Page 134 of American Beauty

“Nope.” She cuts me off with a glare that could peel paint. “You don’t get to minimize what’s happening just because you’re used to carrying everything alone. Not this time.”

I open my mouth, searching for something to say—some defense, some excuse—but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. I’ve been rationalizing, trying to make it feel less serious than it is. But it’s not nothing.

It’s Tyson. At my office. Uninvited. Unhinged.

It’s the flowers I never wanted.

It’s the car with black windows and timing too perfect to be coincidence.

“You have to report this.”

“He lied, showed up uninvited, sent flowers, parked on public property. I’m not sure there’s anything to report.”

“Maybe not but doing nothing isn’t an option. This isn’t the type of man you ignore and hope he gets bored. You go to the police, and if they won’t do anything, you at least make them aware.”

And when I close my eyes, he’s there again—Tyson. That wild, unhinged look in his eyes. The sharp, dangerous edge in his voice. It takes a lot to shake me. But that? That got under my skin.

I nod. “Okay.”

I sit in the police station giving my statement, filing a formal report, requesting a restraining order. The officer is nice, professional. Seems to take my concern seriously.

But when I walk out of the building, the weight doesn’t lift. If anything… it’s heavier. A piece of paper will not stop a man likeTyson McRae. Not when he wants something. And for whatever reason—he thinks that something is me.

Chapter 35

Magnolia Steel

Alex’s namestares at me from my favorites list, glowing at me like it knows I’m hesitating. I should’ve called hours ago, right after I left the police station. But the words are too big. The fear, too heavy. And I didn’t want to be the reason his healing is delayed.

But now I’m sitting on the edge of my bed wearing one of Alex’s T-shirts, a towel wrapped around my damp hair, fresh from a shower I barely remember taking.

My thumb hovers, then taps. It rings twice before his handsome face fills the frame.

He’s reclining against a mountain of pillows in his bed, shirtless, jaw rough with days-old stubble. Hair a little wild. He looks tired. But when he sees me, he smiles, slow and soft.

“There’s my girl. Hey, favorite.”

The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. “Hey you.”

“Been waiting to see your face all day. You okay?”

“Yeah. I... needed a minute after work to take care of something.”

“Fair.” His smile tugs crooked. “I left you a voicemail about how it’s way too quiet here without you stealing all the covers.”

A laugh slips out. “Puh-lease. You’re the cover hog and we both know it.”

He smirks. “Evidence or it didn’t happen.”

But the teasing fades when I don’t keep it going. His eyes sharpen. Hone in.

“Hey… what’s wrong, babe?”

My chest caves a little. I look down, swallowing. “I need to tell you something.”

The smile on his face disappears and his voice becomes steel. “That motherfucker. Tell me what he’s done now.”

I take a breath.

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