Page 21

21

M ichelle

I slid down my door, my back hitting the wood with a dull thud, and didn’t even bother wiping the tears as they tracked down my cheeks. The weight of the last twenty-four hours pressed hard against my chest, like a vice tightening with every breath I tried to take. The look on Brooks' face when I lied to him, when I told him there was someone else, shattered the last part of me that had dared to hope I could have a happy life.

It was foolish. People in my family didn’t get love or happiness. My parents had made sure of that.

My apartment was a disaster from this morning—clothes thrown around from my hasty attempt to pack, my laptop half-open on the couch, and worst of all, the Post-it notes lined up on my counter, taunting me with their daily countdown.

Five days left.

Four days left.

Like I had twenty-fucking-thousand dollars to my name.

They were fools if they thought I could just pull that amount out of thin air. But they weren’t threatening me anymore, were they? No, they had made their intentions clear—the pictures of Brooks and Logan walking into the nursing home had been proof of that.

My father was watching them. Tracking them. That meant he was serious.

A fresh wave of nausea hit me, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, pressing my forehead to them, trying to breathe through the panic.

My plan had backfired. Royally. Brooks was supposed to stay away, to be scarce for a week, giving me time to figure out a plan. But he had ruined it. Goddamn it, he had ruined it. Now, my father knew he was important to me. He knew I cared. And that gave him leverage.

I had left Brooks no choice but to believe the worst of me. I had hurt him on purpose, made him think I was sleeping with someone else. It was cruel, but it was the only way. If he had any reason to push back, to fight for us, he would only be putting himself and his mom in danger.

But he believed it.

So easily.

That was the part that stung. That was the part that had my stomach in knots, had my hands trembling. He had just accepted it. He thought I was capable of hurting him that way. After everything, after opening myself up to him, after showing him pieces of me no one else had seen, he still thought I was capable of just... walking away.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to tell him the truth.

I wanted to beg him to trust me, even if I couldn’t explain why.

But I couldn’t.

Instead, I let out a choked sob, my body rattling with the force of it. These weren’t just a few tears; this was gut-wrenching, full-body, hopeless crying. My father had always been able to make me feel small, to remind me that no matter how much I tried to build a life away from him, he would always find a way back in.

I had homework I wouldn’t complete, a hole in my chest where Brooks belonged, and no way to get the money my father was demanding. It was a new rock bottom.

The last time I had felt this low, this trapped, was when Victor had robbed me blind, when I had come home to find my drawers emptied, my clothes dumped onto the floor, my money gone, my sense of security shattered. When I had called my mother, desperate for even the smallest ounce of comfort, only to hear her laugh on the other end of the line.

"He’s your brother, Michelle. What do you expect?"

She had called me dramatic for crying over the last of my rent money being stolen, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t my entire world crumbling down around me. And now, here I was again. Except this time, it wasn’t just me they were after.

It was Brooks.

The air in my apartment felt thick, suffocating, dangerous. The place that had once been mine, my safe space, was now tainted.

I had tried to ignore the small things. The Post-it notes left on my door, the figures lingering outside my job, the way the air in my place felt heavier every time I walked through the door.

But then I came home from clinicals, exhausted, ready to collapse, and I saw it.

The picture. Sitting dead center on my kitchen counter.

I had locked my door that morning. I had double-checked before I left, had made sure every window was latched, every possible entrance sealed.

And yet, someone had been inside.

With shaking hands, I reached for the photo, my breath catching in my throat as I turned it over. It was Brooks and Logan walking into the nursing home.

The same picture they had texted me.

Except this time, there was a single word scrawled in black marker across the back.

TICK TOCK.

A cold, paralyzing terror ran through me.

It wasn’t just a threat anymore. It wasn’t just messages or warnings. They had broken into my home, had stood in my kitchen, had left this here just to remind me they could.

I could almost picture them, standing exactly where I was standing, laughing to themselves as they set the photo down, imagining my reaction. They wanted me scared.

And it was fucking working.

My hands were shaking as I moved through my apartment, looking for anything else they might have left behind. That was when I saw it.

Another Post-it note.

This time, stuck to my bathroom mirror.

HURRY UP.

My stomach lurched violently.

I ripped the note down, my vision blurring with panic as I backed out of the room. The feeling of being watched was unbearable now, like they had left pieces of themselves behind, waiting for me to crumble.

I needed to go.

The urge to flee hit me so hard my body acted before my mind could even catch up. Nothing was irreplaceable. Nothing mattered more than getting out before it was too late.

Moving purely on instinct, I grabbed my navy blue duffel bag from the closet, the one I had carried since I was seventeen, the one with duct tape on the sides, the one that had been packed and unpacked more times than I could count.

One bag.

That was my life.

I stuffed clothes inside with shaking hands, grabbing my laptop, my notes, anything I could fit. My breath was shallow, uneven, too fast, and I had to physically force myself to slow down, to focus.

I had to be smart about this.

They had broken in once. They would do it again.

I threw the bag over my shoulder and locked the door behind me, even though I knew it wouldn’t stop them. If they wanted in, they would get in.

But I wouldn’t be here when it happened.

I needed somewhere safe.

Not Fiona. She was on her honeymoon with Gideon, traveling to a tropical island, and I refused to ruin that for her. I could hide at Brooks’s? No. They knew where he lived. If I parked there, it would only lead them straight to him. Not tonight. Not ever.

I thought about heading to the restaurant, where I could hide in plain sight, but Victor had already confirmed he was waiting for me there. They could be sitting outside, watching, waiting for me to slip up.

I was running out of options.

My breath hitched as a wave of nausea hit me. This was one of those times I hated myself for keeping my circle so damn small.

I needed a friend. I needed a place to go.

Brigham.

Shit. Brigham.

He was the only person I had left to turn to.

My hands fumbled for my phone as I moved toward my car, my heart pounding against my ribs, a relentless, unforgiving beat. I checked my mirrors, scanning the lot, scanning the street, scanning every goddamn shadow.

Was I being watched right now? I couldn’t tell.

The line rang twice before his voice cut through. "Hello?"

“Brigs.” My voice shook, and I hated it. “I need a favor.”

A pause. Then, without hesitation, “Name it.”

"Can I stay with you? Just for a night. Maybe two. I don’t take up much space. I just?—”

“Absolutely,” he cut in immediately, his voice firm, sure, unwavering. “Say no more. You okay?”

I almost broke down again.

"I will be," I said, swallowing hard. "Uh, weird request. Is there any way I can park in the garage?"

“With the beast?” His voice lightened just slightly. “Sure. I’ll make room.”

I exhaled, relief washing over me. “Thank you. Thank you, Brigs.”

Brigham was my only safe place now. The only person I could turn to without bringing more risk into their life.

Because Brooks? Brooks wasn’t safe anymore

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I checked my mirrors, scanning the lot, making sure no headlights flicked on, no figures stepped out of the shadows. I wasn’t being followed. Not yet.

“Things not going well with Brooks?”

I shut my eyes, picturing his broken expression, the way his voice had cracked when he told me he was falling for me.

“I’ll fill you in.”

Brigham let out a slow breath. “Shit, he do something to hurt you? I’ll kick his ass.”

"No, nothing like that. It’s a long story that will require beer, wine, or anything with a high alcohol content." My voice cracked, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "I’m a mess, Brigs. I’m sorry I’m not making sense, but I just... I need a shoulder."

There. I admitted weakness and I didn’t burst into flames.

“It’s about time I can be supportive of you. Get over here, and we’ll drink, talk, avoid—whatever you need, okay?”

Thank God.

He lived twenty minutes from the stadium, and I drove there, looking over my shoulder the entire time. My knuckles ached from how tightly I gripped the wheel, my jaw locked so hard it felt like I was grinding my teeth into dust.

Brigham was already waiting in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest, his brows furrowed in concern as I pulled in. His eyes scanned my face the second I stepped out of the car, taking in the dark circles under my eyes, the way my hands trembled against the strap of my duffel bag.

I didn’t even have to say a word. He knew.

Without hesitation, he reached for my bag, shouldering some of my burden like it was nothing. The second I shut Posh’s door, he pulled me into a hug, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other pressed firm between my shoulder blades.

And I let him.

Even though it wasn’t the right set of arms.

He didn’t smell like Brooks—like clean soap and something inherently comforting.

He didn’t feel like Brooks—didn’t have the same solid weight, the same familiar warmth that made me feel safe even when I shouldn’t.

But he was here. And I needed someone.

I squeezed my eyes shut for just a moment, letting myself pretend. Pretend that when this was all over, when I finally had my father and Victor out of my life for good, Brooks would forgive me. That I wouldn’t have ruined us beyond repair.

The thought was enough to send a sharp, painful ache through my chest.

I didn’t let myself dwell on it.

Instead, I sank onto Brigham’s couch, my body heavy with exhaustion. Grabbing a blue throw pillow, I hugged it to my chest, as if that could somehow hold me together. My phone was still clutched in my hand, my fingers hovering over the screen, hesitating.

One text. Three words.

Michelle: Trust me, please.

I hit send, my stomach twisting into a thousand knots as I stared at the message.

But I didn’t wait for a response.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I tossed my phone onto the floor and took the beer Brigham handed me, gulping down half of it in one go. The burn in my throat was nothing compared to the panic still gripping my ribs. Brigham arched a brow but didn’t say anything. He just waited.

And I told him everything.

The words poured out, the weight I had been carrying for years spilling into the open, heavier than ever. I told him about my father’s arrests, about my mother’s overdoses, about Victor robbing me blind and laughing while he did it. My voice cracked when I told him about the notes appearing on my door every morning, about the pictures of Brooks and Logan walking into the nursing home.

The countdown.

The threats.

The way my father was circling, waiting for me to break.

Brigham sat in silence, his expression unreadable, but I felt his stare before he even spoke. He leaned back in his recliner, letting out a slow breath, his face pale, his lips slightly parted like he was still trying to process the sheer size of the mess I was trapped in.

“Jesus.” His voice was hoarse, low, like the words were being dragged out of him. “I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” My laugh came out hollow, bitter, soaked in exhaustion. “The only person who knows about my past is Brooks. It was easier pretending my family didn’t exist rather than telling the truth.”

Brigham didn’t hesitate—he reached out, wrapping his fingers around my forearm, grounding me for just a second.

Just long enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.

“Does Brooks know about the threats?” His voice was careful, like he already knew the answer.

The words sliced through me, making my throat go tight, my eyes burn. I had lost track of how many times I had cried in the last twenty-four hours, and I hated it

Hated the way it made me feel weak when I had spent my entire life proving that I wasn’t.

“No.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

Brigham inhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling slowly. “Michelle,” he said, stretching out my name, disappointment thick in his tone. “He’ll want to know the truth. You shouldn’t keep this from him. They could still confront him and demand money—which would totally blindside him unless you tell him.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I knew that

I knew that keeping Brooks in the dark wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, wasn’t what I should be doing.

But what choice did I have?

If he knew, if he found out the whole truth, he would try to fix it. He would throw everything he had into protecting me, into making sure I was safe.

And he would fail.

Because my father didn’t play fair.

“They were watching me,” I muttered, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “The apartment. My work. They were waiting. They’ve used violence before, Brigs, and I needed Brooks gone. I needed them to think we weren’t more than a hook up, that he wasn’t important to me.”

Saying it out loud made the weight in my chest crush me all over again.

Brigham let out a sharp breath, his fingers twitching like he wanted to punch something but had no target. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head. “This is so fucked.”

No shit.

I stood abruptly, pacing

The regret crawled through me, twisting my insides into a tangled mess. Had this been the best choice? The smartest plan? I didn’t know anymore. But it was the one I had made, and there was no undoing it.

I forced air into my lungs, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to move, to do something, to stop the disgust rolling through me from choking me whole. I paced the living room, my hands clenching and unclenching, my stomach knotted so tight it physically hurt.

All of this reminded me of my childhood. Of hiding in corners. Of staying silent. Of making myself small to survive. I could still hear the creak of my father’s boots on the floorboards, the thick tension in the air when he had a bad day, the way I held my breath, waiting, always waiting.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I had goals, I had plans, I had a life I built for myself, piece by goddamn piece. I spoke my mind. I fought for what I wanted. I wasn’t weak.

I wasn’t scared of him.

Was I?

I stopped pacing, my chest rising and falling too fast. The fear had taken over, made me act like prey, but I wasn’t prey. My father and Victor had been picking at my edges, trying to see if I would crack, if I would cave, but they had forgotten one thing.

I had already survived them. And I wasn’t going to let them take anything from me again.

My breath came sharp and steady now, my fists tightening at my sides. “Fuck this.”

Brigham arched a brow, his eyes tracking my every move. “Huh?”

“This isn’t me,” I said, my voice like steel. “I don’t cower. Ever.” The words burned through me, igniting something that had been buried for too long. I was done being careful. Done letting them control me through fear.

“How dare they,” I seethed, my rage boiling over, hot and unforgiving. “How fucking dare they walk into my life and think they can take it from me?” My father had spent my childhood making me feel powerless, but that was his mistake.

I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was on fire now.

Brigham let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. “I think this is a good sign. I like you being angry rather than sad.” His voice softened. “It hit me in the feels seeing you cry.”

I ignored him, my mind already spinning, already calculating.

“I’m going to nail them,” I said, my voice hard and certain.

Brigham sat forward, his attention laser-focused now. “Okay. How?”

“I need proof,” I said simply. “Real, undeniable proof of their guilt because my word means shit to the cops.”

Brigham’s frown deepened. “That’s bullshit, but okay. What’s the plan?”

“I confront him,” I said, pacing again, the adrenaline finally kicking in. “He’s a bully. He harasses and uses scare tactics to get what he wants, but when he found out Victor beat me up, he was pissed.”

Brigham’s entire body locked up. “Wait. He what?”

I waved a hand, brushing it off. “Oh, I forgot to mention that. Yeah. When Victor broke into my place a couple of years ago, he was high as hell and punched the shit out of me.”

Brigham let out a low, lethal growl. “You forgot to mention that? Jesus, Michelle.”

I just smiled.

He shook his head, his jaw tight with barely restrained anger. “So, what? You’re going to record him threatening you?”

“Exactly.” I nodded. “I’ll meet with them, record everything they say. But I need a favor from you. Tonight.”

Brigham didn’t even hesitate. “Name it.”

“We need to install a camera outside my apartment door,” I said. “Victor’s been arrested so many times that trespassing and robbery would put him back behind bars. And if he gets arrested, he’ll snitch on my dad to get a lesser sentence.”

Brigham exhaled sharply, nodding. “I’m on board. I think we can get one of those cameras at Walmart or something.”

“Let’s go.”

“In the middle of the night?” He arched a brow, but his voice wasn’t arguing.

“Yes,” I snapped. “I’ll call into work tomorrow. When I don’t show, they’ll notice and try to find me at my place. I wouldn’t put it past them to know my schedule, so deviating from it would mess with their plan. I’ll fire them up tonight with a call so they’ll definitely break in. Then, once we have them on video, I’ll tell them I have the money. They’re so desperate they’ll believe me.”

Brigham didn’t argue. He just grabbed his car keys and turned back to me with a look. “And Brooks?”

I closed my eyes, swallowing the guilt that clawed its way up my throat. “I’ll deal with him when this is over. When I have them by the balls and he isn’t threatened anymore.”

“You could call and tell him all this, you know,” Brigham said, his voice softer now. “Don’t let him suffer more than he already is.”

My throat tightened painfully. I hated the fact that I’d hurt him.

“He’ll want to help.” My voice was small now, the fire sputtering just slightly.

Brigham sighed, stepping closer, pressing a firm hand against my shoulder. “The fact that you called me means a lot, you know that? You never let anyone help you. And that’s badass, but, Mitch? You can’t be strong and alone all the time.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just whispered, “Thank you, Brigs. For everything.”

“That’s what friends do.” He shot me a grin, but there was an edge of worry behind it, like he knew I was about to do something stupid, reckless, or both. “I’ll be back. Installation shouldn’t take long.”

I nodded, but my mind was already elsewhere, already spinning ahead to what came next.

What I had to do. As soon as the door shut behind him, I inhaled, finding my bravery.

My hands clenched at my sides, my pulse a violent, erratic thing in my chest. Every muscle in my body hummed with adrenaline, my body too wired, too ready for what came next.

It was time to finish this.

I grabbed my phone—not to text, not to beg Brooks to forgive me—but to dial the number I had memorized my entire life. The one I had never wanted to call again.

My father answered on the first ring.

“You ready to pay up, sweetheart?”

My fingers curled into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. “I want to meet. Just us.”

There was silence.

Then a slow, low chuckle, the kind that always preceded something bad, something cruel.

“Now that,” he said, dragging the words out, savoring them, “sounds interesting.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, forced steel into my spine, ice into my voice.

“In a few days,” I said, staring at my reflection in the darkened TV screen. My face was blank, unreadable, a mask I had spent years perfecting. “After my shift.”

“Brave girl.” His voice dipped, like he was mocking me, testing me, waiting for me to fold. “You sure you don’t want to bring that baseball boyfriend of yours?”

My stomach clenched.

Brooks. He still thought Brooks was leverage.

And maybe he still was.

Not to him. To me.

I inhaled sharply, refusing to let my father hear the weakness in my breath. “This is between us,” I bit out. “You want your money? Show up alone.”

Another pause.

Then, “I’ll be seeing you real soon, Shelle.”

The line went dead. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Not for a long, long time. Then, slowly, I let the phone drop from my fingers.

I had set the trap.

Now I just had to hope I wasn’t the one who ended up in it.