Page 82 of Saved By the Boss

Her smile fades, replaced by a flicker of concern. “Are you sure about this?” She asks hoarsely, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheet around herself.

I nod, though I can’t say I feel sure about anything when it comes to Patrick. “If I don’t, he’ll come here,” I remind her gravely. “Healready has my number. If he knows how to find me, I need to deal with this before he brings trouble to my door. I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

Jade puts a hand on my cheek and studies me. “You don’t owe him anything, Declan,” she tells me sincerely. “If he’s here because he wants something, you aren’t obligated to give it to him. You’re allowed to tell him no.”

“I know,” I say, sitting up. My ankle protests the movement, the familiar throb making me grit my teeth. “That’s why I need to do this on my terms. Not his.”

She watches me for a moment longer, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to find some crack in my resolve. But instead of arguing, she just nods.

“Okay,” she whispers sadly. “I trust you, and if you tell me not to worry about you, I’m not going to worry about you. Just please be careful.”

“I will,” I promise, leaning down to kiss her again. “What about you? Do you want to stay here, or…”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I need to get my car and head back home. But,” she starts, her cheeks flushing slightly as she pulls me on top of her and holds me there, “I definitely want to see you tonight.”

I can’t help but smile at that, brushing my thumb against her cheek. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she says, a hint of playfulness creeping into her voice. “Maybe we can shut off all the lights and pretend we’re snowed in again.”

I laugh, already feeling slightly hard at the thought of it. “Deal.”

The drive back into town is quiet, the roads still slick from the most recent snowstorm. Jade sits beside me, her hand resting on the center console, and every so often, I catch her glancing at me like she wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. I don’t push. We’ve had enough heavy conversations for one morning. For one lifetime, really, but I know there will be more to come eventually.

But it’s nice having someone to confide in, to trust completely. She makes me feel invincible and safe all at once. I only hope that she feels for me a fraction of what I feel for her.

We pull into the parking lot of the mechanic, and I see her truck sitting next to the garage. I park beside it and climb out, my limp more pronounced than I’d like as I make my way around to her side. She hops out, pulling her coat tight against the cold, and I watch as she checks her truck over like it’s a prized racehorse. I wait for her for a few minutes while she goes inside to speak with the mechanic and get her keys.

“It looks good,” she says, coming back outside and starting the engine. It rumbles to life, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“All right,” I say, leaning against the driver’s side door. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” she promises, leaning out the window to kiss me one last time. Her lips linger on mine, soft and warm, and for a moment, I don’t want to let her go.

But I do. I step back, watching as she pulls out of the lot, her taillights disappearing down the road, and for a moment, I just stand there, the cold biting at my skin. It’s tempting to follow her, to forget about Patrick and everything that comes with him.But I know better. I can’t run from him and apparently I can’t hide from him either. It’s best for everyone involved if I just get this over with.

The drive to Mario’s Diner is uneventful, the snowy roads mostly cleared, though patches of ice still glisten treacherously in the sun. The dull ache in my ankle keeps me focused, keeps my thoughts from spiraling too far into what-if scenarios. I know Patrick. I know what he’s capable of. But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

Mario’s comes into view, its neon sign flickering weakly against the gray sky. I pull into the parking lot, my stomach tightening as I notice how crowded it is. I’ve been here a handful of times and its always been a little dead. But I know these aren’t just locals. A line of black SUVs sits near the entrance sticking out like a fleet of sore thumbs, their windows tinted, their engines silent. My chest tightens.

He’s brought the whole calvary for this.

I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, my fingers gripping the steering wheel as I take in the scene. I could very well be walking into an ambush. For a split second, I consider turning right back around and driving off. This is all entirely unnecessary. I answered his texts, I gave him a place to meet, his show of excessive force is nothing short of alarming.

But I will not run. I step out of the truck, my boots crunching against the packed snow as I make my way to the diner. Every step feels heavier than the last, the limp in my stride more pronounced as I approach the door. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle, wondering how easily I could get away. But Jade’s face flashes in my mind, and I remind myself why we’re doing this here. My first and greatest priority is tokeep Patrick away from her, and that will be a lot harder if I don’t comply right now.

The door swings open with a soft chime, the warmth inside a sharp contrast to the chill outside. The smell of greasy food and burnt coffee fills the air, but it does nothing to ease the tension curling in my gut. My shoes stick on the floor, and I get some satisfaction in knowing that Patrick is completely out of his element here. He’s probably had a sneer on his face since the moment he stepped inside.

The diner is crowded with the goons Patrick has brought with him. Men in dark suits fill the booths and tables, their voices low as they talk amongst themselves. My eyes sweep over the room, my stomach sinking as I recognize more than a few of the faces. Some of them were my men once. Back when I was still running things.

And then I see Patrick.

He’s sitting at a large, round table near the back, a basket of breadsticks in front of him, looking as calm and collected as ever. His suit is immaculate, his hair slicked back, and his expression as unreadable. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he sees me. He’s always been good at making people come to him, at setting the stage and waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

I stand there for a moment, frozen in the doorway, as the weight of the situation crashes down around me. This isn’t just a meeting. This is a power play. Patrick isn’t here to talk. He’s here to remind me of who I am, of who I used to be.

And as I take a step forward, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m a wounded animal who’s just walked into a trap.

23

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