Aaron reassured me that I'd be safest with him. The words settled in my chest like something warm—something I wanted to believe. I packed a small bag with trembling hands, trying to ignore the bruises already blooming on my skin, and we left the apartment together.
Outside, the night felt too quiet.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked gently as we waited on the curb.
I looked up at him, my mouth opening before I even had the words. But they weren't there. Nothing felt real yet. So I gave him the only thing I could manage—the softest lie I could form.
"Yeah. I'll be fine."
But the truth sat in my body like a secret too heavy to carry. My chest ached, my heart lodged somewhere high in my ribs, beating far too fast. That familiar panic was already pressing in, sharp as glass. PTSD didn't knock—it barged in, demanding space, breathing down my neck like an old ghost.
"I won't press you about it," Aaron said quietly, his voice barely above the wind. "But know this—I'll do everything I can to help you feel safe again."
I stopped walking. That voice—there was nothing practiced about it. No rehearsed compassion, no careful sympathy. Just raw honesty.
And for reasons I couldn't explain, I believed him.
A taxi pulled up outside a little corner bakery. Aaron kissed the back of my hand, tender and old-fashioned, like we were something out of a 1950s romance. "I'll be right back," he murmured.
Five minutes later, he returned—with a teenage boy in tow. The kid took my bag from the trunk and nodded politely.
"My father's in town," Aaron said, voice a little clipped. "It's... complicated. But Billy here's going to take you to my suite another way. Is that okay?"
I hesitated.
Everything in me was screaming to stay close. But I nodded, because no matter how disoriented I felt, I trusted Aaron more than I trusted myself.
"Follow me, ma'am," Billy said, voice cracking just slightly.
He led me through the bakery and down a narrow staircase, into a dimly lit basement. My shoes echoed against the concrete as we walked a tunnel that stretched forever. For a moment, doubt crept in—what if this safe? What if this was some twisted setup?
But then we stopped. A thick metal door stood ahead. Billy swiped a keycard, and it clicked open.
What waited on the other side stunned me.
A grand hallway. Chandeliers glittering above. Carpet so plush it silenced my steps. Light, warmth, and an air of quiet power.
"Is this… a hotel?" I asked, blinking.
"Yes, Miss. The Crutchfield Grand."
At the suite door, Billy used his card again and stepped aside so I could enter. "Anything else you need, just call."
He disappeared with a soft click of the door.
Silence fell.
I stood in the suite's entryway, blinking, my good hand rubbing my face like that could wipe away the memories clawing at me. My skin still felt hot from Josh's touch, my ribs sore from where fear had curled up and made a home.
I wandered into the bedroom, unsure what I was looking for—until I saw them.
Hot pink lace.
Peeking out from the corner of a drawer like a bad joke.
I froze.
My stomach dropped, cold and hard.
I couldn't stop the thoughts. Couldn't stop the bitter sting in my throat or the spiral in my brain.
Then—warm hands around my waist.
I flinched so hard I nearly screamed.
Aaron.
"Sorry you had to take the scenic route," he said lightly, trying to sound normal. "Lots of family chaos right now."
"It's fine," I replied quickly, too quickly.
He noticed. Of course he did. His eyes followed mine—straight to the drawer.
"Alaina…" His voice was careful. "Are you worried about whose underwear those are?"
I turned to face him but couldn't form the words. Couldn't admit that my trust was a fragile thing, rattling in my chest.
He paused. Then, deadpan: "Well. I have a thing for wearing women's lingerie. I was trying to keep it under wraps, but it looks like the cat's out of the drawer."
My brain broke for a second.
Then he laughed. Really laughed. Warm and honest.
He walked over, opened the drawer, and pulled out the lace. He turned, smirking just enough, and placed them into my open palm.
"You left these. The night you stayed over. On my lamp. I've been keeping them safe for you."
I covered my face, mortified. "Oh my God."
"Relax." His tone softened. "I'd never hurt you. Not ever."
He leaned in and kissed me—light, tender, like a promise more than a question.
Aaron wasn't Josh. He wasn't my father. He wasn't like anyone I'd ever known. But the truth was... I didn't know how to believe that yet. Not all the way.
Still, I didn't pull away.
He sat across from me, scrolling on his phone like he wasn't watching me crack open piece by piece. "I have an idea," he said. "Something I think we both need."
I blinked. "What kind of idea?"
He looked up, a quiet sparkle in his eyes. "Rio. Brazil. Beautiful beaches. Beautiful people. No expectations. Just sun and escape. My treat."
I stared at him.
He wanted to take me out of the country. Out of this pain.
With him.
"Aaron… that sounds incredible. But honestly?" I exhaled. "Right now, I just want to sleep for a year."
He nodded, no disappointment in his eyes. Just care. "Then that's what you'll do. Whatever you need, I'm here."
He reached for my hands. Laced his fingers with mine.
I looked down at them—at —and felt the most dangerous thing I'd felt in a long time.
Hope.
I was falling for him.
And that terrified me.
But for now, maybe it was okay to fall. Just a little. To lean into safety. To let myself be held.
Even if I didn't know how.
Even if it scared me.