Page 88 of The Love Syllabus

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Well, youknowhe hates working on weekends. Those are his days with the girls.”

“I know, Kerry,” she groans. “But this was out of my control. And now, I’m this close to losing it because he won’t snap out of it. You know him better than anyone nowadays. Is something else going on with him?”

I rub my forehead. “I don’t think so…”

But then I glance at my phone. At my text. The one he never responded to.

Oh.Oh.Wait a minute. Could I have thrown him off his game? Did he misinterpret what I was saying? Crap, maybe I should’ve said, ‘I can’t fake this anymore because I actually want to be with you,’ Oh God. Did I just accidentally fake break-up with him?

“I’m on my way.”

I exhale sharply, grab the keys to Vic’s Aston Martin, the one I’ve been driving for months, and head straight to the studio.

I fly through town, gripping the wheel so tight my fingers ache. I shouldn’t be laughing. I shouldn’t. But the visual of Vic—all stoic, composed, always in control having an outright meltdown over a single text message? It’s ridiculous. It’s flattering.

And it’s a problem. Because if I don’t fix this, there’s a very real chance he’ll burn the whole production studio to the ground.

By the time I pull up to the studio, I spot Vicky and Hudson standing outside with their arms crossed and looking like they’re witnessing a crime scene.

Hudson shakes his head, exasperated but entertained. “I’ve never seen Vic act like such a lunatic. Do something, Kerry.”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know what the heck I’m supposed to do, but I’ll try.”

The second I step foot on set, I’m tackled by two little bodies. Syd and Ari launch themselves at me. Their tiny arms squeeze me tight before they pull back and flash mischievous grins. Their faces say it all.

Daddy is losing it.

And when I lift my gaze toward the chaos unfolding in front of me, I see it for myself. Vic stands in the middle of it all. His shoulders are tight, and his jaw is locked. His entire aura radiates,‘do not test me today.’A dozen crew members hover around him, scrambling to redirect, adjust lighting, and fix whatever the hell they think will make him cooperate. But nothing is working.

And then there’s Krista. Poor Krista, doing her best to deal with Vic’s tantrum. He’s stubborn, and I often feel bad for her. The truth is, we’ve grown surprisingly civil since that night at Maxine’s. In some ways, I feel protective of her. It’s not easy breaking free from someone who’s manipulated your mind and emotions, and while she holds it together around others, it’s the quiet moments, the ones when she’s alone, that worry me the most.

“Vic, just let me cut the peppers, okay?” She fusses, her patience wearing thin.

His voice cuts through the set, sharp and final. “You’re cutting them two centimeters too big! If my old eyes can see that, what’d you think the camera can see?”

With embarrassment written all over her face, she falls back. “Fine,” she huffs. “I was just trying to help, but since you wanna be rude, I’ll leave you be. Or better yet, how ‘bout I call Kerry? You wouldn’t dare act like this if she was around.”

I watch, his frustration boiling over as he fires back. “Well, Kerry isn’t here, is she?!” His grip tightens on the knife, his movements sharp, cutting faster, more frantically.

But then… he stills. The tension in his shoulders shifts, and his hand falls to the counter. For a moment, he just breathes.

Then, like a quiet, devastating realization, his whispered words slip out. “Kerry’s not here.”

“But I am.” The words leave my mouth before I even think, sharp and steady, cutting through the set.

And Vic? He looks up immediately. His entire body locks into place like he’s been struck by lightning. His eyes find mine, and in them, I see everything—his frustration, the longing, his pain, and his barely contained relief.

“Kerry.” He says my name in a whisper.

The room shifts. The chaos quiets. And as I step onto the set, everyone moves aside like I’m parting the Red Sea to save a sinking ship.

Vic’s chest rises and falls. His breathing is uneven and tension still simmers just beneath the surface. His fingers flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me.

But I don’t make him wait. I lift my hand, gently placing my palm against his cheek, and the second I do, his eyes close shut. Vic leans into my touch, his exhale ragged like he’s been holding his breath for hours, like I’m the only one that can steady him.

And the hug that follows isn’t just a hug. It’s a homecoming. Vic pulls me into him with an unrelenting grip. His head dips, and his lips brush against the shell of my ear.

His voice is so low and raw and just for me. “Please don’t leave me, Kerry Kind. I can’t lose anyone else.” His breath hitches, his grip tightening like he’s terrified I’ll slip away. “I can’t do this without you.”

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