Page 153 of Dream Chaser

“I know.” I chewed, barely registering the taste, then took a sip of soda. “I’m worried about Ale.”

Scar frowned, picking up her burger. “Why?”

“He’s not impulsive, but what if he loses it and does something that lands him in trouble? He was so pissed. Calm on the outside but pissed. He should’ve let me handle everything.”

Scarlett shrugged. “You did that anyway, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t try to protect his woman? Not one you want to date, that’s for sure.”

I averted my gaze to the empty street behind the window. “He kind of said he loves me.”

Scarlett jerked forward. “What? And it took you so long to tell me?”

I smiled. “Priorities. He said I was the woman he loved, but same difference, I guess.”

“I’m happy for you.” She beamed. “You deserve to be loved. And you deserve to be defended. Let him do that if that’s what he wants. I’m sure he’s smart enough not to act without thinking, or he wouldn’t have a successful business.”

I plucked a piece of lettuce from my burger. “Until him, I hadn’t fully realized how alone I’d been. And how misguided. Both my mother and my mother-in-law kept going on and on about struggle and sacrifices, and how lucky I was, but nobody had told me love can feel like this.”

“Like what?” Scar asked.

“Safe. Easy. Uplifting. I told him about the photoshoot with Aeterno, and he was so happy for me like it was his achievement. I’ve never had that. Sometimes I think it’s too good to be true.”

“Well.” Scarlett traced the rim of her soda cup with her nail. “The dating pool is more of a murky pond full of entitled frogs these days. Can’t blame you for being pleasantly surprised that men like Alejandro exist.”

I raised my cup. “Here’s to you finding a good one too, Scar.”

She clinked her cup against mine. “One day.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Alejandro

February

Nothing—not the sports commentary on the radio, not the traffic—managed to distract me from the image of Nova’s bruised face on the drive to Millford. I didn’t even know if the asshole was there, but if he wasn’t, I’d wait.

I should’ve fucking known she wouldn’t be safe until she got divorced. Now I didn’t give a fuck whether what Rowan had found was enough—I’d make Preston Marshall regret touching her.

After a two-hour drive, my SUV rolled into Nova’s hometown. Rowan hadn’t lied—the place was tiny. Elm Street, where Nova’s ex lived, curved through a neighborhood of single-family homes. Wide lawns stretched between the mostly dark houses.

The one I needed sat at the end of the street, a two-story with beige vinyl siding and dark gray shutters.

I pulled up to the curb, killed the engine, and surveyed the driveway. No car. The clock on the dashboard read eleven p.m. If he wasn’t here now, would he even show up?

Fuck. I needed coffee if I had to wait for hours.

Barely three minutes later, I drove onto Main Street, lined with brick storefronts. At the end of it, a glowing red-and-white sign read Sunny’s Diner. I parked next to an old sedan and headed for the entrance.

Once inside, the smell of coffee and fried bacon made my stomach growl. Empty vinyl booths lined the windows. Male laughter drew my attention toward a table in the back.

A group of guys sat there eating.

And as luck would have it, one of them was the dipshit I’d been looking for.

I watched Preston for a beat, so fucking unbothered as he dug into his biscuits and sausage gravy, speaking with his mouth full. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just laid hands on a woman a few hours ago.

I stalked toward him, struggling to keep my temper in check. When I stopped at their table, he glanced up from his plate, eyes widening in recognition.

In one swift move, I gripped the back of his neck and pushed it down, driving him face-first into the plate. The impact landed with a wet splat. Gravy sloshed over the rim of the plate, sending thick drops across the table and floor.