Page 17 of Escape

Steve’s bravado crumbles under the weight of Owen’s glare. He jerks free, straightening his jacket with a sneer. “Fine. Whatever.” He turns to me, his expression hard and full of venom. “I didn’t know that this piece ofchocolateis already taken.”

Before I can even register what he meant with his words, Owen is already on him. He pushes him hard against the wall.

“Get the fuck out of here before I show you the way out,” he hisses. This is a side of Owen I have never seen.

Steve mutters something under his breath as he storms to the door, slamming it behind him hard enough to rattle the walls.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Owen turns to me, his expression softening, though the tension in his shoulders hasn’t eased. “You okay?”

I nod, but my hands are still trembling, my breath coming too fast.

He steps closer, his voice gentle now. “Mel.”

I nod again, harder this time, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something else. But instead, he just nods, stepping back to give me space.

“Do you want some water or...?” he starts, but I shake my head.

“No. I’m okay. Just... I need a minute.”

He hesitates, then nods again, his hands dropping to his sides.

I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor as I try to catch my breath. Owen lingers nearby, silent but steady, and for once, I wish I could tell him that I am not okay.

Chapter 7

Owen

My eyes are trainedon Mel. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word, and it’s taking everything I have not to pace or yell or go after that bastard.

I stand there for a moment, my fists still clenched, the adrenaline from ripping him off her not fully worn off. Anger is still buzzing under my skin, but it’s the look on her face that’s keeping me rooted. She’s holding herself together, but just barely.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.

She nods too quickly, the movement jerky and automatic. “I’m fine.”

She’s not fine. She’s not even close, but I don’t say it. I take a step closer, then stop.What the hell do I even say?I want to scream about the wanker, about what he tried to do and about what he said. I want to demand why she’s been doing this to herself—dragging random men back here like it’s some kind of solution to... to whatever it is she’s fighting. But I know better.

“Mel,” I say softly, crouching down a few feet away.

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Give me a minute.” Her voice is raw.

I don’t push. Instead, I sit cross-legged on the floor, resting my arms on my knees. The anger’s still there, simmering under the surface, but it takes a backseat to the ache in my chest.

For a while, neither of us moves. She keeps her head down, her shoulders trembling slightly, and I just sit there, waiting.

Finally, I lean forward, slipping my hands under her knees. She tenses for a second, but I don’t pull her roughly. I move slowly, carefully, until she lets me guide her onto my lap. Her legs slide either side of my hips, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.

She resists for a moment, her body stiff, but then she collapses against me, pressing her forehead into my shoulder.

The first sob is quiet, muffled against my shirt, but it’s enough to make my chest tighten. I don’t say anything. I just hold her, firmly but gently, rubbing slow circles on her back with my palm.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, but her voice cracks halfway through, the words crumbling into nothing.

“No, you’re not,” I say softly.

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