Page 98 of Blindsided
I nod, though my legs feel unsteady. “I will be.”
“How did he find you?” Declan asks, ever practical.
I hold up the tracking tile, which I somehow managed to keep clutched in my hand throughout the confrontation. “Put it in my purse at Wavecrest.”
Mia plucks it from my fingers, studies it for a moment, then crushes it beneath her heel. “Amateur,” she mutters, and I remember with a jolt that she was once in the business of finding people who didn’t want to be seen.
“Come on,” Kane says, his arm around my waist, providing steady support. “Let’s get you inside.”
As we walk back toward the house, the adrenaline begins to fade, leaving me shaky and nauseated. I’ve never seen that side of Mark before—possessive, violent, unhinged. It makes me wonder how well I really knew him, how much of himself he kept hidden during our marriage.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as we reach the steps. “I didn’t think he’d—”
“This isn’t your fault,” Kane interrupts firmly. “None of it.”
“But I brought this to your doorstep,” I insist. “Your family—”
“Has dealt with far worse than an angry ex-husband,” Rory assures me, holding the door open as we enter.
Inside, the others are waiting, Wren with a first-aid kit, Connor looking concerned, several staff members hovering uncertainly.
“Is he gone?” Wren asks, already reaching for my arm to examine the bruises.
“For now,” Declan answers grimly. “But I’m going to call Radley in the guard shack and tell him to make sure he leaves.”
As Wren applies cream to my bruises and Kane hovers protectively nearby, I’m struck by how quickly these people—these strangers who became something more—have rallied around me. There’s no judgment, no questions about what I did to provoke Mark, just immediate, unquestioning support.
“Thank you,” I say, looking around at all of them. “I don’t know what would have happened if—”
“Don’t think about that,” Kat advises, handing me a glass of water. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”
“Is anyone else suddenly craving those brownies?” Rory asks, breaking the tension. “Near-violence always makes me hungry.”
The absurdity of the statement startles a laugh out of me, and soon the others join in, the sound chasing away the last of the fear Mark left in his wake.
Later, when the excitement has died down and I’ve assured everyone a dozen times that I’m fine, Kane and I retreat to the privacy of his room. It’s larger than mine, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate grounds and a massive bedthat dominates the space.
“You should rest,” he says, guiding me to sit on the edge of the mattress.
I catch his hand, tugging him down beside me. “I’m okay, really. Just... shaken.”
He studies my face, his eyes serious. “You didn’t tell me Mark could be violent.”
“Because he never was before,” I admit. “At least, not that I saw. He was controlling in other ways—always had to know where I was, who I was with—but he never...” I gesture to my bruised arm.
Kane’s jaw tightens. “If he comes back—”
“He won’t,” I say with more certainty than I feel. “Mark cares too much about his image. He won’t risk another scene, especially not after being confronted by all of you.”
“Still,” Kane says, “I don’t like that he found you so easily.”
I think about the tracking device, about Mark’s determination to get me back despite everything. “Me neither,” I admit. “But what can I do? I can’t hide forever.”
Kane is quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. “Come to Alberta,” he says finally. “Not just for a few days. Stay with me after, too. In Toronto or wherever. I don’t care if what we have going on is just a one-time thing. ... don’t go back to him.”
The offer takes my breath away. It’s too soon, too fast, too much—and yet, the thought of returning to the city alone, of rebuilding my life with Mark potentially lurking around every corner, fills me with dread.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I need to think about it.”
