Page 155 of Mending Hearts
The word still lands somewhere warm and fragile in my chest. I hate that part of me is still braced for the bottom to drop out. Things have been steady. Better than steady. His team is backing him publicly. The press cycle has cooled from wildfire to manageable heat. There’s been nothing more from his parents. My studio schedule hasn’t imploded while I’m camped out in the Midwest. We’re building something that feels deliberate instead of explosive.
And yet, I know how quickly one unstable variable can tilt everything.
I glance at Vinny. “Should we be worried?”
He doesn’t sugarcoat. “Police don’t believe she’s a credible long-term threat. No known history of violence. No prior charges before the gala.” Vinny’s mouth flattens slightly, the closest he gets to irritation. “That said, she pulled a knife at a charity event.” He rolls his eyes at the implication of “no known history.”
I exhale through my nose. “So?”
“So,” he continues evenly, “we treat escalation seriously. I’m coordinating with arena security. We may add an additional body to your detail while you’re in Minneapolis.”
My eyes narrow. “What about Ollie?”
Ollie answers before Vinny can. “I’m fine.”
I turn to him. “The knife was aimed at you.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “No.”
“It was,” I push. “She threatened you.”
“She was targeting you,” he says calmly. “I just happened to be there.”
I stare at him. “You were standing between us.”
“And I’d do it again.”
There’s no bravado in it. No attempt to be heroic. It’s simply fact.
Vinny shifts his weight slightly. “From a threat assessment standpoint, her fixation centers on you,” he says to me. “However, Ollie’s proximity makes him an adjacent risk. I’ll loop in his team’s security liaison as a courtesy.”
Ollie shakes his head. “This isn’t about me.”
“It becomes about you the second someone points a weapon in your direction,” I say, sharper than I intend.
He turns that captain stare on me—the one that shuts down arguments in locker rooms and on courts. Calm. Immovable. A line drawn in granite.
“I’m not fragile,” he says.
I know he isn’t. That’s not the point.
The heat in my chest isn’t fear for myself. It’s memory. I can still see the flash of silver. The way his body shifted without thinking. The way it could have gone differently.
“You don’t get to minimize that,” I say quietly.
“And you don’t get to take ownership of it,” he counters, just as quiet.
Vinny clears his throat lightly, the professional reminder that we’re not alone. “I’m increasing vigilance regardless,” he says. “You don’t have to agree with the assessment. You just have to cooperate.”
Ollie nods once. “Fine.”
I’m still looking at him. He doesn’t blink. There’s something undeniably attractive about this version of him. Not reckless. Not stubborn for ego’s sake. But a grounded, protective, “refusing to let fear define the frame” Ollie is new.
It’s also hot as hell.
I drag a hand through my hair. “You good?” I ask him again, softer this time.
His expression eases just a fraction. “Yeah. I am.”
