Chapter 3

I woke with a start, heart hammering against my ribs, a soft hand on my shoulder pulling me out of sleep.

For a second, I didn’t know where I was. Panic clawed its way up my throat, and I jerked away instinctively, nearly falling out of the stiff library armchair. My backpack tumbled to the floor with a dull thud.

"Hey, Liv. It's just me," a voice said softly, low, steady, careful.

I blinked against the harsh overhead lights, my body stiff and aching. It took a few disoriented seconds to recognize the man crouched beside me — Jackson. Jackson Reynolds. Daniel’s older brother.

He wasn’t looming. He wasn’t grabbing. He was crouched at eye level, hands visible, keeping his distance like he knew how easily I might bolt.

"It's just me," he repeated, his voice gentler now, like he was soothing a scared animal. "You're safe."

Safe.

The word barely made sense anymore.

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. Jackson’s face blurred and sharpened again as my eyes filled with tears. I was too exhausted to fight. His brow furrowed, concern deepening the creases beside his hazel eyes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked carefully, searching my face.

I shook my head — a tiny, automatic movement — but Jackson didn’t look convinced. His eyes swept over me anyway, noting my swollen, red eyes, how my arms were wrapped tightly around myself like armor, and the slight tremor in my hands.

Not physical injuries. But wounds all the same.

Jackson’s jaw tightened, a flicker of anger flashing across his face. Not at me — I knew that instinctively. It was the kind of anger you have when you realize someone you trusted is a monster.

But he didn’t let it show for long. He smoothed his expression into something softer, safer.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he said. "I just... I saw you here and—" He cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure how much to say. "I was on my way to meet someone on campus. I’m glad I found you."

Found me. Like I’d been lost.

I pressed my hands harder into my sides, fighting the urge to cry again.

Jackson’s hand hovered briefly, offering, but he didn’t touch me. He just let it hang between us, like a bridge I could choose to cross.

And somehow, that mattered more than anything. My fingers hovered in my lap, hesitating. I could stay here, lost, stuck. Or I could risk trusting the only person who hadn’t demanded anything from me today.

Slowly — almost without meaning to — I lifted my hand and placed it in his.

Jackson’s fingers closed around mine with the lightest pressure, warm and steady. No pulling. No forcing. Just the solid reminder that I wasn't alone.

"Come on, Liv," he said quietly. "Let’s get you somewhere safe."

The words scraped something raw inside me.

Safe.

I wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore.

I stood on shaky legs, clutching my backpack to my chest. Jackson stepped back to give me space but stayed close enough that he could catch me if I stumbled. Not that he would assume I needed it — just that he’d be ready.

We walked through the library together, weaving between tables and tired students.

Jackson let me set the pace, matching my slow, uneven steps without comment.

Another difference from Daniel is that Daniel would have yanked my hand and dragged me faster, annoyed that I wasn’t keeping up.

The evening air hit us when we stepped outside, crisp and cool. The breeze that once made me feel exposed now carried a faint scent of cut grass and blooming jasmine. Somehow, it didn't feel so lonely anymore.

Jackson walked beside me in silence, not rushing, not questioning. Just... being there.

I glanced at him as we crossed the campus toward the faculty parking lot.

He looked so different from Daniel — rougher around the edges, a few days' worth of stubble shadowing his jaw, his brown hair mussed from running his hand through it too many times.

But it wasn’t just the way he looked.

It was the way he moved — solid, unhurried.

The way he kept half a step behind me, never crowding.

The way he watched the path ahead, not me, like protecting me, was second nature, not performance.

When we reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for me, stepping aside without a word.

Another choice he left in my hands.

I hesitated only a moment before climbing inside.

The seat was warm from the sun, and somehow, that little comfort undid me again.

I blinked hard, refusing to cry.

Not again.

Jackson slid into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and started the car.

He didn’t turn on the radio.

He didn’t pepper me with questions.

He just drove, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel and the other close enough on the center console that I could reach for him again if I needed it.

I stared out the window, watching the twilight settle over the city—the familiar streets looked strange and hollow after today.

I thought of Daniel’s face when he realized I’d caught him.

The way he smiled — not guilty, not apologetic — annoyed at being caught.

The way he had blamed me, even then.

"If you hadn't barged in—"

"If you hadn't embarrassed me—"

If. If. If.

Always my fault.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

No more. I wasn't going back to that.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.

I didn’t know how I would pick up the shattered pieces of my life.

But tonight, I wasn't facing it alone.

I risked a glance at Jackson, the way the soft dashboard light caught the edge of his profile — steady, familiar, real.

Maybe trust was still a risk.

Maybe it would always be.

But trust looked like a man who didn’t try to cage me right now.

Who only offered his hand — and waited.