Grady pours three fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and sets it by Leif’s hand without a word. Jared leans on the counter, arms crossed, every line of him locked tight, but his scent gives away his anger as salt air turns to ocean storm.
When every injury has been addressed, I pull out the chair across from Leif and sit, my back straight, hands flat on the table between us. The question burns in my throat, acidic and inevitable.
“Who hurt you?”
His eyes drop to the table, to his bandaged knuckles, to the whiskey he hasn’t touched.
The silence stretches tight as piano wire before he sighs, the sound wet with blood and defeat. “Carson. He ambushed me at my motel.”
A cold resolve floods my veins, drowning out every other emotion. My anger burns hotter now than it ever did when Auren brought his lovers into the home we shared.
I stand, chair legs scraping across the hardwood. Long strides carry me to the spot near the front door where mytoolbox lives when I’m not on a job site. The crowbar settles into my hand, the solid metal having the perfect heft for swinging at studs or skulls.
“Emily.” Leif’s voice breaks on my name, but I don’t turn back.
I grab my truck keys from the hook by the door, slipping my feet into work boots without bothering to tie the laces. The crowbar hangs at my side, its weight familiar and right. It won’t be hard to get Carson’s home address. A man with his confidence would register it for public record.
“Where are you going?” Leif asks, his fear unable to penetrate the calm that’s settled over me.
“To have a conversation.” I grip the crowbar tighter, the metal cool in my palm. “About consequences.”
My hand closes around the doorknob, purpose pulling me forward like gravity. Whatever has happened between Leif and me these past months doesn’t matter now. This isn’t about forgiveness or reconciliation. This is about the man who raised his fist to my Omega.
Jared’s hand lands on my shoulder, not restraining but giving me pause. Behind me comes the uneven tap of Grady’s cane across the floor. Neither speaks as they position themselves, Jared at my back, Grady moving to block the path to the door.
Their bodies form a living barrier.
“Move.” The word comes out as a growl.
“Not happening, Em.” Grady plants his feet as he tracks the crowbar in my hand, calculating its arc, the damage it could inflict.
He doesn’t reach for it, though. Doesn’t try to take it from me. The choice remains mine, and we all know it.
My fingers tighten around the worn grip, the metal cold in my palm.
“What’s your plan?” Jared asks, his breath warm on the back of my neck. “You show up at Carson’s door with a crowbar, and you’ll end up in jail.”
I turn to him. “He put his hands on Leif.”
“And going to prison for assault won’t help anyone.” Jared doesn’t back away from my anger, his sea-glass eyes steady on mine. His hand remains on my shoulder, thumb tracing small circles on the fabric of my shirt. “Carson has connections. Money. A spotless public reputation.”
“He split Leif’s lip and bruised his face.” My volume climbs despite my effort to keep it level. “He broke into his hotel room.”
“I know.” Jared’s fingers tighten on my shoulder. “And we will deal with him. But not like this.”
Grady steps forward, bringing with him faint traces of buttery popcorn. “You go over there now, with a weapon, and he wins. That’s the headline tomorrow: ‘School Administrator Attacked by Construction Worker.’ It won’t matter what he did first.”
The logic penetrates the fog of fury surrounding my thoughts. Carson is calculated. Prepared. A direct confrontation will play right into his hands.
“He’s counting on this,” Grady continues. “If you react with force, it removes you from Leif’s side, with the added bonus of painting Leif as the Omega who hangs around with violent Alphas.”
My jaw clenches tight enough that my teeth ache. “So we do nothing?”
“No.” Jared moves to stand beside Grady, both of them facing me now. “We do this smart. A hospitalized administrator becomes a victim, not an abuser.”
Rain patters outside, punctuating his words. Behind them, Leif hunches at the dining table, the ice pack pressed to the sideof his face and the evidence of Carson’s violence written on his body.
“He thinks he’s untouchable,” I say, the words tasting bitter. “That the system will protect him again.”