Page 33 of Penn

My phone dings again, but I’m numb at this point. I dispassionately read the next text.You won’t see it coming. You’ll suffer before you die.

The numbness dissipates, replaced by full-blown terror because throughout all the threats I’ve received, whoever this is has never come right out and said they’ll kill me. The implication has certainly been there, but I think without the actual words, it’s been easier to believe that it’s only ever been digital harassment.

By promising to kill me, it’s clear that I have to watch my back at all times now. I press my hand to my mouth and close my eyes, willing the nausea down. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine and I have the sudden urge to bolt.

Cash in my savings, sell my little house in Boca Raton and flee to another country where I’ll get plastic surgery to change my appearance and assume a new identity. Then I’ll be safe.

For a moment, things are crystal clear. I need to go and I need to do it fast. I turn for the stairs, mentally calculating how quickly I can pack and get on the road, but I don’t even make ita step when I hear the mudroom door opening from the garage and I know Penn is home.

I didn’t expect him for a while as I knew he had a team meeting and then practice. There’s no way they’re finished already.

There’s only one reason he’d be here right now. He’s seen the article.

It’s with so much fear that I turn around to face him.Please, Penn. Please don’t be angry.

But I know better. I know exactly what’s coming through that door. My hands won’t stop shaking and I hate myself for the weakness because I’d convinced myself I was ready for this. That exposing the truth was the only way to protect myself. To protectus, even if Penn never asked me to. Even if he would never admit it.

Even if he hated me for it.

Penn storms into the kitchen like a freight train, face thunderous as his eyes lock on me, holding up his phone for me to see the article that ran this morning. It’s exactly as I expected and I take an involuntary step backward.

“You went to the press?” he snarls. “Without telling me?”

My voice wobbles. “Because you refused totalkto me when I first came to you. You shut me out. You left me with no other choice.”

“Youhada choice,” he growls, tossing the phone onto the kitchen island. “You chose to betray me.”

I flinch. “Betray you? I didn’t even mention your name!”

He steps closer. “You didn’thaveto. Any asshole with internet access is going to figure it out.”

I change my tone to match his. “I was scared, Penn! You think I did this to hurt you? I did it to stayalive.”

His jaw flexes, hands braced on the counter like he needs the marble to anchor him. His voice sounds like broken gravel.“You’re an idiot if you think this is going to change a thing with whoever is stalking you. It’s only going to make my life hell.”

Something inside of me snaps. Or rather, maybe it’s my own indignation locking into place, replacing the fear with anger. “Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Penn. You’ve spent your entire adult life hiding in plain sight and now your carefully constructed, lonely little existence is threatened to be exposed.” The asshole rolls his eyes at me and heat flares in my chest. “You know what you are? You’re a coward.”

He shoves away from the counter, anger blazing in his eyes as he comes toward me. I hold my ground, refusing to be scared by this man. We meet in the middle of the kitchen, toe to toe, the air between us charged like a live wire.

His glare is menacing. “What did you call me?”

I ignore the question and attack. “You don’t get to stand there and act likeI’mthe bad guy,” I hiss. “You pushed me away when I sought out your help and you’re not going to blame me for doing what I needed to do to ensure my safety. You’ve always done that… pushed me away. You did it here in Pittsburgh and you did it all those years ago when I tried to back up your story.”

“I pushed you away because I didn’t want to drag you down with me!” he yells. “But you thought you knew best.”

“You think Iwantedto do this?” I shout back. “You think I wanted the world to know what happened to my brother? That my parents disowned me? That I’ve been sleeping with a can of Mace under my pillow for years?”

I’m practically panting, every word ripping out of me like a blade. But I’m not done. Not even close.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes burn into mine, and I see the storm of emotions churning behind them—anger, frustration… something darker I can’t name.

“And you,” I seethe, the venom dripping in my response. “You stand there like some fucking martyr. But you’re not, Penn. You’re just… hollow.”

He flinches, but I don’t stop.

“Do you even feel anything anymore? Or did you bury that part of yourself so deep that nothing can touch you? I bet even this”—I gesture wildly between us, betweenmeandhimand everything unraveling—“doesn’t make you feel a damn thing, does it? Because you’re too fucking numb to care.”

Something snaps.

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