He exhales through his nose, grabbing my wrist—not hard, not soft. Just firm.
“One mistake,” he warns, “and I’ll bury both of you.”
I nod. “There won’t be a mistake.”
He stares a second longer before releasing me.
“Reese is on his way.”
Of course he is.
I shut the door and leaning my head against the wood. One breath. Two.
Then I go find Brooke, who’s humming to herself like we aren’t living in Hell.
* * *
Reese pulls up in the matte black SUV, as if it’s just another day. Damien watches from the front steps, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Brooke climbs in the backseat, bubbling with nerves and excitement. I open the passenger door, but hesitate before getting in.
I turn back to Damien.
He gives me a look that saysI’ll know if you lie.
I nod once.
Then I get in.
Reese doesn’t speak for a minute. Just drives.
But I can sense it in the way his hand tightens on the steering wheel—the tension, the pressure, the knowing.
We’re both being watched.
We’re both playing roles.
But only one of us is going to survive it.
* * *
Brooke twirls in front of the dressing room mirror like this is a goddamn movie montage.
“Do you think this is too much?” she asks, spinning in a light blue sundress that somehow makes her look both younger and older all at once.
“It’s perfect,” I say, grabbing a matching pair of sandals off the display. “He’ll love it.”
She beams like that’s a good thing.
I glance sideways at Reese, who’s leaning against the wall by the entrance. His arms are crossed. His mouth is neutral. But I catch the way his eyes soften when Brooke smiles. Not in acreepyway. In ahumanway. Like even he isn’t immune to the rare, fragile beauty of someone who still thinks the world might love her back.
“Can I try on one more?” she asks, voice sweet, eyes wide.
I nod. “Go ahead.”
As soon as she disappears into the dressing room, I walk over to Reese. I don’t know what my plan is, but he said he could help me. I think I’d like to explore that option. Plus, I owe him.
He doesn’t look at me right away. “She’s doing better.”