Chapter 5

Meghan's POV

Julien’s body tenses almost instantly, his expression hardening as he takes a step forward.

I’m not even looking at either of them anymore.

My eyes stay fixed on the floor, heartbeat pounding so hard I can hear it over the music. The edges of the room suddenly feel too sharp, too loud, too crowded.

Julien is saying something now, his voice raised, aggressive enough that nearby conversations are starting to fade out around us, but the words blur together in my head before I can process them.

Because all I can focus on is the tension.

The feeling of being trapped in the middle of something I never meant to start.

The man beside me still hasn’t moved. His hand remains lightly against my waist, grounding instead of restraining, steady in the middle of all the chaos unfolding around us.

But the air feels wrong now.

Heavy.

Closing in.

I can’t breathe.

And then suddenly

I’m gone.

One second I’m standing there, the next I’m shoving through bodies, ignoring the startled looks and voices calling after me as I push toward the exit.

Cold air hits me the second I burst outside.

I keep moving.

Fast.

My boots slam against wet pavement as I walk, then jog, then practically run without any direction at all. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need space. Quiet. Air.

The rain has stopped.

The streets still glisten beneath the streetlights, reflecting gold and white across the pavement. Cars hiss past on soaked roads while distant music spills faintly from bars behind me.

But out here

It’s quieter.

And I can finally breathe again.

Barely.

I wrap my arms around myself as I keep moving, lungs pulling in sharp breaths that still don’t feel like enough.

"What the hell just happened?"

The question loops violently in my head.

Julien.

That guy.

The way my body reacted the second his arm wrapped around my waist.

Like I knew him.

Which is insane.

I’ve never seen him before in my life.

I slow when I reach the water, shoes scraping against the damp concrete near the harbor. The wind coming off it is freezing, tangling my hair around my face as I pace back and forth trying to settle the storm under my skin.

The city lights ripple across the dark water.

I inhale deeply.

Exhale shakily.

Then do it again.

The cold usually helps me think.

Tonight it doesn’t.

Because every time I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of that hand on my waist like it’s still there.

“Just stop thinking about him, Meghan,” I mutter to myself, frustrated enough that my voice sounds sharp in the empty night air.

I drag both hands through my damp hair and start pacing again along the harbor.

“Just another guy who wanted to get into your pants.”

The words should feel true.

Easy. Simple.

But they don’t.

Because it wasn’t like that.

And somehow, horrifyingly, my body knew it.

If any other guy had grabbed me like that, especially a stranger, I would’ve snapped immediately. I would’ve shoved him off me, cussed him out, made a scene if I had to.

But him?

The second his arm wrapped around my waist, every panic alarm in my body had gone quiet instead of louder.

Like I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

Like some stupid buried part of me trusted him automatically.

My chest tightens painfully.

He felt so confident. So sure.

Safe.

Home.

The word hits me so hard I physically stop walking.

Home.

And suddenly I’m crying.

Not soft tears.

Not pretty movie tears.

Ugly, gasping sobs that rip out of my chest so fast it feels like I’ve been holding them in for years without realizing it. My knees nearly buckle as I press a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound even though there’s no one around to hear me.

Because home?

I’ve never really had one.

Not a real one.

Sure, there was the foster system. A rotation of houses, strangers, temporary bedrooms with walls that never felt like mine. Then being adopted at twelve, which everyone acted like was some kind of miracle.

Like I’d been saved.

I laugh bitterly through the tears.

Saved.

Nothing about that house ever felt safe.

Nothing about it ever felt like love.

Just rules. Fear. The constant feeling of walking on glass while pretending everything was normal enough to survive another day.

Even now, years later, I still flinch at certain tones of voice. Still apologize too quickly. Still brace myself when people get too close too fast.

The wind off the water cuts through my clothes, icy against my damp skin, but I barely notice anymore. I’m shivering hard now, arms wrapped tightly around myself as I try to force the tears back down.

This is ridiculous.

One random guy at a bar should not be unraveling me like this.

I pull my phone from my purse with numb fingers, needing something familiar, something practical to focus on.

The black screen stares back at me.

“Great,” I huff shakily. “Of course it’s dead.”

I tilt my head back toward the sky, exhausted.

If this night gets any worse, I might actually lose my mind.

By the time I finally stop pacing, the city has gone quieter around me. Fewer cars. Less noise spilling from downtown.

Probably close to three in the morning.

The girls are definitely worried sick by now.

I wipe under my eyes aggressively before taking a long breath and forcing myself to move.

“One night won’t kill you,” I murmur quietly, trying to convince myself the entire walk back to the apartment.

Trying to convince myself tonight wasn’t as important as it felt.

That the stranger with dark eyes and steady hands didn’t just crack open something inside me I’ve spent years trying to keep buried.