Page 52 of Trade It All

Dean

Iseered.

Not the kind that flashes and fades before I can get a grip on it, but the kind that settles in deep and doesn’t let go. It starts the second I read that note, the second I recognize his handwriting like he has any right to leave something behind in her space, like he gets to decide what happens to her next. I try to keep it contained on the drive over, try to force it into something controlled, something I can hold in check long enough to get her in and out without making this worse than it already is.

But the second I step inside and see the boxes—it hits harder. Everything in me tightens, my chest pulling tight as the realization sinks in that he didn’t just leave a note and walk away. He took his time in here. He moved through her apartment like it belonged to him, touching her things, packing her life into boxeslike she didn’t get a say in any of it. Like she was something to be handled, something to be moved where he wanted her.

The red spreads fast after that. It fills my vision, settles into my chest, into my hands, into the part of me that has spent years learning how to fight and when to stop. And right now, every instinct I have is telling me to find him and finish it. To make sure he never even thinks about stepping into her life again.

I have to walk away from her. Not because I want to, but because I don’t trust what she’ll see if I don’t. There’s a version of me right now that would leave this apartment, track him down, and not come back until there was nothing left of him that could ever touch her again. That version doesn’t think about consequences. It doesn’t think about promises. It just acts.

She doesn’t need to see that. So I move ahead of her, faster than necessary, opening doors, checking rooms, scanning every space like I expect him to be waiting for me. Like some part of me is hoping he is. Because if he is, then I don’t have to hold back. I don’t have to remember what she asked me for.

But he’s not here. And that makes it worse. The frustration sits heavier than the anger for a second, sharp and immediate, before I force a slow breath into my lungs and pull my phone out because if I don’t redirect this into something useful, I’m going to make a decision I can’t take back.

There’s only one person I trust to handle what I need without asking questions I don’t have the patience to answer.

Harvey picks up on the first ring. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“I need you.” The words come out rough, pulled from somewhere tight in my chest, but I don’t bother softening them.

There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough for him to register it. “Fuck, man. I’m coming. Where are you?”

I can hear him moving, tools clanking somewhere in the background, the shift in his tone telling me he’s already on his way before I’ve even given him a location. That’s how he is. Doesn’t hesitate when it matters. I close my eyes for a second, forcing my breathing to even out, pulling everything back into something I can control.

“I’m at Maddie’s apartment. She needs her locks changed. Her ex broke in.” There’s another pause, heavier this time. “You’re at her apartment?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice that shifts, something that tells me he’s already putting pieces together. “She okay?”

I glance back at her without meaning to, watching the way she moves through the room, focused on what she needs, trying to stay steady even though everything around her says she shouldn’t be. “She’s good,” I answer, quieter now but no less certain. “I’ve got her.”

That’s all he needs. A second passes, and then he starts laughing. I pull the phone back slightly, staring at it like I heard him wrong before bringing it back to my ear.

“The hell are you laughing at?”

“Coleman and Nathan owe me twenty bucks,” he says, still going, and I can hear the grin in his voice like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than I realized. “Knew you’d lose it over that girl eventually.”

I let out a slow breath, some of the tension bleeding off just enough that I don’t feel like I’m about to put my fist through the nearest wall.

“You bet on me?” I ask, my tone dry, but there’s less edge to it now.

“Damn right I did.” The laughter fades, replaced with something more solid. “I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll change the locks, make sure everything’s set.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Come by the Reserve tonight for the keys,” he adds. “I’ll text the guys.”

Of course he will.

“You can pay for the locks since you won,” I shoot back, needing something normal to cut through everything else sitting under my skin.

He laughs again. “Not a chance.”

I hang up before he can keep going, texting him the address and slipping my phone back into my pocket as I take another slow breath, forcing everything back under control where it belongs. Because when I look up—my focus lands on her again. And just like that, everything sharp narrows into somethingclear. The anger doesn’t disappear. It settles. Waits. Because she needs me here. Not out there. I move toward her before I can think too much about it, reaching for the bags she’s already packed, grateful for the excuse to do something with my hands. The weight of them settles into my grip, grounding in a way I need right now, because everything sitting under my skin is still too close to the surface, still one wrong thought away from snapping loose.

I don’t want her to see that. Not this version of me. Not the one that’s still standing in this apartment imagining what I’d do if Tyler walked through that door. Because I don’t think she’d recognize me if I let that part take over. I turn slightly, adjusting the bags in my hands, forcing my focus onto something simple, something controlled, something that doesn’t involve the urge to go looking for a man I already promised her I’d leave alone. And then she’s there. I don’t even see her move. One second she’s across the room, the next she’s walking straight into me, her body pressing against mine like it’s the only place she wants to be.

The bags hit the floor without a second thought. My arms are around her before they even fully land, pulling her in tight, instinct taking over where everything else has been held back. And just like that—everything shifts. The edge doesn’t disappear, but it dulls, the sharpness fading into something I can breathe through instead of something that controls me. My hand movesup her back slowly, the other settling at the back of her head, holding her there like I need the contact as much as she does.

I don’t understand it. I don’t think I ever will. The way she can step into me like this and take something that was burning straight through my chest and quiet it without saying a word. My head dips slightly, my lips brushing her temple, softer than anything I’ve done since we walked through that door.