Page 80 of Before We Break Again
A few days after the news broke, they stopped saying we’re dating.Oh no, that was too simple, too pedestrian for the scandal-hungry media.Instead, they make sure everyone knows that Dustin Haverbrook is “not only dating the assistant captain of the Portland Orcas, Santos Calderón-Bélanger, but he’s also fucking—yes, fucking—Santos’s physical therapist.”
That’s me, by the way.
The words slap across headlines with ruthless precision, each tabloid competing for the most sensational take.And just like that, our lives—our quiet, beautiful, messy love—becomes a spectacle, dissected by strangers who know nothing about us, nothing about what it means to be in love with two people, nothing about the joy and heartache of navigating this kind of relationship.
For them, it’s a scandal.For us?It’s just love.A complicated, raw, real love that can’t be fit into neat little boxes or labels.But the world doesn’t see it that way.The world wants something they can gossip about, something they can consume and discard when the next story comes along.
During the past few days, Hayes’s brother, Vance, who is a bodyguard, has been picking me up and taking me to work.Every evening he brings me back home.He said they were working on the issue.I have no idea what the issue is though, but today I’m resting and hoping that tomorrow someone else will be the one occupying those headlines.
The afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the ranch, warm and tranquil, the kind of peaceful moment that feels rare these days.But the serenity is quickly shattered when a line of sleek, black SUVs pulls up the long dirt driveway.The doors open in unison, and a group of suited bodyguards steps out with military precision, their expressions stoic and alert, scanning the surroundings like they’re stepping into a war zone.
The gravel crunches under their polished shoes as they march toward the front porch, their presence commanding, imposing—a stark contrast to the quiet life we’ve been trying to build here.I feel my pulse quicken.No one is supposed to know where we live.This ranch was our sanctuary, tucked away from the chaos of the world.But apparently, that peace is now over.
“What the fuck is this?”I mutter under my breath, standing on the porch, phone still in hand.
I glance at my phone again, the screen lighting up with another notification, this time showing more photos taken outside Baker’s Creek Sports Center, where the paparazzi have been camped out for days.I scroll through the endless stream of posts, each one more desperate to catch a glimpse of us—Dustin, Santos, and me.A picture.A comment.Anything to fuel the frenzy.
“Sure, they know where I work, but they can’t even get their story straight,” I say, my voice dripping with frustration as I swipe at my phone screen, the glow reflecting off my face.“Half of these rumors are so far off, they might as well be talking about someone else.I’m a surgeon, not a physical therapist, and if this keeps up, no one’s going to want to work with me.”
Santos, standing beside me, his broad frame tense, shoots a glance at the line of bodyguards stationed around the ranch.His booted leg rests in the scooter and honestly, he should be inside resting, not here watching the circus.He shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he surveys the scene.“This is insane,” he mutters, the disbelief evident in his voice.“We shouldn’t need this ...not here.”
“We do,” Dustin’s voice cuts through the air as he steps outside.“I don’t care if you two think it’s unnecessary.If a crazy fan or some reporter feels the need to stalk you, we’ll be ready.”
He tilts his head toward the SUVs.“They’re here to scan the area, set up an alarm system to protect us, the workers, and our animals too,” Dustin explains.“We don’t think anyone can find us but it’s a precaution.We’ll have a few men on rotation at least for the next month and each one of you has a bodyguard assigned to you.”
I sigh with resignation because what else is there to do or say.That’s when there’s yet another notification on my phone.I roll my eyes, flashing the screen toward Santos.“Oh, there’s that too,” I say, exasperation lacing my words.“We’re famous now.Well, you were already.But now, I am too.”The reality of it feels surreal, and I’m famous but not in a good way.
“This is Blissful Meadows all over again,” I groan.
“It’s nothing like it,” Dustin corrects.“I’m here to protect you and nothing will take you away from us.”
“True, but there’s also this,” I continue, gesturing at the sleek device.“I had to change numbers, and while you added me to your plan, you upgraded my phone to some fancy thing that I’m still trying to figure out.It connects with my tablet, my new computer, even my new watch.I didn’t ask for all this, but according to you, I ‘need’ it.”I glare at him.“Guess I never pegged you as a tech junkie, but here we are.”
Dustin shrugs, his lips curving into a boyish grin.“I just wanted to make sure you had the best,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering for a moment.“Even if it meant upgrading your prehistoric life to something a little more tech-y without warning.”
“You’re basically a closet tech-addict,” Santos says accusatorily.
Dustin lets out a chuckle, not denying it, his arm wrapping around my waist as he pulls me down into his lap and sits us on the porch swing.“What can I say?I like my gadgets,” he teases.“Sit down, babe.I don’t want you to hurt that leg.”
“I’m fine,” Santos complains the way he does every time we remind him that he still has months of recovery ahead of him, but does he listen?Nope.
For a moment, we laugh—just the three of us, caught in a fleeting bubble of normalcy.The swing sways gently.Everything feels like it might be okay.But then there’s another car approaching slowly.This isn’t one of the bodyguard vehicles.My stomach tightens, a wave of anxiety washing over me as the car comes into view.Someone found us.
It’s not a stranger.It’s my parents.
The world seems to freeze for a split second, the sound of the car door shutting echoing louder than it should.My pulse quickens, each beat heavy in my chest, as if the earth beneath me has shifted.The sight of them standing there, just a few feet away, makes my breath hitch, and a knot of emotions tightens inside me—frustration, yes, but also a flicker of something I can’t quite name.Fear, maybe?Guilt?Whatever it is, it rises, threatening to overwhelm me.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen them.So long since we’ve been face-to-face, and now ...I swallow hard, the words slipping from my lips without thinking.“They know,” I mumble.
Dustin’s arms tighten around me from behind as we stand, pulling me closer against him as if he can shield me from what’s coming.His warmth is comforting, but it doesn’t stop the anxiety from bubbling up.“Of course they know,” he says, and kisses the nape of my neck.“The entire fucking world knows about us.The question is ...how the hell did they find the ranch?”
I feel Santos shift beside me, his hand slipping into mine.His fingers squeeze mine tightly, grounding me in the moment.“It’s okay,” he says softly.“We’re here for you.You don’t have to do this alone.”
I manage a tight smile, but it feels hollow.“Sure,” I say, exhaling slowly, trying to keep my voice even, “but I’m in no mood to confront them right now.”My gaze flickers between my parents, standing there like they’ve arrived to stage an intervention, and the tension in my body coils tighter.
Dustin points toward the bodyguards, his face hardening as he leans forward.“We’ll have them throw your parents out.It’s that simple.They’re hired to keep the unwanted away.”
The words feel harsh, but at present, I can’t argue with him.My mother’s expression is already full of judgment, her sharp eyes raking over the scene, from Dustin’s protective hold on me to Santos, standing so closely by my side.Disapproval radiates from her, and it hits me like a wave, an old, familiar sting.
