Page 17 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"So? Riley and I knew after one weekend."
I shake my head. "This is different. She's vulnerable, traumatized. The last thing she needs is me complicating things."
"Or maybe you're exactly what she needs." Jax claps me on the shoulder. "For a therapist, you're remarkably bad at applying your own advice. Not every connection is doomed to fail just because Sarah couldn't handle your job."
His words hit a nerve I thought had long since gone numb. Before I can respond, the women return with appetizers, and the conversation shifts to safer topics.
Throughout dinner, I watch Destiny, the animated way she tells stories, how she listens intently when others speak, the genuine warmth of her laughter. She's a natural people-person, drawing out Jax's dry humor and connecting with Riley over shared teaching experiences.
"Mason mentioned you teach second grade," Riley says as we finish dessert, Destiny's incredible cookies served with ice cream.
"Taught," Destiny corrects. "I'm between positions at the moment."
"Well, you should talk to Principal Garcia at Whisper Vale Elementary," Riley suggests. "They're desperate for a long-term substitute starting in January. Their second-grade teacher is going on maternity leave."
Destiny's eyes light up before dimming again. "I don't know if I'll still be here in January."
The reminder that our arrangement may very well be temporary lands like a stone in my stomach. Of course she won't stay. Once the danger passes, she'll move on, rebuild her life somewhere else. Somewhere safe. That was the plan from the beginning.
So why does the thought make my chest constrict painfully?
The drive home is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Fresh snow falls softly, coating the road in a pristine white blanket. I drive carefully, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
Without warning, Destiny places her hand over mine. "Thank you for tonight," she says. "For all of it. Dinner, the tree lighting... the kiss."
My fingers interlace with hers automatically. "You don't have to thank me."
"I know. But I want to." She squeezes my hand. "You've given me something I haven't felt in a long time."
"What's that?"
"Hope." The word hangs in the air, fragile and powerful.
We're halfway home when I notice headlights behind us, keeping pace despite the worsening weather. My skin prickles with awareness.
"Mason?" Destiny's voice holds a question.
"I see it." I accelerate slightly, watching the vehicle match our speed. "Could be nothing."
She twists in her seat to look back. "It's an SUV. Black."
I make a sudden turn onto a side road. The SUV follows. Destiny's hand tightens on mine, her breathing becoming shallow.
"It's him," she whispers. "I know it's him."
Protective rage surges through me. I pull my hand from hers to reach for my phone, dialing Tom with one touch.
"Black Escalade following us on Pinecrest Road," I report when he answers. "Heading toward my place."
"On my way," Tom responds. "Keep driving. Don't stop."
I end the call and reach for Destiny's hand again. "It's going to be okay," I tell her, though uncertainty gnaws at me. "Tom's sending backup."
"What if they don't get there in time? What if he—” Her voice breaks.
"He won't touch you." The certainty in my voice surprises even me. "I won't let him."
The SUV continues its pursuit, gaining ground as the snow falls heavier. I take another turn, hoping to lose him, but the headlights remain fixed behind us.
