My hands clenched around the paper hard enough to crumple the edges.
She can't stay there.
The thought settled cold and absolute in my mind.
She couldn't. I wouldn't allow it.
I was in the car before I made the conscious decision to move.
Keys in the ignition. Engine rumbling to life. Hands gripping the wheel hard enough to make my knuckles ache.
The address burned behind my eyes like I'd stared at the sun too long.
2847 Lexington Avenue.
I pulled out of the parking garage, merging into evening traffic without thinking. The route mapped itself automatically—west on Fifth, south toward the industrial district where rent dropped and danger climbed.
This was a mistake. I knew that.
Going to her neighborhood—checking on her neighborhood—crossed every line I'd sworn not to cross.
But I couldn't stop.
The logic unwound itself with cold, clinical precision as stoplights blurred past.
She couldn't keep working at the rink. Not anymore.
Every shift put her in my line of sight. Every interaction pulled me closer to something I couldn't allow myself to become. Every smile she gave someone else carved deeper into the restraint I'd spent years building.
She was a distraction I couldn't afford. Vulnerable in ways that made my protective instincts override every rational thought. The danger wasn't just external—it was me. What I wanted. What I was capable of wanting.
What I might do if I didn't get myself under control.
She needs to leave.
The thought settled with brutal finality.
I'd help her. Write a recommendation strong enough to get her hired anywhere in the city. Talk to management about severance, about making the transition smooth. Find her something better—safer hours, better pay, farther from temptation.
Farther from me.
It was the right call. The smart call. The only way to protect her from threats she couldn't see coming. Including the one driving toward her apartment right now.
The neighborhood shifted as I crossed into her district. Streetlights flickered or stayed dark. Buildings hunched closer together, paint peeling, windows barred. A group of men clustered on a corner, tracking my car with predatory interest.
My jaw locked.
She walks through this every night.
Alone. Small. Defenseless.
The fury came back, sharper now. Colder.
I slowed as Lexington Avenue appeared ahead, scanning building numbers with practiced efficiency.
This wasn't about wanting her. This was about survival. Hers and mine. Distance would fix it. Had to. Before I became exactly what she should be running from.
The words formed on autopilot as I parked across from her building. Practiced. Clinical. The same tone I used to cut players who weren't working out.
