Chapter 31
She slid into the passenger seat, her chest still tight from the way Mack had stood in front of Ethan. Protective. Possessive. It should have scared her off, but instead, her pulse wouldn't settle.
Mack shut her door and rounded to the driver's side, his eyes catching hers before he slid behind the wheel. The moment the engine rumbled, his hand was already on her, his palm cupping her neck like he had every right to touch her.
Her breath caught. She wanted to lean into it, wanted to close her eyes and let herself feel safe in his hands. But fear gnawed at her chest. Men made promises. Men took. And men always left.
"That," Mack said, his voice rough velvet, "was me being polite."
Her stomach twisted. "Polite?" she managed, her voice unsteady
"If I'd had it my way, I'd have dragged you out of there the second I saw his face." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his gaze holding hers like he could see every thought she was trying to hide. "And I wouldn't have stopped kissing you until he understood exactly what he lost… and what's mine now."
Her heart jumped at the word mine. Dangerous. Too dangerous. She turned her head slightly, putting just a fraction of space between them. "Mack…"
It was barely a whisper, more plea than protest. Her chest tightened, warring between the warmth his touch spread and the voice in her head screaming not to fall. Not again.
He let out a low laugh, not mocking, but certain. Like he could hear her walls crumbling. His hand slid down, resting heavy and hot on her thigh.
"Vi," he murmured, his voice darker now, "you don't have to say it. I feel it." His fingers pressed lightly, just enough to make her breath stutter. "You're scared. But you're still here. Still with me. That tells me everything."
Her throat burned. She wanted to argue, wanted to shove his hand away and put her walls back up—but she didn't. She sat there, trembling under his touch, terrified of how much she wanted to believe him.
He pulled back finally, his smirk sharp, his jaw hard with restraint. "Don't worry. I'll wait until we're home to show you just how wrong he was to ever think he could have you."
Viola shifted under the weight of Mack's stare, her throat tight. She didn't know how to ask, how to make him give her space without breaking the fragile thing forming between them. Finally, she exhaled and whispered, "Just… take me home."
For a moment he didn't move, his jaw hard, his eyes dark with something that made her chest ache. Then he gave a short nod. "Alright."
The ride was quiet. Mack's hand gripped the wheel, his other resting dangerously close to her on the console, as though he was holding himself back from touching her again. She pressed her palms into her lap, her mind whirling.
When he finally pulled into her driveway, he killed the engine and turned to her. "Vi—"
She shook her head quickly, her voice barely steady. "Please. Just tonight… let me breathe."
For once, Mack didn't push. He studied her for a long moment, then reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with surprising gentleness. "Go inside, angel. Lock your door. I'll be outside, whether you see me or not."
Her chest tightened at that, but she slipped out, the air cool on her skin as she hurried to the safety of her front door. Only when she was inside did she allow herself to exhale.
Upstairs, she peeled off her clothes and stepped under the steaming shower. The hot water ran over her, loosening the tension in her shoulders, washing away the last traces of Ethan's face and Mack's possessive touch. She scrubbed her hair, working the shampoo in hard, as if she could scrub away the confusion twisting inside her too.
By the time she emerged, wrapped in a towel with her damp hair dripping down her back, she felt lighter—if not entirely steady. She slipped into a pair of soft cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt, the kind of comfort clothes she always wore when she needed grounding.
Crawling onto her bed, she pulled her laptop into her lap. The blinking cursor stared at her from the half-finished draft of her manuscript. Her heart slowed. This—this was hers. Her world. Her words. A place no one could touch or control.
She curled her legs beneath her, fingers beginning to fly over the keys as she poured herself into the final chapters. Her characters bled their heartbreak, their hope, their fight for freedom, and with each sentence, she stitched herself back together.
Mack leaned back in the driver's seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel so tight the leather creaked. He'd watched her small figure disappear through the door, watched the way her shoulders hunched like she was carrying the whole damn world.
And then she shut him out.