I enter them and open her messages. Braden’s name sits at the top. I tap, and the screen fills with words that I don’t want to read.
“Are you sure?” I ask, searching her eyes. Though I want to know—need to know—I would rather hear it from her lips. I feel like I am invading her privacy.
“I’m sure.”
Scrolling up, I stop at the messages from today.
My shoulders tense and jaw locks tight as I read. The familiarity of his words twists something ugly inside me. Anger? Jealousy? A reminder that they have a past that won’t easily be erased.
I hate how easily he crosses the line.
Picturing her.
Remembering her.
Believing he still has unlimited access to her even after all their time apart.
The corner of my lip lifts and my chest warms when I read how she hands him his ass. She doesn’t placate him. She shuts him down. Clear, dismissive, and final. That’s my girl.
I toss the phone onto the bed behind me and pull her down so she’s lying beside me. She studies my face for a moment and then asks quietly, “Are you mad?”
“At you?” I shake my head. “Never. At that piece of shit? Furious.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her chin dipping.
Cupping her jaw, I raise her face. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. He’s the problem. Not you.”
She exhales a soft puff of breath. “If I had cut him off sooner, this wouldn’t be happening now.”
“We don’t know that,” I say, trying to reassure her.
But I have worked with many women who believed leaving would be the end of it. Through my clients’ eyes, I’ve watched abusers shift tactics when their control begins to slip. Charm is traded for intimidation. Silence for surveillance. They find new ways to keep the woman from truly moving on. The relationship is over, but danger often isn’t. The idea of her facing that alone isn’t something I’m willing to accept.
I lie there for a moment, the weight of what else I need to say settling heavy on my chest. I hate that I must tell her what happened at Bob’s tonight. She’s already carrying more than her fair share, but putting it off feels worse.
I take a slow breath, staring out the dark window behind her for a moment before looking back at her. “There’s something else,” I say. “Something you need to know.”
Her body tenses against me. “Okay?”
I slide my hand over her arm, thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm.
“At Bob’s tonight…you know how I had a flat tire?”
“Yeah?” she drawls out, narrowing her eyes.
“When I went outside with Dillon, he told me that someone had slashed all four tires.”
Her breath catches, sharp. “No! Braden?”
“Most likely.”
Her shoulders sag as the weight of it hits her. My hand slips beneath her robe, gliding along her ribs so I can hold her a little tighter.
“I’m so sorry, Ryan.” Her voice hitches as tears well in her eyes. “I hate he did this. I’ll pay you back. I’ll replace them.”
Pulling back just enough to look at her directly, I say emphatically, “Hey.” My hand tightens around her waist. “No. Absolutely not.”
She blinks. “But…”
