Page 77 of No Good Fight

“I wrote it while I was still with him.”

Ryder goes very still beside me.

The newsroom is watching. I can feel them trying not to. I can feel every breath and every careful shift, and suddenly my skin feels too tight for an audience.

“I don’t want to do this here,” I tell him.

“Then we won’t.” Ryder looks at Remy. “Do you need her right now?”

Remy slips the article into an evidence bag. “Not here. But we need the report, Alex. The Lucy’s incident, the photo on your door, this. All of it needs to be official because he is going to escalate.”

My throat closes.

There it is.

The thing I avoided by going to work. Like journalism and a muffin could save me from having to sit in a room and say Preston’s name and the things he did to me. I’ll have to wait while it’s written down. I’ll have to sign a statement.

Ryder’s fingers are still curled around my sleeve. He loosens them. The small correction almost breaks me.

I’m tired of the corrections. I’m tired of the space I asked for. But I’m so far into it, I don’t know how to ask him to stop. To hold me.

“I know,” I say.

Marcy opens her office door wider. “Use my office.”

I nod because words feel expensive.

Ryder walks beside me, not ahead of me, through the ten feet in the newsroom and into Marcy’s office. He doesn’t touch me again until the door is mostly closed and the glass wall still leaves enough visibility that I don’t feel trapped.

Then he holds out his hand.

I look at it for a second before taking it.

His palm is warm, callused, steady. Mine is cold and damp, which feels rude after the man already brought me coffee, shelter, and an emotional crisis before lunch.

“You can file the report today,” he says, crouching in front of the chair after I sit. “Or I can take you back to my house, and we can call Remy from there. He can come to you. Or we can call Josh. Your parents. Whoever you want if you don’t want it to be me.”

I stare at our joined hands. “I should tell Josh.” Don’t let go.

“You can.” He nods.

“I should have told him already.”

“Maybe.”

My eyes lift.

Ryder’s mouth tightens. “I’m not going to lie and say he shouldn’t know. But I’m also not going to sit here and make you feel worse for needing time.”

That makes my eyes burn, so I look at Marcy’s desk instead. There is a mug full of red pens, a stack of proofs, and a sticky note that says CALL CITY HALL AGAIN with three angry underlines.

“I don’t know if I can file it,” I admit.

Ryder’s thumb moves once over my knuckle. “Okay.”

“No, not okay.” My voice shakes, and I hate that it happens on those words. “I know I have to. I know Remy needs it. I know it’s not just me anymore, and I know Preston keeps getting closer because nobody official has enough to stop him. I know all of that but he still owns that part of me that says to be afraid. The part telling me to hide and run and make sure no one knows what he did.”

Ryder waits.