Jay’s POV
Six years earlier
The party is too loud and I'm too sober for this.
Someone's older brother provided the beer—cheap stuff that tastes like regret—and the house has long since spiraled past anything resembling controlled fun.
Music throbs through the walls hard enough to rattle picture frames, bodies press together in hallways that weren't designed for this many people. I've lost track of Nathan somewhere between the kitchen and the backyard, and the restlessness under my skin won't settle.
Senior year, hockey championship on the horizon. A future so bright everyone keeps telling me to wear shades. I should be having the time of my life.
Something feels wrong instead. An instinct prickling at the back of my neck that I've learned to trust even when I can't explain it.
I head upstairs to check the bedrooms—Nathan sometimes disappears to quieter spaces when the noise gets too intense—and that's when I hear it.
Muffled protests, slurred laughter. And underneath both, barely audible through the throbbing bass, the unmistakable sound of someone saying no.
The bedroom door is slightly ajar. Through the gap, I can see movement—shadows shifting, hands grabbing, a flash of blonde hair and a torn dress.
I don't think. I just move.
The door slams open under my shoulder, and the scene crystallizes in the harsh light from the hallway. Three guys from the swim team—Tyler Morrison, Derek Chen, some third asshole whose name I've never bothered to learn—have a girl cornered against the far wall.
Her dress is torn at the shoulder, makeup streaked down her face, and she's fighting with the desperate, weakening movements of someone who's been fighting for too long.
"What the fuck—" Tyler starts.
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish the sentence.
He goes down hard, and I'm already moving, grabbing Derek by the collar and slamming him into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. The third guy scrambles backward, hands raised, suddenly very interested in being anywhere else.
"Get out." My voice comes out lower than I recognize, rougher. "All of you. Now."
"Callahan, man, you don't understand." Tyler struggles to his feet, blood dripping from his split lip. "She wanted it. She was all over us downstairs, and then—"
I hit him again, harder this time.
He stays down.
"I said get out." I look at the other two, letting them see exactly what will happen if they don't move. "And if I ever hear about you touching anyone like this again, I'll make sure you never swim another lap in your pathetic lives. Your fathers' lawyers can't protect you from what I'll do. Try me."
They run. Threats trail behind them about telling my father, ruining my reputation, making me pay. I don't care. Let them try. Let them explain to their parents why Jay Callahan beat the shit out of them at a house party. I'd love to hear the version of events that makes them the victims.
The door clicks shut behind them, and suddenly the room is quiet.
The girl crumples against the wall, her legs giving out now that the immediate threat is gone. I catch her before she hits the floor—instinct, reflex, the same protective impulse that sent me through that door in the first place.
She's lighter than I expect. Small and trembling in my arms, her face pressed against my chest as sobs wrack her body. Up close, even wrecked and tear-stained, something about her strikes me.
She's pretty—genuinely pretty, in a quiet way I've somehow never noticed before. Not the loud, polished beauty of the girls who usually catch my attention. Something softer, realer.
I know who she is. Everyone knows Nathan Reid's sister—the girl with the different last name, the one the whole school thinks Nathan is secretly dating despite their denials.
I've seen her around, always in Nathan's orbit, always quiet, always fading into the background while her brother commands attention. I've never really looked at her before. Never had a reason to.
Now I can't look away.
"Hey." I keep my voice soft, careful. "You're safe now. They're gone. Can you hear me?"
She nods weakly against my chest, but her eyes are unfocused, her movements sluggish. Whatever they gave her—and I'm certain now they drugged her—is still working through her system.
"I'm going to get you out of here," I say. "Take you somewhere safe. Okay?"
Another nod. She probably doesn't even know who I am, probably won't remember any of this tomorrow. But she trusts me enough to let me lift her, to carry her through the back entrance where no one will see, to hold her against my chest as I navigate the chaos of the party without drawing attention.
She fits perfectly in my arms. The thought arrives unbidden and unwelcome—this is Nathan's sister, for Christ's sake—but I can't shake it. Can't shake the pull I feel, the protective fury still burning in my chest, the sudden desperate need to make sure nothing bad ever happens to her again.
I find Nathan in the backyard, laughing with some of the guys from the team. The moment he sees his sister in my arms, the laughter dies.
His face cycles through emotions faster than I can track—confusion, then fury, then something that looks like terror as he takes in her torn dress, her streaked makeup, her barely conscious state.
"What happened?" The words come out strangled, barely human. "Jay, what the fuck happened?"
"Swim team." I keep my voice level, though the rage is still simmering under my skin. "Three of them. I handled it."
Nathan takes his sister from my arms with the careful gentleness of someone holding something infinitely precious. His hands are shaking, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping beneath his skin.
"I'm going to kill them." His voice shakes with barely contained violence. "Every single one of them."
"I already handled it." I step back, giving him space, understanding that what he needs right now isn't revenge—it's his sister. "They won't try anything like that again. Not with her, not with anyone. I made that very clear."
"Jay." Nathan's voice cracks. He looks down at his sister's face, and something in his expression hardens into permanence. A decision being made, a vow being sworn.
"I'll protect her," he says quietly. "Whatever it takes. For the rest of my life if I have to. No one is ever going to hurt her like this again."
I nod, understanding the weight of that promise. Understanding that I've just witnessed something that will shape both of them for years to come.
"Take her home," I say. "Stay with her. I'll handle things here—make sure no one asks questions, make sure those assholes don't try to spin this."
Nathan meets my eyes, and for a moment, something passes between us. Gratitude too enormous for words. The kind of bond that forms between men who've shared something they'll never speak of again.
"Thank you." The words come out rough, inadequate. "Jay, I… thank you."
"Go." I step back. "She needs you."
He leaves through the back gate, his sister cradled against his chest, and I stand alone in the darkness wondering why my heart is pounding so hard.
Why I can't shake the image of her face from my mind. Why holding her felt like something I wasn't supposed to want but can't help wanting anyway.
She's Nathan's sister. Off-limits by every code I live by. And she'll probably never even know I was the one who found her, who carried her out, who beat three guys bloody for daring to touch her.
That's fine. That's how it should be.
I go back inside, find the swim team assholes nursing their wounds in a corner, and make sure they understand exactly what will happen if a single word about tonight ever reaches anyone's ears.
Then I find a quiet corner, drink until the image of her face stops haunting me, and tell myself I'll forget all about it by morning.
I will forget. For years, I'll forget.
I'll bury this memory so deep I can't access it, suppress the pull I felt holding her, convince myself it never happened. She's Nathan's sister. She's invisible. She's nothing to me.
But she's always there. And I noticed her—once, briefly, when it mattered most.
I just don't know yet that I'll spend years regretting letting her go before I ever really had her.
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