Page 49 of Trade It All

That pulls me up short. I look at him, trying to read something in his expression, something that explains why, but all I find is that same steady certainty he’s been carrying since I woke up. Like this isn’t optional. Like I’m part of this whether I understand it or not. I exhale, pushing the door open and stepping out before I can overthink it too much, my hand finding his again almost automatically.

He doesn’t comment on it. Doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He just holds it. And together—we walk toward the house.

Chapter 22

Dean

Forsomeonewhodidn’twant anyone to know about us, she didn’t hesitate for a second to take my hand the moment we stepped out of my apartment. Not a pause. Not a glance around. Just instinct. And I didn’t stop her. Didn’t even think about it until we were halfway to the truck and her fingers were already threaded through mine like they belonged there. Like they’d always been there.

Thank God for the parking garage. No cameras. No lingering eyes. No one catching something they shouldn’t before she’s ready for it. The second we stepped out into the open, the thought hit me hard enough to stick—this is why the guys disappear into houses the second they find someone worth keeping.

It’s not about the space. It’s about control. Protection. Keeping what’s yours away from people who don’t deserve a piece of it. And right now, that means her. Because the only thing thatcan hurt her in this moment isn’t Tyler—it’s the wrong person finding out about us before she’s ready to handle what comes with it.

My jaw tightens slightly as I pull into the drive, already running through it in my head, already moving ahead of where we are now. I’ll call Coleman. He’ll know what to look for. He always does. Being one of theKings Of Lakeshorehas its advantages, and having the best realtor in the city in your corner is one of them. If I’m doing this—if I’m serious about her the way I know I am—then I need something more than a penthouse with too many windows and not enough privacy.

I need somewhere she can breathe. Somewhere no one gets to look in unless I let them. We start toward the house together, her hand still in mine, and I glance down at her without meaning to, catching the way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Nervous. She does that when she’s trying to hold something in. I’ve seen her do it before. Not once. Not twice. Enough times that it’s something I look for without meaning to, something I track the second it starts, like my body catches it before my brain even names it. It happens when she’s thinking too hard, when something shifts under her skin that she doesn’t know what to do with yet. Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth, slow at first, then deeper the longer she stands in whatever she’s trying to hold together.

She doesn’t even realize she does it. Most people wouldn’t. I do. My hand comes up without breaking stride, my thumb brushing across her lip, easing it free before she can press down harder, before she leaves that faint mark she always pretends isn’t there later. The movement is quiet, practiced in a way I don’t question anymore, like I’ve done it before even though I haven’t. Like I’ve watched it enough times that my body learned how to stop it on its own.

She stills when I touch her. Just for a second. Not pulling away. Not leaning in. Just… feeling it. I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to explain. Some things don’t need words. I let my hand fall back to my side, the absence immediate, noticeable in a way I pretend not to track, even as I feel the shift in her beside me. It’s subtle, the way she moves, the way her fingers twitch slightly like they’re reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.

Like she already got used to it. Like she expected me to still be holding her hand. I don’t take it back. Not yet. Not when I know what’s about to happen next. I knock once, firm, steady, the sound echoing just enough that there’s no missing it from the other side of the door, and I keep my hand at my side instead of reaching back for hers again. She looks up at me, confusion flickering across her face, that slight crease between her brows telling me she doesn’t understand why I let go now when I didn’t before.

She will. In about five seconds. And when the door opens—she’s going to be glad I did.

The door flies open, and Mark fills the frame. For a second, everything is perfect. I’ve always had a solid relationship with him. Built on trust. Results. The understanding that I run my team the way it needs to be run and he backs me when it matters. When I called earlier and told him I needed a private meeting, he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask questions. Just gave me a time and said he would be home. That’s how it works between us.

But the second his eyes shift past me—everything changes. They land on Maddie. Stay there. And then come back to me. It’s subtle. Quick. But I see it. The calculation. The question. And then his attention drifts back to her again, slower this time, more focused, like he’s not just looking—he’s reading.

I should’ve caught it sooner. Should’ve stepped in front of her. Should’ve thought about what he’d see before I brought her here. Because the second it clicks—his expression hardens. Not at me. At what he’s seeing on her. The bruise. The faint swelling. The marks I’ve been trying not to look at too closely since this morning because every time I do, it takes everything in me not to go finish something I already promised I’d leave alone. He moves before I do. One step. Then another. Straight past me like I’m not even there.

“What the fuck happened?” His voice isn’t loud. But it’s sharp. Focused. And when he stops in front of her, there’s no mistaking where his attention is. “Who hit you?”

Maddie stills beside me, her body tightening in a way I feel before I see it, her step shifting back just slightly like she doesn’t know how to respond to the sudden shift in him.

“And if it was him—” Mark’s voice drops lower, something dangerous threading through it now as he finally flicks his eyes toward me. “I’ll put you in the fucking ground.”

My jaw locks. “I didn’t fucking hit her,” I growl, the words coming out low and controlled, but there’s no mistaking what’s sitting under them.

His attention snaps back to her immediately. Not questioning me. Not even acknowledging the answer. “Are you taking care of the person who did?” The question is meant for me. But he doesn’t look at me when he asks it.

He stays locked on her, scanning, assessing, making sure she’s okay in a way that would almost sit right if I didn’t hate how close he’s standing. I don’t think about it. I just move. My arm comes around her, pulling her into my side without asking, without hesitation, needing the space between them gone more than I need to explain it. She fits there instantly, curling into me like she’s done it a hundred times before, like her body knows exactly where to go when something feels off. And that—that changes everything.

Mark sees it. I watch the exact second it registers. The way his eyes shift, the tension easing just slightly, something understanding settling in where there was only anger a second ago.

“Ah.” It’s quiet. But it says enough. “I see.” His gaze flicks between us once more, slower now, more measured, and then he steps back, giving us space he wasn’t offering before.

“Come on in,” he says, turning toward the house like nothing just happened. “Let me grab what you need to sign.”

Maddie stays tucked into me for half a second longer before we follow, her steps falling just behind mine, her presence still pressed into my side in a way I don’t rush her out of. “What’s going on?” she whispers, her voice low, just for me.

“I told you we wouldn’t tell everyone,” I murmur back, keeping my tone even as we step inside. “But we had to tell Mark.”

“We had to tell him today?” There’s a bite to it now, frustration slipping in under the surface.

I don’t look at her. Don’t soften it. “Yes.” Because that part isn’t optional. “I told you I’m not putting you or your job at risk.”

She doesn’t answer. But I feel the shift. The space she puts between us when we stop moving. The way she steps just a little ahead once we’re done, once the papers are signed and everything is handled the way it needed to be. She’s still pissed. I let her be.