Page 16 of Slapshot Bride

Her fingers tighten on my arm, and my chest swells.

I feel the barely controlled rage rising to the surface. The way she looks so small suddenly, her body almost merging into mine without her registering it, as though she’s hoping to disappear. I place a hand on her shoulder, and she flinches.

I immediately drop my hand, and I see the apology in her eyes. “Hey… it’s okay. They’re not here for you, and I won’t let them see you,” I promise her like it’s my sole duty. “I'm going to be in front of you. They will get my back and a piece of hoodie. They won’t get a clean shot of your face. We walk normally. We don't run. Running will tip them off.”

She's breathing too fast, and her eyes are everywhere.

“Riley. Hey.” I shift again, so my body is between her and the street for better coverage. “Eyes on me.” She looks. “Walk.”

She walks.

The first one lifts his camera. I hear the shutter before I see the motion. The second one lifts his a beat later. They are calling now, both of them, voices pitched to carry across the street.

“Is that Riley Brooks? Or is it Riley Sinclair now?”

“Riley, is it true you are unwell?”

“Is this your new man? He looks familiar. Easton?”

“Riley, did you leave Preston for him?”

I feel her flinch against my back at the third one. Her fist tightens in the fabric of my shirt, and she follows me on pure adrenaline, like she’s one wrong move away from coming apart.

I don’t think she’s even registered that they know my name.

The boutique’s back door opens. The owner is there, calm, already gesturing us in.

Three more steps.

I get her through the door and pull it shut behind us, and the moment the latch clicks, she sags against the wall with both hands over her mouth, eyes huge, breath catching in her chest like she can't quite remember how to use it.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

She doesn't look at me.

“Riley.” I put a hand on the wall beside her head, not touching her. “You did that. You walked through it. They got nothing.”

“They knew my name,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“Easton…” Her voice breaks. “He isn't going to stop.”

I look at her. Bare-faced, in my hoodie, in the back hallway of a boutique that smells like fresh mint notes, and her eyes are wet, her hands are shaking, and she looks torn, like her newly found world has been ripped from her, and her freedom gone forever. The part of me that has been running quiet calculations on how to keep her safe goes very still.

“No,” I say. “He's not.”

I hold her gaze.

“But neither am I.” The words are out before I can think better of them, and I don’t have the slightest urge to take them back.

This woman deserves her life back, and Lord knows, if I have to tear through the world to get it for her, I will.

4

RILEY

At Valentina's