Chapter 5 - BRENDAN COMES BACK
Brendan found me because of a photograph.
Not because Jared’s men failed.
Because I made the mistake myself.
Harbor Veterinary Clinic posted a picture celebrating Nero’s recovery.
Nothing glamorous.
Just me crouching beside him with the caption:
SPECIAL VISITOR FEELING STRONGER THIS WEEK.
No Jared.
No Kensington name.
But Nero was recognizable.
A gossip account reposted it.
Then someone identified me.
Within forty-eight hours, my old life found my new one.
The first message arrived at 6:12 a.m.
WILLA. WE NEED TO TALK.
I stopped breathing.
Brendan.
New number.
I blocked it.
Then:
YOU LOOK GOOD.
Another number.
Blocked.
SO YOU CAN ANSWER MAFIA PEOPLE BUT NOT ME?
My hands began shaking.
My body remembered before my mind did.
Keys hidden.
Phone checked.
Brendan standing outside the bathroom because I had spent “too long” answering my sister.
I told clinic manager Sophie.
Then my attorney.
Yes.
My attorney.
Jared had given me three names.
I chose the one with no business relationship to him.
Her name was Denise Carter.
She helped me reopen the protective-order process.
Jared learned because Miles’s security monitoring picked up Brendan asking questions near the clinic.
He called.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want help?”
“I have a lawyer.”
“Good.”
Silence.
I waited for:
I can make him disappear.
It never came.
Instead:
“Does your lawyer want our documentation?”
“Yes.”
“We'll send it.”
“That’s all?”
I asked.
“What else?”
I almost laughed.
“Nothing.”
Then Brendan appeared outside my apartment.
Not violent.
Worse, somehow.
Holding flowers.
As if two years of control could be converted into daisies.
I did not go downstairs.
Called police.
Called Denise.
Documented everything.
Jared did not come.
That mattered.
I knew he wanted to.
Later he admitted he sat inside his car three blocks away because Miles convinced him that arriving with armed security would make my situation more chaotic.
“Why were you three blocks away at all?”
“I was worried.”
“That doesn't create permission.”
“I know.”
He looked embarrassed.
“I left.”
Good.
Brendan eventually violated a temporary no-contact order by emailing me through a coworker.
That strengthened the case.
The final protective order was granted.
No mafia intervention.
No broken knees.
No dramatic disappearance.
Law.
Records.
Witnesses.
Boundaries.
Boring safety.
The first night after the order became final, I cried for two hours.
Jared sat across from me in a diner.
Not the penthouse.
Neutral territory.
I had asked him there.
“I thought I'd feel powerful.”
I said.
“What do you feel?”
“Tired.”
He nodded.
“Do you regret doing it?”
“No.”
“Then tired is allowed.”
I looked at him.
“You're surprisingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“Not fixing things.”
He almost smiled.
“I've had aggressive instruction.”
“From who?”
“You.”
Fair.
Our relationship had changed.
Not romance.
Not yet.
He paid my consultation invoices through the clinic.
Exact amount.
No bonus.
No hundred thousand dollars.
I learned Nero’s routine.
Gabriel recovered enough to return part-time.
When he could resume full handling, I stepped back.
That decision mattered.
Nero did not need me permanently.
He needed continuity.
Eventually I became another safe person.
Not his savior.
Jared asked me to dinner three weeks after my consultation ended.
I stared.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see you.”
“You see me constantly.”
“Not for Nero.”
I felt something dangerous move inside me.
Not fear.
Attraction.
Maybe worse.
“You own half the city.”
“Exaggeration.”
“You have men following you.”
“Security.”
“Your uncle may be indicted for illegal dog fighting.”
“Yes.”
“I just got out of a controlling relationship.”
His face softened.
“I know.”
“That sounds like a terrible dating profile.”
“It does.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then:
“No.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
No persuasion.
No injured ego.
No question why.
Just okay.
I went home.
For three days, I thought about that answer.
Not the invitation.
His response to refusal.
On Friday I called.
“Is the dinner offer expired?”
“No.”
“Public restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“I drive myself.”
“Yes.”
“No security at the table.”
“Agreed.”
“One outside?”
He hesitated.
“Unfortunately.”
I laughed.
“Fine.”
Our first date was terrible.
In the best way.
We discovered without Nero or crisis between us, we had almost nothing obvious in common.
He hated horror movies.
I loved them.
He knew wine.
I drank whatever was on sale.
He read financial biographies.
I read veterinary behavior manuals and trashy mysteries.
At one point, we sat in silence for nearly a full minute.
Then Jared said:
“This is going badly.”
I laughed so hard I snorted.
He stared.
I covered my face.
“Do not mention that.”
“Impossible.”
The rest of dinner became easy.
May you like
Because perfection had already failed.
That helped.
