To breathe. To let the adrenaline drain before I do something I can't take back.
When his hand wrapped around her arm like he had any right to touch her, like heownedher—something in me snapped.
Not broke.Snapped.
Like a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with tension, ready to cut through anything in its path. I was going to break his fucking nose.
Maybe his jaw too.
Definitely his wrist for daring to put his hands on her.
I had the distance calculated. The angle. The follow-through. Knew exactly how many steps it would take to close the gap. Knew exactly where to hit to make sure he went down hard and stayed down and didn't get back up.
Every instinct I've spent years learning to control was screaming at me to make himhurtthe way seeing him touch her hurt. To make sure he understood—on a visceral, bone-deep level—what happens to men who put their hands on women. Specifically her.
And I would have.
I was one heartbeat away from it. One second of letting the rage take over.
But then she said my name.
Just that. Just"Nate."
Soft and steady and pulling me back from the edge just like she has so many times before. And suddenly I could see it—what I was about to do. The violence I was about to unleash. The line I was about to cross.
The man I was about to become if I let the rage win.
Scott's son. Scott's anger. Scott's fists.
So I chose words instead. Chose restraint. Chose to be the person she needed me to be instead of the monster my father raised.
But fuck, it was close.
Too close.
My hands are still shaking when I get to my office.
Still trembling with unused adrenaline, with rage that has nowhere to go. I sit for a minute, just breathing, letting the memory of her standing behind me ground me.
She's safe and he's gone.
I repeat it like a mantra until my heart rate slows.
Until the shaking stops.
Until I can think about something other than how badly I wanted to hurt him.
By the time I make it to the studio, Julian's already there, looking like absolute hell. Bloodshot eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, same clothes from yesterday. Coffee cup gripped like a lifeline.
"Rough night?" I ask, voice rougher than I intend.
Still affected by the confrontation.
He just grunts.
I pour myself coffee I don't need, just to have something to do with my hands that isn't punching a wall.
"Uhh, Nate," Julian says after a moment. "There's a guy out front asking for you."
