me tighter.

“Can I ask you a question?” I murmured, running my fingertips along the veins in his forearm.

"Always," he said without hesitation. "What’s on your mind?"

I was grateful I was facing away from him because I wasn’t sure I could get this out while looking into his eyes. Why me? Out of all the women in the world, why had he chosen me? It wasn’t that I lacked confidence. I knew I was smart, strong, capable—but I also knew I was a mess, stubborn, complicated as hell.

So why me?

"Why did you pick me?" I asked quietly.

He stilled slightly behind me, his fingers pausing for a beat before continuing slow, soothing strokes over my skin. "Why you… what?"

"I have issues with dating, I can only hang out twice a week at most, and I don’t even pretend to be low-maintenance. So why are you trying this with me?"

His exhale was slow, like he had been waiting for me to ask that.

“Relationship,” he corrected. “You’re going to have to say it at some point.”

I rolled my eyes, thankful he couldn’t see. “We’ll see.”

His chuckle rumbled against my back, but his voice was serious when he spoke. “The night I first met you, you had this attitude about you. A strong, kick-ass attitude that was hot as hell. You walked into that bar, declined two offers for drinks, ordered two shots of whiskey for yourself, and left like you owned the place.”

His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. "You’re your own person, Mitch. You have your own goals, your own drive. Becoming a nurse means more to you than what I do for a living, and that’s what I need—someone who has their own life but brings joy to mine. And you do that."

I swallowed hard, something tightening in my chest. It was too much. Too real. Too good. So I deflected.

"I didn’t even realize you were relationship-ing me," I muttered, shifting slightly.

"You sneaky bastard," I added, my voice somewhere between amused and flustered.

He grinned against my shoulder. "It worked, didn’t it? One thing at a time."

I tried to scoot away in mock annoyance, but his grip tightened, pulling me firmly back against him.

"Not a chance," he murmured. "I enjoy you too much."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through me, one I hoped he didn’t notice. His voice softened. “The nurse who works at my mom’s facility reminds me of you a little bit. She’s vibrant, tough, but kind as hell. When I found out you were going to nursing school, it made me fall for you just a little more.”

Jesus. This man was going to ruin me.

"Wow," I whispered, not trusting myself to say anything more. Brooks didn’t push, just let the words settle, let me sit with them before asking, "What happened for you to pick nursing?"

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders slightly. "What happened for you to pick baseball?" I shot back.

His chuckle was low, but he answered immediately. “Because it was my dream to play in the majors. I loved the sport, and I believed if I put the time and effort into something I loved, eventually, it would reward me. Hours of practice taught me diligence and dedication, and I can’t imagine my life without playing. The sounds, the smells, the camaraderie… it’s perfection.”

“That was poetic,” I said, trying to lighten the weight in my chest. “My reasons aren’t nearly that inspiring.”

“It’s not a competition, Mitch. Why nursing?”

I hesitated, then finally let it out. "Because my mom overdosed when I was a kid. Because everything went to total shit after that. We were still technically a family, still had to spend time in the hospital, and the nurses there… they took such good care of her by never judging. They didn’t look at us like we were lost causes, even though I know they probably saw the truth."

Brooks didn’t say anything, just tightened his hold on me, his hand sliding slowly down my arm, grounding me.

“They changed my life," I whispered. "And I want to be that for someone else."

His only response was a kiss to the back of my neck. He didn’t say, I’m sorry. He didn’t say, That’s horrible. He just held me tighter, like he understood exactly what I needed.

A few seconds later, he gently turned me to face him, tucking me under his chin, his hands running up and down my back in slow, lazy strokes.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

The weight of the conversation pressed heavy on my chest, and I wasn’t ready to sit with it any longer. "Shh," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "Go to sleep."

His grip tightened slightly, like he didn’t want to let go, but after a few breaths, I felt his breathing slow, his body relax. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe enough to do the same.

* * *

“I really do need to go.”

I pulled back from Brooks’ kiss, but my body protested every inch of space I put between us. The flutters in my stomach weren’t just from his lips or the way his arms had held me tight, like he didn’t want to let go. This was something new. I was missing him before I had even left.

And that wasn’t something I had ever experienced before.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around me once more, his voice gruff with reluctance. “Two days?”

“That’s all,” I said, trying to sound teasing, light, normal. I had shifts at the hospital two days in a row, followed by long shifts at the diner.

“Fine,” he muttered, but his grip around my waist stayed firm for a second longer, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me before letting go.

I smiled, pushing past the unease building in my chest. “Be good until then.”

He smirked, but his gaze lingered as I walked away, like he could sense something was off. I didn’t let myself look back because it’d make going back to my scheduled life harder.

I had barely made it to my car when I noticed the ripped piece of paper wedged under the windshield.

My stomach dropped. If someone hit my car…Damn it.

My car was a wreck of a vehicle, but she was my wreck, and I couldn't afford to get her fixed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I walked around her, checking for dents, scratches, anything new. But other than the usual wear and tear, nothing looked off.

Still, my pulse kicked up a notch as I pulled the note free and unfolded it.

My eyes scanned the words, and everything inside me stopped.

I’M OUT. WE NEED TO TALK.

My blood turned to ice. Every part of my body froze, my chest tightening so hard it felt like I couldn’t breathe. The words blurred slightly as my fingers curled into the paper, my grip turning white-knuckle tight.

This could only mean one thing.

My father.

The world tilted, my ears started ringing, and suddenly the parking lot around me didn’t feel real anymore. The pavement, the cars, the clear morning sky—it all blurred into the background, insignificant compared to the cold terror spreading through my veins.

He’d found me.

He knew where Brooks lived.

He wanted something.

A sharp pain pierced my chest, like my ribs were caving in on themselves, the weight of every bad memory crashing back into me all at once.

"Fuck. Fuck." My breath hitched as I tossed the note onto the passenger seat, my hands clenching the steering wheel like it could anchor me. My heart was slamming against my ribs, the same way it had when I was a kid hiding behind the couch, listening to my parents scream at each other, hearing the shattering glass, the slamming doors, the way my father’s voice could flip from fake sweetness to pure fury in seconds.

I had escaped. Hadn’t I?

He was supposed to be in jail for another five years. He wasn’t supposed to find me. How the fuck did he know I was here, at Brooks’ place? Did those guys follow me?

I fucking knew better.

My vision blurred at the edges, my breath coming too fast, too sharp, and I clenched my jaw, fighting the rising panic. "Not now. Not here."

I closed my eyes, trying to force the fear back down, trying to control the surge of panic before it took over.

Then someone tapped on my window.

I jerked violently, my stomach twisting in fear, my body instinctively coiling to run.

For a split second, I was back in my old house, hearing the heavy slam of the door, knowing he was home, knowing he was in a mood, knowing I had nowhere to hide.

I turned my head too fast, my heart hammering so hard it physically hurt.

But it wasn’t my dad.

It was Brooks.

I exhaled shakily, barely able to control my expression as I rolled the window down. "Hey?"

Brooks’ brows pulled together, his sharp gaze immediately assessing me. "You okay?"

He scanned the interior of my car, his sharp gaze catching on the crumpled note on the floor. His body shifted, his expression darkening slightly, and I knew the second the words registered. He saw it.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was calm but firm, a quiet demand that sent my stomach into freefall. I froze, my brain scrambling, my body locking up so fast it hurt. Every instinct screamed at me to fix my face, smooth out my features, make it believable.

But my hands were still gripping the wheel, white-knuckle tight, my breath was coming too fast, and my chest—God, my chest was caving in on itself. He knew something was wrong. Of course, he did. Brooks knew me too well to believe the lie I was about to tell him. And yet, I was going to do it anyway.

Because I had no other choice.

I needed to protect him. From this. From me. I could already see how this would go if I told him the truth. He would be involved instantly, refusing to back down, refusing to let me handle it alone. He would make calls, ask around, dig into things he had no business digging into.

And then my father would notice. Then my father would see him. And then Brooks would be in danger. Just like Victor. Just like everyone I had ever tried to keep. A sharp pain pierced my chest, hot and suffocating, and I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might crack. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him become another person on the long list of people who had been burned just by knowing me.

I had worked so damn hard to get away from this life, to build something on my own terms, away from my family’s wreckage. And Brooks? He was good. Too good. His world was full of stadiums and champagne and teammates who had his back. My world was full of shadows and phone calls from people who should still be in prison.

He didn’t belong in this mess. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into it. God, I cared about him too much. More than anyone. And that thought alone terrified me. This feeling? This wasn’t the casual attachment I was used to. This was something else entirely, something that made me lie without hesitation, something that made me choose to hurt him in the short term if it meant keeping him safe in the long run.

I forced my lips into a smile, too tight, too forced, but it was all I had. “Uh, nothing. I’m fine.”

His brows furrowed deeper. “Mitch, I just watched you hit your steering wheel like it personally offended you. Is it your car? Did something happen?”

His concern only made it worse, twisting my stomach with guilt, making the weight of the lie pressing against my tongue feel unbearable. Because I knew the truth. I knew that I would do this again in a heartbeat. I would lie to him. I would shut him out. I would keep choosing his safety over honesty.

And I would never regret it.

Because I could survive losing him. But I couldn’t survive him getting hurt because of me. Not Brooks. Not this man. Not when he was the only person I had ever felt this way about. The thought of him getting pulled into my father’s orbit, of something happening to him because of me, because I couldn’t just keep my head down and take care of this on my own?—

No. I wouldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced my voice into something resembling normal. “My car is fine. I—” Think. Think. “I didn’t do well on a test. I just got an email about it.”

He sighed, shaking his head, then reached through the window, squeezing my shoulder gently. “Can you retake it? Do you need help studying?”

The kindness in his voice made my chest ache. He was making the lie worse, making me feel it in places I didn’t want to feel anything. I swallowed hard, my throat raw, my hands still clenching the wheel like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. “Yes. I can retake it. I’ll schedule it tomorrow.”

“You’ll nail it. I know it,” he said with so much certainty it almost broke me. “Let me know how it goes, okay? If you need a night off…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll survive. Somehow, I will find a way to make it through without seeing you.”

My stomach clenched. “Yes. No, it’s… I’ll let you know.” My voice was barely above a whisper, my grip tightening painfully on the wheel. I forced myself to smile, even as it felt like I was swallowing an entire sock. “I’ll see you, B.”

The lines in his forehead deepened, but he nodded, waving as I drove away. My entire body was in overdrive, like I had just run a marathon and chugged two Red Bulls. My pulse was too high, my thoughts too frantic, too loud, too chaotic.

He knew where Brooks lived. He could hurt him.

That was it. I had no choice.

I had to call that number and find out what my father wanted. Then I could come up with a plan. That was what had gotten me through my entire life, and it had to work now. Determined, I sped home, the note still crumpled on the floor like a cursed object, sucking the air out of my car.

A million possibilities ran through my mind—money, drugs, blackmail, a place to stay. Or worse. Getting our lovely family back together.

By the time I pulled into my apartment building, my stomach was in knots, my hands clammy as I reached for my door handle.

Then I saw him.

Sitting on my steps, like he had been waiting for me.

Tall. Skinny. Shaggy brown hair and dark, familiar eyes.

Victor.

Fuck.

I never used to fear Victor. Even when he was reckless, even when he got into fights, stole things, made bad decisions, I had always seen glimpses of the boy who once protected me but that version of him was dead.

When he broke into my old place, high and out of his mind, something inside me shifted permanently. I saw the truth—I saw what our childhood had turned him into. And now, as I sat in my car staring at his slouched figure on my steps, I realized just how much that truth still terrified me.

Keeping my expression blank, I slipped my hand into my sweatshirt pocket, fingers wrapping around my mace canister, thumb resting on the button. My other hand stayed on my phone, ready to call for help if I had to.

I would not let him see my fear.

Moving slowly, I locked my car and walked toward the steps, forcing my heartbeat to steady itself. Victor’s head lifted, and when he smiled, a sick, twisted version of something that once used to be brotherly, a shiver crawled down my spine.

I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood.

The struggles of our childhood had shaped us differently. I had used them as fuel, a reason to keep going, to keep fighting, to get the hell out. Victor had let them consume him. The boy who had once shielded me from our father’s rage had disappeared, leaving behind someone unrecognizable—someone desperate, cruel, and dangerous.

I had given him chances to prove that version of him still existed.

Those times were long gone.

My voice was calm, controlled, a blade honed to lethal precision. “Victor. You have three minutes to get off my stairs before I call the police.”

“Great to see you too, sis.” He stood, and with it came the reek of body odor, cigarettes, and old sweat, the stench curling in the cool air between us. His teeth were yellowed, his hair greasy, his clothes wrinkled and hanging off him like they belonged to someone else.

I felt nothing but disgust.

No guilt. No sympathy. He had made his choices.

“Word is you’ve done well for yourself.” His gaze swept over me, but I didn’t flinch. “Went and found yourself a money man.”

And just like that, I knew what this was about.

Money. Brooks.

I should have known the second I saw the note.

I forced my shoulders to stay relaxed, tilted my head with indifference. “Not quite sure what you mean.” Glancing at my watch, I raised a brow. “Two minutes, thirty seconds.”

Victor didn’t move, but his smile widened, the sick amusement in his eyes making my stomach tighten.

“You’re dating that baseball guy. He has a nice house and drives a nice car. A Lexus, huh? Doesn’t seem to care that you’re from a trailer-trash family.”

The words punched me in the chest, but I didn’t react. I had spent too many years building armor against this exact attack.

“My life is none of your business.” I crossed my arms but kept the mace within reach. “You made damn sure of that.”

His smile faltered, just for a second, before he spat on the ground, shaking his head. “Dad would be so proud to see you be such a slut.”

I went still.

The rage built so fast, so sharp, that I almost saw red. My nails dug into my palm, my breath coming out hard, controlled, slow.

He ran a hand through his hair, acting like he hadn’t just slapped me across the face with words.

“He looks good,” he mused. “Prison cleaned him up.”

Every part of me locked up. My breath stuttered, my heart slamming against my ribs as my mind whirled with a hundred different emotions at once.

“You’ve seen him?” My voice wavered, just slightly, but it was enough.

Victor grinned.

Shit. I had let him see a crack.

“I thought he had five more years?” I forced the strength back into my voice, stamping down the fear. I was so annoyed at myself that I didn’t check more regularly.

Victor’s laugh was cruel, empty. “Keeping up with the good ole family?” His amusement made my skin crawl, the way he toyed with me instead of just asking for whatever the hell he wanted.

“He asked about you.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging so hard into my palms I swore I could feel skin break.

“Sixty seconds, Victor.”

He studied me, his gaze slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing my reaction. I had to stay still. Had to be unreadable.

He smirked. “Call him.”

My stomach churned, my hands shaking against my will. “My relationship with good ole Dad doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does.” The fake lightness in his tone disappeared, his voice suddenly sharp, vicious. “It definitely fucking concerns me. Who do you think told him where you work and who you’re fucking?”

A cold wave of dread crashed over me. I barely stopped myself from staggering back.

How the hell did he—The alley.

I sucked in a sharp breath as realization hit, but I kept my expression neutral, forcing every emotion down so deep it would never surface.

“So it was you outside the restaurant.” My voice was steady, but inside, my body was shaking. “Were you going to attack me?”

His smirk didn’t waver.

I wanted to hurt him. Three times in my life, I had felt this kind of rage—a fire so all-consuming I thought I might actually kill someone. This was quickly becoming the fourth.

“Answer me,” I demanded, taking a step forward, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline. “Were you going to hurt me or rob me again?”

His expression flickered for a second, like he was considering his next move carefully.

“Calm down.”

“Answer the fucking question.” I moved toward him, every muscle tensed, ready to push, to shove, to swing if I had to. But I stopped myself. I wasn’t him. I wasn’t like them.

“You’re at my home, where you know you’re not welcome. Ever. What do you want? Tell me, or get the fuck out.”

Victor didn’t blink. “You’ll be hearing from me, sis.” His voice was almost sing-song, light, but I didn’t miss the threat underneath it.

Then he turned, walked down the road, and disappeared onto a busy street like he hadn’t just destroyed the fragile balance I’d built for myself.

For minutes—maybe longer—I stood frozen, my brain catching up, my body too stunned to move. Then, as if something snapped inside me, I turned, rushed inside, bolted the door shut, and shoved a kitchen chair beneath the handle for extra security.

It wasn’t enough.

I stared at the locked door, waiting for him to come back, my hands trembling so violently I couldn’t even hold my phone.

Everything I had done for the last few years had been fruitless.

He had found me.

The one man who had the ability to render me paralyzed, to unravel everything I had built, to ruin my life. Jail had been a gift, an escape from him, and now… he was out.

I tried to stop the sobs, but they came anyway.

I cried, hard, for twenty minutes, let myself wallow in fear and anger and exhaustion. Then, forcing myself to breathe, I took a shower, washing him off me.

This wouldn’t break me. I wouldn’t let it.

No more wasted time. No more waiting for things to get worse. I had to find out why my father had gotten out early and what he wanted. The cops weren’t an option—not yet.

So I grabbed my phone, found the number left on my windshield, and called.

“Michelle.”

His voice slithered through the phone, the same as I remembered—low, taunting, carrying that sick edge of amusement, like this was some twisted game he was playing and I was just a pawn.

“Sperm donor.”I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, my gaze locked on the door like he might burst through at any second. The air in my apartment felt thick, suffocating, like the walls were closing in, trapping me with him all over again.

“How lovely to hear your voice after all these years.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. His tone was mocking, condescending, the same way it had been when I was ten years old, crying over a broken toy he had thrown against the wall just to shut me up.

“What do you want?” My voice was flat, void of emotion, but my stomach churned violently. “You had me followed, so it must be important.”

There was a brief pause, like he hadn’t expected me to cut straight to the point.

“Why is it that you never visited me in jail?”

I let out a hollow laugh, sharp and cruel, my grip tightening on the phone. “Let’s forgo the chat where we pretend to care about each other.” The silence that followed was thick, and I could hear the way his breath hitched slightly. Guess he didn’t realize I grew up.

“Is it money? Because I don’t have any.”

His response came with a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You might be a little bitch, but you have more balls than your worthless brother.”

A muffled voice echoed in the background—Victor.

Of course he was with him.

“I need twenty K.”

The number made my stomach lurch. Twenty thousand dollars. That wasn’t just a favor—that was desperation. That was a man who had burned through every resource and was now clawing for whatever was left.

I snorted, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Did the guards hit you too hard in the ear? I don’t have money.”

“You might not, dear, but Brooks Madsen does, and word on the street is you’re fucking him.”

My breath caught.

Brooks.

The nausea crept up my throat so fast I thought I might throw up. My fingers trembled around the phone, and I curled them into a fist, willing my voice to stay steady.

“Leave him out of this.”

“Oh, protective.” His laugh was slow and deliberate, each note dragging over my skin like a blade. “Is this love? How precious.”

My father, the man who had never protected me, the man who had never cared, was using the one thing I cared about against me.

“How I enjoy my free time is my business, and that’s all he is. You had your hookers and mistresses somehow, and I’m allowed to see whoever I want. But I will not rob him or steal from him. Understood?” My voice was sharp, edged with an anger that burned through my fear. “I’d like to remain the one member of our family who isn’t a piece of shit.”

His silence stretched just long enough to make my pulse spike.

“You have a week.”

The words sent a cold shiver through me. One week. For what? To come up with money I didn’t have? To somehow stop him from coming after Brooks?

“Or what?” My voice was lethal, but my hands trembled against my will. “Going to have Victor break in and assault me again?”

There was a pause—a heavy, loaded pause—before he spoke again, something in his tone shifting. “He did what?”

He doesn’t know.

For a moment, I almost laughed. The audacity of him pretending to care, pretending like the actions of his other disaster of a child suddenly mattered.

“Yeah, your son did a number on me. Be proud.”

Through the receiver, I heard a loud thump, followed by Victor’s muffled cursing. My father had hit him.

A small, dark part of me was glad. But I would rather die than say it out loud.

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingertips against my temples as if I could physically push the stress away. “Don’t act like you care about me, father. It’s a waste of both our time.”

“One week or we’ll go after him.”

My stomach dropped through the floor.

My throat tightened to the point of pain.

The desperation clawed its way through me, flooding every inch of my body with fear. I had prepared for this moment, knew it was coming the second I saw that note, but nothing could have prepared me for the way my hands shook uncontrollably, how my mind felt like it was splintering into a million useless thoughts at once.

Brooks. They would go after Brooks.

And I would not let that happen.

I begged and pleaded in silence, borrowing time, making promises to whatever higher power existed that I would find a way to keep him safe. I could lose everything else.

But I would not let them touch him.

“We aren’t seeing each other anymore, okay?” The lie came fast, my voice clipped and cold, even as my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest. “I ended it last night. I can’t seem to have a real relationship—wonder why that is? Must have something to do with my wonderful, loving parents.”

My father scoffed. “I need twenty thousand, Shellie.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” I closed my eyes, swallowing the rage clawing its way up my throat. “I don’t have it, and if you or Victor show up at my place again, I will call the cops.”

“You friendly with them again? How cute. I thought you’d never trust those fucks after they refused to believe your innocence.”

The jab was calculated, meant to cut me in half. I exhaled sharply, willing myself to not react.

His voice lowered, the humor gone. “One week, Shellie. And trust me, there is more than one way to hurt someone. Learned a bit in jail.”

My pulse thundered in my ears, my vision blurring at the edges.

“Listen, bitch,” he snapped. “I know about his precious mother. It would be a shame if something happened to her, hm? One week.”

Then he hung up.

The silence that followed was deafening.

My body moved before my brain could process it. I hurled my phone across the room, the device hitting the couch with a dull thud. My fists clenched as a scream lodged in my throat, unable to escape.

Then the sobs started, violent and unrelenting.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up, my entire body trembling so hard my legs nearly gave out.

Threatening me was one thing.

But Brooks?

His mother?

No.

I couldn’t.

No…

A rage so deep, so sharp that it left my body shaking violently, clawed its way up from the depths of me. I needed a plan. I had to get them away from him. It didn’t matter what it took.

Even if it meant breaking my own heart.

Even if it meant shattering his.

Because severing the tie between us was the only way to keep him safe.

And I would do it.

Even if it destroyed me.