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Homewrecker - Gator Tillman x Reader - Part Three

Gator grew up in a broken home - and eventually vowed that he'd never behave like his father. But when a familiar situation begins to unfold in front of his very eyes, does he have what it takes to be better for you?

a/n - abusive relationships are incredibly complicated to navigate. know that it's never your fault, & the whole "you should've left sooner" mentality is bullshit. all of the love to each of you.

tw/cw - recollections/descriptions of domestic abuse + intimate partner violence, mentions of assault & rape, manipulation, self blame, violence.

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After what felt like hours in that bathroom, Gator finally managed to get you to drink some water and swallow a couple of ibuprofen he found in the cabinet. You were swaying on your feet, adrenaline fading into a crushing exhaustion that made you look fragile enough to break with a wrong look.

At that point, he didn't ask if you wanted him to stay. He just steered you toward your bedroom, his hand hovering near your elbow and lower back - close enough to catch you if you fell, far enough away to keep from triggering that flinch he hated seeing so much.

Your room was exactly as he remembered it, yet completely different. It was still a shrine to the teenage girl you used to be - posters of bands he’d been too cool to listen to, a shelf crowded with trophies and framed photos of the two of you at various ages. But the air felt heavy. Stagnant. Like the happiness that used to live here had been suffocated under the weight of what you were bringing home with you.

Gator helped you into an oversized t-shirt from your suitcase and then pulled the duvet back, his movements awkward and jerky. He wasn't built for this. Softness. Taking care of someone precious. He was built for breaking shit, for taking hits, and being avoided by the general population. But navigating the trauma of the woman he loved without making it worse? That was a minefield he had no map for.

"C'mon," he murmured, keeping his voice low and steady. "Get some sleep."

You climbed in without argument, curling into a tight ball on your side. You looked impossibly small in the center of the mattress. Gator pulled the blankets up, tucking them around your shoulders with a gentleness that felt foreign in his hands. Probably felt foreign to you at this point too, if he had to guess.

"I'll be right out there ‘till you go to sleep," he said, nodding toward the door. "Okay? Just holler if you need me."

You looked at him, your eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. For a second, he thought you might argue. Might tell him to leave, to go home and forget you ever existed. But you just swallowed hard and gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. "Okay."

Gator lingered for a moment, looking down at you as you settled back into your fetal position. He’d long since memorized the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned out against your skin. But the dark bruising peeking out from the collar of the shirt made him want to rage. He wanted to crawl in beside you, wrap himself around you and keep the entire world at bay until you were healed.

But he knew that was a line he couldn't cross. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. You weren't his. You weren't a damsel he needed to rescue just to feel like a man. You were his best friend, and you were deeply hurt, and the last thing you needed was him imposing his presence on you when you were this vulnerable. Even if everything remained G-rated - it still felt like a shitty thing to try and do.

"Sleep tight," he whispered.

He backed out of the room, closing the door until it was just open a crack, leaving enough of a gap to hear if you called out for him.

He sat in the hallway for a long time, his back against the wall, listening to the silence of the house. It was deafening. According to a note he saw in the kitchen when he’d gone to grab water, your parents were out of town for the night, something about a convention or expo in Bismarck. Just as well. Gator doubted that they’d be too keen on seeing their daughter in your current state.

His mind was a chaotic storm, swirling with images he couldn't unsee. The brand on your chest. The way you’d crumpled on the floor, begging him not to hurt you. The sound of your voice describing what Caleb had done to you in the bed of his truck.

It made him sick on your behalf. It made him want to put his fist through the drywall.

But mostly, under it all, it made him feel like a failure.

He’d spent his entire life watching his father destroy women he claimed to love. He’d seen his mother’s bruises, heard Nadine’s screams. He’d made a vow to himself that he would never be that man. That he would protect the people he cared about.

And he had failed.

He hadn't been there when you’d needed him most. He hadn't gone to college with you - instead opting to stay in this shithole town, playing cop and chasing a ghost of a legacy he wasn't even sure he wanted. He’d let you leave, trusting that you were going off to have some grand adventure. To live a life that was bigger than this place, because that’s what you deserved. He’d been jealous, sure, but you were strong, beautiful, smart, and the brightest light he’d ever met. You’d be fine without him.

He hadn't known. He hadn’t fucking known.

And he knew he should have.

He should’ve seen the signs sooner. Pushed harder when you came home for Thanksgiving, when you were just starting to look like a ghost of yourself. He should have begged to know what was wrong instead of accepting your half-truths and fake smiles.

He could have stopped this. If he’d been paying attention, he could have stopped Caleb before he ever laid a fucking hand on you.

Instead, you’d been alone. You’d been trapped at school with a monster who thought he owned you. All the while Gator had been here, doing paperwork and breaking up bar fights, completely oblivious to the hell you were living through.

Fuck, he hated himself for it. Sure, he hated Caleb with a pure rage that scared even him. But he hated himself so much more.

She’s never gonna trust a man again, he thought, the realization settling in his gut like lead. Not really. How could she?

He’d seen it happen to his mother. After years of Roy’s terror, right before she’d abandoned them, she’d just sorta… Shut down. She’d flinch if a man raised his voice too loud. Apologize for things she didn’t do. She’d lost her spark, her fire. And eventually, Gator lost her. And Nadine? He had no idea where the hell she was after she too vanished into thin air, but he hoped she was able figure out who she was without Roy’s fists defining her existence.

You were strong too, obviously. But this… This kind of trauma, it changed people. Gator’d seen it first hand. It hollowed a person out. Made them see threats where there were none. Helped them build walls that no one could scale.

And even when - or if - you did heal and somehow found a way to put the pieces back together… It would never be with him. Not now. Not after he’d failed you this badly.

It was probably a selfish thought, but he couldn’t help it.

Why would you ever want him anyway? He was just a dumb hick cop, just like Caleb had said. He was nothing more than violence and a bad temper and a bloodline he couldn’t fully escape. He was the son of a man who beat women senseless. What if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? Maybe he wasn't hitting you, but he’d pretty much just sat by let it happen. He’d stood by and done nothing while the best thing in his life was being tortured.

And God help him, he wanted to kill Caleb. Make him suffer - even though whatever he could dole out would only be a fraction of what he deserved for laying his hands on you. He wanted to wrap his own hands around that smug, entitled neck and squeeze until the light went out of his eyes. The rage was a living thing inside him, a beast that was clawing at his insides, screaming to be let out.

But if he did that… Gave in to that violence… He’d lose you for good. Prove Caleb and everyone else right. He’d be just another Tillman man who solved his problems with his fists. And then you’d never look at him without seeing a monster. You’d never feel safe with him. He was trapped. Caught between his need for revenge and his desperate, aching need to be the man you deserved.

Gator pushed off the wall and paced down the hallway, his boots silent on the carpet. He needed to get out of his head. He needed to breathe.

He was just about to head downstairs to wait on the porch steps, sit in the dark and stare at the front door until the sun came up, when a sound stopped him cold.

It was a whimper. Small, yet gut wrenching, coming from behind your bedroom door.

Gator froze, his hand hovering over the banister. The sound came again, louder this time. A broken cry that twisted something deep in his chest.

"No," you gasped, voice hoarse with sleep and terror. "Please. Don't. S-stop -“

Against his better judgement, he didn't think or hesitate about crossing a line. He pushed your door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the pale wash of moonlight filtering through the blinds. You were tossing and turning in the bed, sweaty and thrashing against the sheets. Your face was contorted in fear, tears leaking from the corners of your closed eyes.

"Get off!" You screamed, your legs kicking out at the phantom assailant in your dreams. "Caleb! Get off - please -“

The name was like a bucket of ice water in Gator’s veins and he was at your side in two strides. He didn't touch you - not yet. He knew better. He knew what it was like to wake up swinging, to be trapped in a nightmare where the monster was real and the attempted help was just another perceived threat.

"Hey," he said, his voice firm but soft. "Hey, wake up, baby. You're dreaming. It's just a dream, you’re safe -“

But you didn't wake up. You just cried out again, your back arching off the mattress as you tried to fight off an invisible weight. "H-help me - someone, please - G-Gator, help -“

At the sound of his own name, his heart shattered. You were calling for him. Even after he’d let you down so terribly - even in the throes of your worst nightmare, you were calling for him.

"I'm here," he said, reaching out slowly. He placed a hand on your own smaller one, gripping it firmly. "I'm right here. You're safe. I got you."

You gasped, your eyes flying open. They were wide and unfocused, darting around the dark room wildly. For a second, you didn't see him. You were still back in that truck bed, or dorm room. You were still trapped.

"Gator?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

"I'm here," he repeated, lacing his fingers through your own, grounding you. "It's me. It's Gator."

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest heaving as your brain caught up to what your eyes were seeing. Then, with a sob that sounded like it was ripped from your lungs, you reached for him. Your hands tangled in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"D-don't leave," you begged, your face burying in his chest. He felt hot tears seep through the fabric, and he gently stroked your hair. "Please don't leave me. He'll c-come back. If-f you go, he’s gonna come back.”

Gator felt the words like a physical blow. He'll come back.

"Nobody's comin’ back," he promised you, his voice low and fierce. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

You shook your head, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. "Stay. Please."

He gazed at you in the darkness. You were trembling, your eyes wide and pleading. You were terrified. And you were asking him to stay. He knew he shouldn't. It was a bad idea. He was a man. A man with a temper and a gun and a history of violence in his blood. You were a victim of abuse, freshly triggered and terrified. Sharing a bed was a line he shouldn't cross. What if you woke up in the morning and didn’t remember asking him to stay?

But… He couldn't say no. Not when you looked at him like that. Not when you were begging him.

So he kicked off his boots by the side of the bed, one by one. Then he pulled his belt off, setting it on the nightstand with a soft clink. He didn't want anything that could be misconstrued as a weapon, or even remotely remind you of restraint or pain.

Carefully, he climbed onto the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. You shifted immediately to make room for him. You didn't curl away from him like he assumed you would - if anything you moved as close as you could, your body seeking his warmth like a flower seeking the sun.

Gator settled in beside you, lying on his back. He kept his hands to himself at first, resting them on his stomach. He didn't want to crowd or overwhelm you.

But it seemed like you weren't having it. You scooted closer, until your head was resting on his shoulder. Your arm draped over his chest, your leg pressed against his. Gator held his breath. He was terrified. Paralyzed that he’d do something wrong, and that he was just another man who had failed you.

As he felt your breathing start to slow and your body relax against his, the terror began to recede, replaced by a fierce, overwhelming sense of protectiveness.

He slid his arm up to wrap it around you, settling you against his side. Not hard enough that you couldn’t easily roll away if you wanted, yet close enough to feel comforted. Hopefully. You sighed, a soft, happy sound that made his chest ache.

"This okay?" He whispered after a few minutes.

You nodded. "Yeah. It's… Nice."

“Uh, okay. Yeah. Okay. Good.”

Gator stared up at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by, his eyes tracing the shadows cast by the moonlight. He listened to the sound of your breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. His mind was still racing, filled with guilt and rage and a thousand other emotions he couldn't name. But as he lay there, holding you while you slept, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

He couldn't fix this. He couldn't go back in time and stop everything Caleb had done. But he could be here. With you. Maybe he could be the safe place you ran to when the nightmares got too loud, or the wall you hid behind until you were strong enough to fight again.

And he vowed he would. He’d stay right here, as long as you needed him. Even if he had to kill Caleb - or hell, even burn down the world to insure your safety.

He looked down at you, sleeping in his arms. You looked slightly more peaceful in your sleep. Younger. More innocent. It broke his heart all over again to think of what you’d been through, and somehow survived.

But as you shifted in his sleep, your hand tightening on his shirt, he made another vow.

She might not trust anyone right now, he thought. But she trusts me. She’s here, in my arms, asking me to stay. That has to count for somethin’.

Right?

He pressed a featherlight kiss to the top of your head, careful not to wake you. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of your shampoo that still hadn’t changed after all these years - vanilla and something unique to you.

"Sleep," he whispered into the dark. "I got you."

And for the first time in a long time, Gator Tillman felt like maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Gator swore he’d only closed his eyes for five minutes, but he woke up to the morning light filtering through the blinds. For a second, he didn't know where he was. The mattress was too soft, the air smelled sweet, and there was a weight pressing against his side that felt both terrifyingly foreign and like the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

Then he shifted, and the events of the previous night crashed back into him. The bruising. The confession. The brand.

He looked down. You were still curled into his side, but you weren't asleep. You were holding your phone up with a trembling hand, angled awkwardly to capture the ugly, mottled purple bruise on your thigh.

Gator cleared his throat, his voice rough with sleep. "What're you doin'?"

You jumped, nearly dropping the phone. You scrambled to sit up and put a few inches of space between the two of you, clutching the device to your chest as if it were a shield. "I… Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothin'," Gator said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Take a lot of pictures like that?”

You bit your lip, glancing away. "I… I had to make a new email account. Not linked to my main cloud."

Gator sat up, looking at you in the harsh morning light. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes seemed to have deepened overnight, and you were hunched in on yourself, guarding your stomach that he knew was covered in bruises. Even with your disheveled appearance, you were still beautiful to him.

"Why?"

"Because I…" You took a shaky breath. "I know it probably won't come to anything. I mean, he's rich. His dad’s a lawyer. They'd probably just say I faked it or that I'm crazy. And it’s not like I have the money to press charges. But… I don't know. I’ve been taking pictures of everything and sending it to myself. Just in case."

Gator’s heart ached at the defeat in your tone. You weren't even doing this because you thought justice was possible. You were doing it because you were terrified, and it was the only lifeline you could think to throw yourself.

"Can I see?" he asked softly.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the phone case. "Gator, you don't need to -“

"I need to," he cut you off gently. "Please."

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. Whatever you saw there must have reassured you, because you slowly unlocked the phone and navigated to the account. You held it out to him, hand trembling.

Gator took it. The screen was bright, illuminating a folder simply labeled "reports." Probably in case Caleb did find it. It’d look like schoolwork.

He opened it, and his heart sank.

There were dozens of photos. Hundreds, maybe. Scrolling back, the dates went all the way to late October. Not long after you met him.

At first, they were small injuries. A bruise on your upper arm that looked like a grip. A scratch on your neck. Gator felt a spark of anger, but it was manageable.

But as he scrolled forward through the months, the horror escalated.

There was a picture of your bare back from early December - right before you came home for winter break - covered in welts that looked like they came from a belt and the imprint of a boot. A photo of your knee, swollen and purple, taken right after you must’ve gotten back to school in January. A black eye in February, partially hidden by makeup that you’d tried to wipe away for the photo.

And then, there were the ones that made him even more sick - somehow.

A photo of your inner thigh, stained with a bruise the size of a grapefruit, and a similar one on your naked hip. A close-up of another cigarette burn on your ribs. A picture of your wrist, handcuffed to a bedpost, the skin raw and rubbed bleeding, as if Caleb had neglected to free you after… He couldn’t bear to think about it.

Every image was timestamped and dated. Some days had multiple entries.

October 20th. November 8th. December 12th. January 2nd.

It was a campaign of terror. A systematic destruction of a human being, documented in cold, high-definition detail. Gator stopped scrolling. He felt sick and couldn't take any more. His hands were shaking so badly he thought he might drop the phone.

"He did all this?" he whispered, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

You were sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, picking at a loose thread on the duvet. You wouldn't look at him. "It probably looks worse than it was," you mumbled.

Gator’s head snapped up. "’Scuse me?"

"I mean… It looks bad in photos," you said, your voice rushing now, defensive. "But… you know how bruises are. They bloom. They look purple and huge, but then they fade in a few days. And I… I bruise easier than most people. Always have."

Gator stared at you, dumbfounded. “He beat you with a belt, sweetheart. It looked like he fuckin’ kicked you in another one.”

"He’d had a really long week," you said, your eyes pleading with him to understand. "He had school, and was helping his dad’s firm with handling a huge merger. A-and he wasn't sleeping. He was just stressed. And I was… I was being annoying. I kept asking him about dinner when he was trying to work. I shouldn’t have gotten in his way.”

“In the way of what? Him playin’ Indiana Jones or doin’ karate in the livin’ room?”

"It was an accident."

“What about your leg? When’d he do that?”

“I -“ you hung your head. “I brought the wrong kind of beer back from the store. But he had every right to be angry - I mean, he’d texted me a picture and everything, I was just too stupid -“

"And the burns?" Gator tapped the now dark screen of the phone. "Those an accident too?"

You shuddered slightly, looking down at your hands. "He was drunk. He didn't mean to. He gets… Impulsive when he drinks. But he’s usually really careful. He’s actually… Really sweet most of the time."

“Sweet?”

Gator wanted to scream. You were sitting here, cataloging your own abuse like it was a weather report, making half-baked excuses for a man who had branded you like livestock and beaten you until your skin was more purple than it’s normal shade.

Desperate to keep himself from imploding with rage right there, he lowered his voice, fighting to keep it even. "He put his initial on your skin. That ain't 'impulsive.' That's -“

"He said he was sorry!" you cried out, tears welling in your eyes. It seemed like you’d already convinced yourself that every word out of your mouth was the truth. “I mean, he literally cried, Gator. He held me and told me he’d never do it again. And…. And that he loves me so much it scares him sometimes. That’s why he gets so jealous. Because he loves me."

Gator set the phone down onto the nightstand. "Love isn't s’posed to hurt you! Love isn't practically puttin’ you in the hospital because you forgot to buy the right brand of fuckin’ beer!"

"I know," you sobbed, practically folding in on yourself. “I know, okay? I know it sounds crazy. But… I feel like I’m always making it worse. If I just… if I was better at reading him, or if I didn't nag him so much, or if I didn't make him jealous…"

You looked up at him, your face crumpled. "Fuck, I’m sorry, Gator. I was so dramatic last night. I probably made it sound like… Like he beats me every day. He doesn't, I swear. Most days, we’re fine. Like we go out, have dinner, watch movies. He’s funny and charming. A-and everyone loves him. You just… Don't get it."

Gator felt like he’d been hollowed out like a jack-o-lantern on halloween. Carved and gutted completely from the inside out. He didn't get it? He was the one looking at a photo gallery of your suffering while you sat there apologizing for the inconvenience of your own pain and the actions of another.

"I do get it," Gator said, trembling with suppressed rage. "I get that he’s brainwashed you. I get that he’s made you feel like you’re lucky he hasn't killed you yet."

He leaned forward, grabbing your hands lightly and forcing you to look at him. “But I need you to listen to you. You’re not dramatic or annoyin’ or anythin'. It’s not your fault. He’s doin’ this because he’s a bad fuckin’ person, and like he needs to hurt you to feel like a man."

You tried to pull your hands away, but he held on tight. "Gator, stop -“

"No," he interrupted. "I ain't stopping. Not about this. I’m gonna say this until you actually hear me. You are the best person I know. You’re smart and kind and beautiful, and you deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the goddamn moon, got it? Not like you’re property he can jus’ mark up whenever he’s had a shitty day."

“I-I feel like I’m crazy though.” You were crying in earnest now, big, heaving sobs that shook your entire body. But Gator couldn’t stop. He needed you to hear him. To know that you weren’t alone in all this, even if you had been up till now. “Like I said, he’s not always like this -“

"You’re not crazy," he said fiercely. "We’re gonna get through this."

You slumped against him, burying your face in his shoulder. He held you, his chin resting on top of your head, fuming silently. He wanted to find Caleb, drag him out into the street, and put a bullet between his eyes. But he knew that wouldn't fix a damn thing. It wouldn't fix the part of you that still thought you deserved this. Hurting Caleb would only satisfy his rage temporarily. It wouldn’t do shit to heal your broken heart or battered soul. Honestly, more physical violence would probably only make it all worse.

The phone on the nightstand buzzed.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Gator stiffened. You pulled away, wiping your eyes as you reached for the phone, dismay etching itself across your features.

"Who is it?" Gator growled. He already knew the answer.

"It's him," you whispered, staring at the screen.

"Turn it off.”

"I… I can't," you stammered. "If I don't answer, he’ll make the drive over here. He’ll think something happened."

"Let him come," Gator snarled. "I’d love to have a word with him."

You flinched at the violence in his tone as your hands shook while picking up the phone. "Please, Gator. Just… Let me handle it." Gator watched over your shoulder as the messages flooded in, faster than any normal person should be able to send them.

Caleb: Good morning, beautiful.

Caleb: Did you sleep well?

Caleb: Missed waking up next to you.

Caleb: What are you doing today?

Caleb: Why aren't you answering?

Caleb: Hello?

Gator felt his blood pressure rising as he read. It started out so normal. The lure before the trap snapped shut.

"Tell him you're busy."

"I can't," you said, your fingers hovering over the screen. "He’ll want to know what I'm doing. Who I'm with."

"Tell him you're with your mom," Gator suggested.

"He probably thinks my mom’s at work," you said weakly.

Another text popped up.

Caleb: Are you ignoring me?

Caleb: You know I hate when you ignore me.

Caleb: I’m starting to get worried, baby.

Caleb: Are you alone?

There it was. The shift. The subtle slide from concern to accusation.

“Does he think you're cheatin’ or somethin’?”

“Probably.” You hung your head.

“Just, I dunno, tell him you're at the gym," Gator said, trying to keep his voice level.

"He tracks my location," you said, the confession tumbling out in a rush. "He checks it all the time to make sure I'm where I say I am."

Gator stared at you. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

"He tracks you?" he choked out.

“It's for safety," you replied quickly. “In case something happens to me. Campus can be a lot. He just… He cares."

"He doesn't care," Gator snapped, grabbing the phone from your hand. "He’s controlling you."

"Gator, give it back!"

"He’s not gonna know," Gator said, his eyes scanning the screen. "Where does he think you are right now?"

"Home," you said. “He knows I’m staying with my parents while I’m here.”

"Then we need to make sure that's where your phone says it is," Gator said, navigating to the settings, his thumbs flying. "I'm turnin’ off this location sharing bullshit.”

"No!" You cried out, reaching for it. "He’ll notice! He’ll know I turned it off!"

"And then what?" Gator challenged, holding the phone just out of your reach. "He’ll come here? That what you're afraid of?"

"Yes," you sobbed. "He’ll hurt you, Gator. I know he will."

“Better me than you.”

You stared at him, eyes wide with fear. Not entirely just for yourself, but for him. It broke his heart all over again. All you’d suffered at Caleb’s hands, and you were terrified for him. You were protecting your abuser from the consequences of his own actions.

"Gator, please," you begged. "Just give me the phone. I’ll answer him. I’ll tell him I was in the shower. Just… I can’t make him mad."

Gator looked at the phone in his hand, then at you. You were trembling, your eyes pleading. You looked so small. So defeated. He wanted to break the phone. Throw it against the wall and shatter it into a thousand pieces do that piece of shit couldn’t get to you again. To once and for all cut the cord that tethered you to this monster.

But he knew that wasn't the way. Not yet.

With a heavy sigh, he handed the phone back to you. You snatched it away, relief palpable. You quickly typed out a response as Gator watched through narrowed eyes.

You: Sorry, baby. Was in the shower. Just got out.

Caleb: Took you long enough.

Caleb: What are your plans for the day?

You: Catching up on reading. Probably making dinner with my parents later. Just hanging around the house today mostly.

Caleb: Alone?

You: Yeah, none of my friends are in town for the summer.

Caleb: None of them?

You: No.

Caleb: Send me a pic.

Caleb: Right now.

Caleb: No towel.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, and you hung your head. Caleb's unspoken message of "prove you're alone" hung in the hair. Carefully, you got out of bed to head into the bathroom. Gator watched you go, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He heard you turn on the shower to quickly fog up the mirror.

As the door clicked shut, he let out a grunt of frustration, punching the mattress. He felt so helpless. So useless. He was standing by, watching you jump through hoops for a man who had branded you like a cow, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it without risking your safety.

He heard the camera shutter click from the bathroom. A few moments later, you came out, eyes red-rimmed as you pulled the towel off your head that hid your dry and tangled hair.

"Did it work?" he asked.

You shrugged, refusing to show him the screen before you hit send. “We’ll see I guess.”

Your phone began buzzing less than twenty seconds later.

Caleb: You look tired.

Caleb: Did you not sleep well?

God, Gator needed to fucking kill this guy.

You: I slept okay. The drive yesterday was long, and I haven’t had coffee yet.

Caleb: Don’t drink too much - you know how that shit makes you all jittery.

Caleb: I love you. You know that, right?

Caleb: I just want to make sure you're safe.

Caleb: I’ll come check on you if I need to, baby. Don’t make me do that, okay?

Gator read the messages over your shoulder, his blood boiling. "He’s threatenin’ you. That’s a threat."

“He says he -“

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t love you, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at,” Gator forcefully softened his voice. “This is abuse. Pure an’ simple."

"I know," you sobbed, collapsing back onto the pillows and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. "But I don't know how to stop it. Or leave."

Gator maneuvered slightly to wrap his arms around you, holding you tight. He certainly didn't have the answers. He didn't know how to dismantle the psychological cage Caleb had built around you. But he knew one thing. He wasn’t going anywhere.

"We'll figure it out," he promised you, his voice fierce. "I’m not lettin’ you go back there or do this shit alone, okay? We’re gonna find a way to stop him. Together."

But even as he said the words, he felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Because looking at the messages on your screen, seeing the way your “boyfriend” manipulated you with kindness and cruelty in equal measure, he knew Caleb was playing for keeps.

The silence that followed the text exchange was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the occasional sniffle from you as you wiped at your face. Gator watched you for a moment, taking in the defeated slump of your shoulders and the way you were shivering despite the warmth of the room. He felt a sudden, sharp urge to do something normal. Something domestic. Anything to wipe the terrified, hunted look off your face.

"Come on," he said, his voice gruff but still soft. "Let's get some food in you."

You looked up at him, blinking in confusion. "I'm not hungry."

Gator was already heading for the bedroom door. "You haven't eaten anythin’ real since yesterday."

He didn't give you any further chance to argue. He marched downstairs, boots heavy on the hardwood, and headed straight for the kitchen. It was a nice one, cleaner and brighter than the one at his place by a mile - with lots of fun mugs, a variety of pans, and enough silverware to lend to an army.

Gator wasn't a chef. He could barely manage a can of soup without burning it. But surely he could scramble eggs and make you some toast with that strawberry jam you liked. He’d always teased you growing up because you refused to eat grape jelly. You insisted that strawberry was superior - even though Gator argued with equal fervor that all jellies and jams tasted the same. Even when you’d made him try it he’d had zero reaction. At his young age, he’d never admit you were right. At his current age, he’d be more than happy to admit that the only jelly he’d ever had on his sandwiches or toast since that day was, in fact, strawberry.

Within a few minutes, he was standing over the stove, watching the eggs and keeping an eye on the bread in the toaster, when he heard your soft footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around, but he relaxed a bit, knowing you were there.

"You didn't have to do this," you said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. You looked a little better, like you’d washed your face and tamed your hair, but your eyes were still rimmed with red.

"I know," Gator grunted, sliding the eggs onto two plates before spreading a thick layer of jelly over the toasted bread. "But I'm also hungry. And I figure you could use the company."

You let out a small, sad huff of a laugh. "Company. Right."

He carried the plates to the small kitchen table, setting them down before he pulled a chair out for you, waiting until you sat before taking his own seat across from you. You looked almost surprised by the action.

"Eat," he commanded gently, pushing the plate toward you.

You picked up your fork, poking at the eggs. You took a small bite, chewing slowly. Gator watched you, relieved when you actually swallowed and went back for another bite. The toast was definitely a hit - but then again, you’d always had a bit of a sweet tooth.

"I'm really sorry, Gator,” you said suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gator looked up, frowning. "For what?"

"For…" You gestured vaguely. "For dragging you into this. You have your own life. You shouldn't have to deal with my… My mess."

He felt a flash of anger, not at you, but at the situation that made you feel like your trauma was an inconvenience. He opened his mouth to tell you that you were his best friend and there was absolutely no place else he’d rather be, but before he could get a word out, a sharp, trilling ringtone cut through the air.

You jumped, nearly knocking over your juice. Your phone, sitting face down on the counter, was vibrating violently, the screen lighting up with a name that made Gator’s blood run cold.

Caleb❤️

You stared at it, face draining of color. For a second, Gator thought you were going to let it ring out. But then, with a trembling hand, you reached for it.

"Answer it," Gator said, his voice low and dangerous. "Put him on speaker."

You looked at him, wide-eyed. "Gator, no -“

"Please put him on speaker," he repeated. "I wanna hear what he has to say."

You bit your lip, looking utterly terrified. But then you seemed to steel yourself, nodding slowly. You swiped the screen and tapped the speaker icon before setting the phone down on the table between you.

“H-hello?" you said, your voice trembling.

"Hey, baby," Caleb’s voice purred through the speaker. It was smooth, charming, utterly at odds with the text messages Gator had seen earlier. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good. Just eating breakfast.”

“No sugar, I hope?”

Your eyes fell to the toast that Gator has quite nearly smothered in jelly, face crumbling in shame. “Just eggs.”

“Atta girl. Can’t have you too heavy to throw around now, can I? I know how much you like it when I do that.”

A murderous rage coursed through Gator. He’d known that Caleb was clearly controlling what you were eating, but the rationale was almost too much to bear.

"I… Yeah," you managed to choke out. “Can’t have that.”

“Just trying to keep you sexy, baby,” Caleb said easily. “But I don’t have a lotta time - I just wanted to call and give you some good news."

You tensed, fork clattering against your plate. "What news?"

"The marketing firm," Caleb replied. "The one you’re doing the internship with? They called me this morning. They’re so excited to have you that they want to move up your start date.”

Gato froze, watching your face closely as the panic flare in your eyes.

"Move it up?" you repeated, your voice tight. "To when?"

“Next Monday," Caleb’s voice was far too cheerful "I know, it's soon, but it's a huge opportunity. They were impressed with your portfolio. They want you in there ASAP. Plus then we’d get to spend the summer together after all. We can even carpool, since my dad’s office is only a block away.”

Next Monday. That was five days away. Five days until you were back in the city, back in his orbit.

"I… I don't know if I can get everything sorted that fast," you stammered. “The apartment lease doesn’t start until-“

"Don't worry about that, babydoll,” Caleb cut you off. "I handled it. You know how stressed you get about logistics. I took care of it."

Gator’s jaw tightened. He took control of your logistics? What did that even mean?

“Oh?”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, babe’.”

“I- thank you," you whispered, sounding sick. “What, uh, how did you handle it, honey?”

“Remember the apartment downtown? The one we looked at last month?”

The apartment? Gator stared at you, his mind racing. What apartment? You hadn't mentioned living arrangements. Had you?

“They weren’t gonna have an opening till the fall, but they had someone break their lease early, so it's all ours," Caleb said, his voice swelling with pride. "I signed the paperwork this morning. It's perfect. Two bedrooms, a little balcony with a view - right between campus and the firm.”

Gator felt like he’d been punched in the gut. You were moving in together. You were planning on living with the man who had branded, beaten you, and terrified you into submitting to his every whim.

And you hadn't told him. You hadn't said a single word about it.

"That… that sounds amazing, Caleb," you said, your voice hollow. "I'm… I'm really happy. But I, uh, I don’t think my salary with the internship… I can’t afford -“

“Baby, don’t worry. I told you I was gonna take care of you. And I always keep my promises, don’t I?”

You looked utterly bereft as the pieces fell into place for Gator. If Caleb paid your rent, no doubt you’d feel indebted to him. And Gator knew that Caleb would collect what he felt he was owed, whether you wanted it or not.

“I don’t want to impose like that, Caleb. Let me -“

“It’s not imposing if I’m doing this because I love you.”

Gator wondered how many times Caleb had said those exact words before coming at you with a belt, or forcing himself on you. How many occasions had he weaponized your soft heart against you with words that meant nothing when they preceded violence.

“Your name’ll still be on the lease though, if that makes you feel better.”

Great, so you’ll still be tied to him from a legal standpoint.

“I’ll email the paperwork later. Unless you wanna come back a few days earlier -“

"No!" You blurted out, a little too loudly. Gator saw you flinch at your own outburst. "I mean… My mom is… she's not feeling well. I just wanted a few more days with her, if that’s okay.”

"Sure, sure," Caleb said, though he didn't sound convinced. "I'll email them. Just make sure you sign them and get them back to me by tomorrow so we can finalize everything. We need to start looking at furniture too. I was thinking a grey sectional for the living room? Something modern."

"Grey sounds… Nice," you whispered.

"And baby?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Caleb said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. "You know that, right? I’m doing all of this for us. For our future. I just want to make you happy."

"I know," you managed to choke out. "I love you too."

"Okay. I'll talk to you tonight. Call me if you need anything before then, okay? I'm always here for you."

“I will. Bye.”

The line went dead.

You stared at the phone, frozen, your hand still resting on the device.

Gator didn't speak. He couldn't. He was too angry. He watched you, waiting for an explanation, for some sign that this was a mistake, that you were being forced into this. But you just sat there, staring at the black screen of your phone, looking like you’d seen a ghost.

"You're movin’ in with him?”

You didn't look up. "I… Yeah."

"When were you plannin’ on telling me?" Gator’s fragile temper was starting to fray.

You jumped at the sharpness in his tone, but you still didn't look at him. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"Worry me?" Gator let out a harsh laugh. "You're moving in with the man who put a cigarette burn on your chest, and you didn't want to worry me?"

“I told you he’s not always like that!" you cried out, finally looking up at him. Your eyes were swimming with tears. "You don't see the good parts. You only see the… The bad stuff. And that’s my fault. I showed you all that. He can be a good person.”

Gator had to resist slamming his hand down violently on the table in anger. “I don’t care if he’s fuckin’ Mother Teresa, sweetheart. He branded you! He beat you so hard you probably thought you were gonna die! How is there anythin’ good left after that?"

“He loves me!"

“How?”

Your voice rose so that both of you were yelling now. “Because he says he does!”

“Sure doesn’t fuckin’ show it now, does he?”

“H-he got me this internship! Found us a place to live! He takes care of me!"

“That’s still not love!” Gator shouted back. "He’s buying your silence with a pretty apartment and a job title!"

“Yes it is,” you insisted. “He wants to build a life with me."

"A life?" Gator scoffed. "You call this a life? Lookin’ over your shoulder every five seconds? Takin’ pictures of your bruises for a restrainin’ order we both know you’re never gonna file?”

Your expression shattered like glass at Gator's harsh words, and you collapsed back in your chair, the fight draining out of you as quickly as it had come. You buried your face in your hands, a broken sob escaping your throat. Gator felt the rage drain out of him, replaced by a crushing wave of helplessness. He looked at you, huddled over your plate of cold eggs, and realized with a sickening clarity that you weren't just scared of Caleb. You were well and truly trapped. And you didn't know how to get out.

“I- feel like I'm drowning, G-Gator. Like I'm never gonna get away from him."

"You are gonna get away," he said, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I’m here. We’ll figure this out."

"How?" you asked, looking up at him, desperation in your eyes. "He's… he's weaving himself into every part of my life. If I leave now, I lose the internship. Housing. His dad is a huge donor at our university, so probably that too. Just.. Everything."

Gator looked at you, his heart breaking all over again. You were exhausted. Beaten down in every sense of the word. And you were right. Caleb had backed you into a corner so tight there was barely room to breathe.

"We start with the lease," Gator said slowly, his mind racing. “Don’t sign it yet.”

"And then what?" you asked, tears streaming down your face. “If I don’t, he’ll just come here and drag me back.”

“I’d like to see him try”, Gator growled.

"Gator, please," you begged. "You can't fight him with violence. He’ll destroy you. He has money and lawyers and shit. Powerful connections. He doesn’t git a shit that your dad’s the Sheriff. He has -“

"And I have a badge and a gun," Gator shot back. "And I know people too. Maybe not the kind he knows, but people who know how to make problems disappear."

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of bluff. But Gator wasn't bluffing. He would burn the world down before he let Caleb take you away again. Gator reached across the table and took your hands in his, squeezing them tight and trying to pour every ounce of strength he had into you.

"You’re gonna be safe,” he promised you. "I swear on my life."

But even as he said the words, he felt a cold dread settling in his stomach. Because looking at the defeated slump of your shoulders, and the resignation in your eyes, he knew that Caleb wasn't going to let you go without a fight.

After the breakfast disaster, Gator had practically carried you back upstairs. You were dead on your feet, swaying with every step, eyes glazed over from a mixture of crying, adrenaline crashes, and sheer exhaustion. He didn’t say much, just helped you back under the covers and pulled the duvet up to your chin. You were out before your head even hit the pillow, breathing shallow and fast, hand clutching the edge of the sheet like a lifeline.

Gator stood there for a long time, watching the rise and fall of your chest, practically counting the seconds until you woke up screaming again. He felt like a guard dog at a gate, useless until the threat actually breached the perimeter. He couldn’t just sit here. He couldn’t just wait for Caleb to text you again, or for you to wake up and decide that moving in with your abuser was the only logical choice.

He had to do something.

The Stark County Sheriff’s Department was surprisingly quiet for it being mid morning, just the hum of the vending machines and the smell of stale coffee that Gator hated but relied on. He headed straight for the detective's bullpen. He wasn't a detective, but he had clearance. From his father, technically. But still.

He settle at a computer in the corner and quickly punched in Caleb’s name, quickly falling into a rabbit hole of information.

Caleb’s father, Richard, was a senior partner at a huge law firm. Big corporate law. Defending the kind of people who dumped toxic waste in playgrounds and fired whistleblowers for "performance issues." The firm was squeaky clean on the surface - grant interviews, philanthropy galas, donations to the police benevolent fund.

But Gator wasn’t stupid. He knew how to read between the lines. Desperately, he started cross-referencing. Civil suits against the firm that had been quietly settled. Annoyances that had disappeared.

There was certainly a pattern.

A lawsuit from a construction union alleging unsafe working conditions at a site Richard’s firm represented. Settled out of court for an undisclosed sum two days before the plaintiff was found dead of a "drug overdose."

A zoning violation for a luxury condo development that should have been denied, but the city council member who opposed it suddenly changed their vote a week after their spouse was hired by a shell company linked to the firm.

It wasn't just lawyers who were good at their jobs. It was about two steps shy of racketeering, if Gator had to guess.

And then there was the mother, Eleanor. She sat on the boards of three charities that seemed to exist solely to launder money - as none of the funds in their full amounts seemed to actually make it to the charities.

Caleb himself? He didn't seem to have a direct hand in any of it. His public record was pristine - Dean’s List, internships, volunteer work. He was a golden child - the shiny facade designed to distract from the rot underneath. But if he was joining his dad’s firm certainly he had to know about some of it.

Saving everything to a thumb drive - which had to be a gross misuse of his badge - Gator pocketed it before printing everything. Page after page of civil suits, suspicious deaths, shell companies, and property records. It was a thick dossier by the time he was done. It wasn't a smoking gun for a murder charge, but it was enough to bury the firm in federal investigations. IRS, FBI, DOJ - if this file landed on the right desk, Caleb’s family wouldn't just be ruined. They’d be destitute and likely in prison.

And if Caleb was hoping to follow in his father's footsteps? A federal indictment on the family business would ensure he never passed the bar or practice law in any state.

Gator glanced at the clock.

A drive to the city would take just under three hours.

Gator drove with the windows down, letting the wind whip his face, trying to cool the fire raging in his blood. Was this is best and brightest idea? Absolutely not. But he wasn't just doing this for you. He was doing it for every woman who’d ever been silenced by a man with a checkbook. He was doing it for his mother. For Nadine.

He parked his truck a few blocks away from the sleek glass tower that housed the law firm. His boots echoed on the marble floor of the lobby as he entered, looking incredibly out of place. Maybe he was just a dirty, hick cop. The receptionist was a polished woman in a blazer who looked at him like he was something she’d scrape off her shoe.

“Do you have an appointment, sir?”

Gator leaned against the counter, trying to act natural. “I’m here to talk to Caleb.”

“Last name?”

“He’ll see me.”

“Last name please, sir.”

Gator’s eyes grew cold. “Tell him I'm here about the property dispute. Had a sudden issue come up with zoning for the new development. No time to to make an appointment, ma’am.”

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone. She murmured something into it, listened, and then hung up. "Third elevator on the left. Floor 12."

Gator nodded and walked away. He didn't wait for the elevator to close before he started bouncing on the balls of his heels, his hand hovering near his holster.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Floor 12 was just as fancy as the lobby - plush chairs, abstract art, and the faint smell of lemon polish.

Gator didn't knock once he spotted the door with Caleb’s name on it. He just pushed it open and stepped inside.

Caleb was sitting behind a desk that was too large for him, staring at a computer screen. He glanced up, startled, his fake smile faltering when he saw Gator standing there.

“Gator, right?”

All Gator could offer him was a curt nod. Caleb’s hands - the same hands that had caused you so much harm - settled on the armrests of his chair, pushing him up to a standing position.

“Long time no see. Can I help you?" Caleb asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Hope so.” Gator replied, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Caleb’s eyes flicked to the lock, then back to Gator. His polite veneer vanished, replaced by a look of cold rage. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just think we need to have a serious talk," Gator said, walking further into the room. He didn't sit. He just stood there, looming over the desk.

"About what, exactly?”

“Don’t play fuckin’ stupid with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of that joy.”

Gator slammed his hand down on the desk, cutting him off. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room. “Tell me - does knockin’ her around make you feel like some big, tough guy?”

Caleb’s face hardened, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why’re you asking? Statistically, cops are far more likely to beat their partners than, oh, let's just say, lawyers.”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t answer to you.” Caleb ran a hand through his hair, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And I don't know what my girlfriend been telling you, but she has a very theatrical nature. She's prone to… Exaggeration. We’re working on it.”

"Exaggeration," Gator scoffed. "Is that what you call a cigarette burn on her chest? All the bruises all over her body?”

Caleb’s jaw tightened.

"You’re hurting her."

Caleb stood up slowly. He wasn't quite as tall as Gator, but he had that lean strength of someone who worked out just to maintain an image. He walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away.

“So why have you seen so much of her skin?” Caleb asked, his voice silky and repulsive. "Huh? You playing hero for the damsel in distress? She tell you all about how mean I am while you were comforting her? Did she show you the bruises while you were playing house? Make you feel sorry for her so you’d give her a pity fuck?”

Gator saw red. He took a step forward, invading Caleb’s personal space. "You watch your mouth."

"Or what?" Caleb challenged, his eyes flashing with arrogance. "You'll hit me? Just like I allegedly ‘hit' her? Is that your plan? Prove you're just as much of a monster as you claim I am?"

"I'm not the one who beats her all the fuckin’ time,” Gator snarled, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth but needing to be said. "I'm not the one who dragged her out to a field and raped her till she bled just because I was mad she got breakfast with an old friend.”

Caleb’s face went completely blank. It was like a switch flipped. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating look. “Don’t say that word.”

“What, rape?”

"I never raped her. We’d had a bit of an argument, but everything was entirely consensual. She likes it rough.”

"Bullshit," Gator spat. "She told me everything.”

Caleb let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh everything, huh? She told you that I forced her? God, she's pathetic. She'll say anything to get attention. Garner a bit of sympathy. You should know that - didn’t the two of you grow up together?”

"She's not the one with a file three inches thick on her father's illegal dealings," Gator said softly.

Caleb froze. “Pardon?”

Gator reached into his jacket and pulled out the thick stack of papers he’d printed off at the station. He dropped them onto the desk between them. They landed with a heavy thud, scattering slightly.

"What’s this?" Caleb asked, staring at the documents. He didn't touch them, as if they were a bomb.

"Open it," Gator commanded. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Caleb hesitated, his eyes darting to the door, then back to Gator. He reached out with a trembling hand and flipped the cover page.

He froze, face going white as a sheet. The blood drained out of him so fast Gator thought he might pass out.

"This… This is a mistake," Caleb stammered, his voice rising in panic as he flipped through the pages. "These are old cases. Settled. Dismissed."

"Maybe," Gator said, leaning against the desk, watching the fear take over. "But the pattern is clear. Bribery. Extortion. Money launderin’. Your daddy’s firm isn't just a law firm, Caleb. It's practically a fuckin’ crime syndicate."

Caleb dropped the file as if it burned him. "You can't prove any of this."

“Uh, looks like I can though," Gator said, his voice deadly quiet. “Just gotta hand this over to the right people. The FBI. The DOJ. Once they start digging, they ain't gonna stop at your daddy. They’re gonna look at everyone.”

Caleb had gone from cool and collected to utterly unhinged in a matter of moments, and Gator’s stomach lurched at the thought of how many times you’d seen this exact version him. "Why’re you doing this? What the fuck do you want?"

“I want you to never speak to her again.” Gator’s voice was low, threatening. “Cancel that lease, never text her again, and pray to God she doesn’t press charges with the amount of evidence she has.”

Caleb stared at him, his chest heaving. For a second, Gator thought he was going to lunge. Instead, he let out a harsh, ragged laugh.

“You a fan of damaged goods, Tillman?” Caleb spat, pointing a finger at Gator. “You think that blackmailing my whole fucking family for some lying slut is really the best move here?”

“Yeah, I do actually. And if you ever call her that again - I won't just send this file to the Feds. I'll post it online. I'll send it to every news station in the tristate area. I'll make sure your family name is mud before the sun goes down."

Caleb stood there, trembling with rage and fear. He looked at the file, then at Gator.

"Get. Out." Caleb whispered, his voice shaking with impotent fury.

"Gladly," Gator said, turning toward the door. "Oh, and Caleb?"

Caleb looked up, his face a mask of hate.

"If you ever come near her again," Gator said, his hand resting on the doorknob. "You won't have to worry about the Feds. You'll have to worry about me."

Gator didn't feel victorious as he left. He didn't feel relief. He just felt a cold, hard satisfaction. He’d drawn a line in the sand. And now, he just had to hope Caleb was smart enough to step back from it before he got himself - or worse, you - killed.

The three hours back to Stark County felt like it took far too long. Gator gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ached. He replayed the confrontation in his head, over and over. The look on Caleb’s face when he realized his daddy’s empire was on the line. The pure fear that was admittedly a bit intoxicating. It should have felt like a win. He’d protected you. He’d backed the monster into a corner.

So why did his gut feel like he’d swallowed a bucket of nails?

He was just crossing the county line, the familiar flat cornfields blurring past in the twilight, when his phone started buzzing in the cup holder. Gator glanced down. Your name lit up the screen. His heart skipped a beat.

He answered it immediately, putting it on speaker. "Hey. You awake?"

"Gator?"

Your voice was barely recognizable. It wasn't a whisper. It was a high-pitched, keening wail that sounded like it was being ripped out of your throat. The background noise was a chaotic mix of hyperventilating gasps and the sound of things crashing - like you were knocking stuff over in a blind panic.

"Whoa, whoa," Gator sat up straighter, his foot pressing down on the accelerator. "What’s wrong? What happened?"

"What did you do? Oh god, Gator, what did you do?"

Gator felt the blood drain from his face. "Caleb call you?"

“Of course he called me,” you sobbed, the words tumbling out so fast he could barely understand them. "He called me and he was screaming. He was so angry. He told me everything - said you came to his office and threatened him."

Gator closed his eyes for a split second, cursing under his breath. "Listen to me. I handled it. I told him to back off. He’s not gonna hurt you anymore."

"He’s already hurt me, Gator!" you cried out. "He said if I don’t come home right now - if I don't get in the car and drive back to the city tonight - he’s going to make sure the rest of my college years are a living hell. He said he’ll blacklist me. I’ll never work a job in the tri-state area. He knows so many people - I wouldn’t even be able to get a job at a coffee shop.”

The rage that had been simmering in Gator’s gut boiled over. It was one thing to threaten physical violence - that was animalistic, simple. But this? This was calculated. This was destroying your future, your career, everything you’d worked for. Maybe he should’ve thought through his blackmailing e little more before storming into Caleb’s high-rise office.

"He’s bluffin’,” Gator gritted out, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. "He’s just trying to scare you."

"He’s not bluffing!" You wailed. "He knows people, Gator! He said… He said I’m worthless, and need to be reminded of my place. Gator, he’s the only one who’s ever gonna want me."

Gator slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “That’s not true, sweetheart. I’m gonna kill him. I swear to god, I’m gonna put him in the ground."

“I have to get back or he’s gonna come here.”

Gator’s stomach turned over. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“I can’t g-go back there but I have to. Otherwise he said he’ll use me until I can’t walk. He’s going to destroy my life.”

"He’s not going to do any of that," Gator said, his voice deadly calm, hiding the fact that he was trembling with rage. "Because you aren’t going back there."

“I-I have to.”

Gator thought back to your injuries. To the cold stare and simmering threat of violence in Caleb’s eyes back at the office. He slowly forced the red haze back from his vision. He couldn't lose it. Not now. You were falling apart, and if he lost control, he’d be no use to you. But if you left, he was certain that Caleb would kill you.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, steady cadence. "I want you to pack your bags.”

"What?" you sniffled.

"You heard me. Pack whatever you need for a few days. Turn off that location services bullshit. You’re not stayin’ at your parents' house anymore.’

"Where am I gonna go? Caleb can check all the motels -“

“Old hunting lodge a few hours north,” Gator said firmly. “It ain’t much, but it’s isolated and it’s got about seven deadbolts. And I’ve got my gun."

You were quiet for a moment, the only sound being your ragged breathing. "He said he’ll come for me.”

"Let him come," Gator growled. “We’ll be miles away within the hour. And honestly I’m prayin’ he shows his face at my door. Gimme a chance to put a bullet between his eyes.”

"Gator…"

"I’m serious," he said. "He’s trying to intimidate you. Don't let him win."

"He’s not just intimidating me," you whispered. "He’s threatening my career. My future."

"We’ll deal with that," Gator said. "I have enough evidence that if he tries to blacklist you, I’ll go to the Feds myself. I’d burn his entire family to the ground before I let him ruin you."

You were crying again, soft, hopeless sobs. "I’m such a fucking mess. dragging you into this. You’re going to get hurt because of me."

"I’m not gonna get hurt," Gator promised you. "And you’re not draggin’ me into anything. I walked into this with my eyes open. I’m the one who went to his office and pushed him when I probably shouldn’tve. This is on me."

Though it did little good now, he hated himself for it. It was suppose to help you, but he’d managed to fuck it up again. He’d provoked the bear, and now you were the one feeling the claws. Gator had been so focused on being the hero, on winning the battle, that he’d barely stopped to think about the fallout.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, the words tasting like ash. "I’m so fuckin’ sorry’. I thought I could scare him off. I didn't think he’d…"

"It’s not your fault," you said, echoing his own words from earlier. "He’s… A lot, I guess.”

"Yeah, he is," Gator agreed. "And we’re gonna stop him. But first, we gotta keep you safe. Pack that bag. I’m almost there. Ten minutes.”

"Okay," you breathed out. "Okay. I’ll be ready."

"Good girl," Gator said, heart aching at the relief in your voice. "I’ll be there soon. Don't open the door for anyone but me."

"I won't."

Gator hung up the phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor, the engine roaring as the truck sped down the dark highway.

He was furious. At Caleb. At himself. At the world that allowed men like Roy and Caleb to exist while good people like you and his mom got thrown around and beaten till they could barely walk. It was stupid, thinking he could handle this. He’d thought a few threats and a file folder would be enough to make Caleb back down. But he’d underestimated his cruelty.

And he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

He was going to protect you. Take some time off so he could keep you safe that old hunting cabin and watch over you 24/7. Make sure you slept and ate and got a chance to actually catch your breath without Caleb around to knock the air from your lungs.

But most importantly, he was going to figure out a way to end this. For good.

Even if it meant doing something that couldn't be undone. Even if it meant crossing a line he’d sworn he’d never cross. He’d burn the world down before he let Caleb hurt you again. And this time, he wouldn't just threaten to do it.

The remaining drive back to your house took five minutes, but it felt like an hour. Gator parked his truck at the curb, killing the engine and sitting in the dark for a moment, collecting himself. Unlike how he was normally, he had to be the calm and steady one this time. He couldn't storm in there like a tornado, not with your parents inside, oblivious to the war zone their daughter was currently living in.

He walked up the path, the gravel crunching under his boots, and knocked on the door. It was answered almost immediately by your mother. She was smiling, holding a glass of wine, looking relaxed in a way that made Gator's stomach churn. It wasn’t fair, how oblivious she was. But at the same time, he didn’t want to break that illusion. Wasn’t his to break anyway.

"Gator!" She exclaimed. "What a nice surprise. We weren't expecting you. Look at you, you’ve gotten so tall and handsome.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Gator managed a tight smile, tucking his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. "Just… Swung by to, uh, I - thought we’d go for a drive. Catch up."

"Oh, that's lovely," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "She's in her room. She's been a bit quiet tonight, and I think she's coming down with something. But fresh air will do her good."

"Yeah," Gator nodded. "Fresh air."

He didn't linger. He didn't want to chat about the weather or your mom’s garden or how his father was doing. He just wanted to get you out of here. After a few more surface-level pleasantries, he kicked off his boots and headed up the stairs, footsteps silent on the carpet. He could hear you before he even reached the door. The frantic pacing. The shallow, ragged breathing.

He pushed the door open without knocking.

You were in the middle of the room, walking a tight line between your bed and the window, clutching a duffel bag so hard your knuckles were certain to split open if you kept it up. You spun around when the door opened, your eyes wide and wild.

"You came," you breathed out, looking like you weren't sure whether to run to him or bolt out the window.

"Told you I would," Gator said softly, closing the door behind him. "You packed?"

You nodded, holding up the bag. "I… I didn't know what to bring. I just grabbed... Stuff."

"It's fine," Gator assured you, stepping further into the room. "We can get whatever else you need later."

"We have to go," you whispered, casting a nervous glance at the window, as if Caleb might be scaling the trellis at any second. “He’s gonna show up. I just know it. And my parents love him. They -“

"He’s not comin’ here," Gator said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Not tonight."

"You don't know that," you argued, your voice rising in panic. "He’s crazy, Gator. He’s… Unpredictable."

"That's why we're leavin’,” Gator said, reaching out to take the bag from your hands, but you flinched, pulling away sharply.

Gator froze. The hurt hit him like you’d punched him in the stomach, but he forced himself to breathe through it. He couldn't take it personally. You were in survival mode. Everyone was a threat right now. Even him.

"Okay," he said, holding his hands up, palms out. "Okay. Let's just… Get on out to my truck, alright? We can talk at the cabin.”

“Cabin?”

“My old man uses it during the winter for huntin' sometimes. It ain’t much, but it’s off the grid.”

You stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. Finally, you nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Following Gator downstairs, you said a quick goodbye to your parents, telling them you'd be back late, maybe tomorrow. They didn't seem to notice the duffle bag, or that you were trembling so hard you could barely walk, or that your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying. They just waved you off, assuming their daughter was safe with her childhood friend. Gator hated them a little bit in that moment. How could they could sit in their living room, drinking wine and watching TV, while you were running for your life?

He got you into the truck, locking the doors as soon as you were inside. He didn't speed - he didn't want to get pulled over and have to explain the whole situation to one of his coworkers - but he drove fast enough to get to the cabin before midnight.

To Gator’s surprise, it seemed as though Roy had done a bit of upgrading since he’d been there last. It was still a single-level, two-bedroom cabin with far too many hunting trophies on the walls. But the AC and heater worked, the kitchen was functional, and there was even a small TV in the living room equipped to play one of maybe eight or so different VHS tapes. It truly wasn’t much, but you’d be safe here.

The silence inside, however, was deafening. You sat on the edge of the plaid couch, bag clutched in your lap, rocking back and forth slightly. Gator sat on the coffee table in front of you, not sure what to do with his hands.

"We need a plan," he said finally, breaking the silence.

"I know," you whispered, staring at your knees as if you couldn’t bear to make eye contact with him.

"You can't go back there," Gator said, his voice firm. "Not to your parents’ place, or campus.”

"I know," you repeated.

"So we figure out an alternative," Gator continued. “Online classes. Transferrin’ to somewhere far away. Somewhere he won't think to look."

You finally looked up at him then, eyes swimming with fear. "Leave? You mean… Leave school?"

“I mean, yeah.”

“But all my credits, I - for how long?”

“Just a semester," Gator said quickly. “Two at the most. Till things cool down and we figure out how to really deal with him."

"I can't just transfer," you said, shaking your head frantically. "I have scholarships. I have credits… I can't just throw that away."

"It’s not throwin’ it away if it keeps you alive," Gator argued.

"I can't run away," you insisted, your voice rising in distress. "If I run, he wins. He gets to control my life. He gets to dictate where I go and what I do."

"He already does that!" Gator snapped, losing his temper for a split second before catching himself. He took a deep breath, forcing the volume down. “I’m sorry. He - he’s already controllin’ you, baby. He’s tryin’ to get you to stay in a city and at a school where he’s got access to hurt you. You leave, an’ you take that power away."

You were quiet for a moment, lower lip trembling. The thought of running his thumb gently across it, maybe kissing it so that the shaking stopped, crossed Gator’s mind - unbidden. Not the fucking time, Tillman.

"And then what am I supposed to do while I miss all that school? I stay here? With you?"

"If that's what it takes," Gator replied. "I don't care. I just want you safe. However that has to happen.”

You stared at him, and for the first time since he’d met you, you looked at him with something other than trust. You looked at him with suspicion. With fear.

"Is that what this is?" you asked, your voice barely audible. "You… Controlling me?"

Gator felt like he’d been slapped. “Woah - what?"

"You're telling me to leave school," you said, voice gaining strength. “To transfer or run away. So I can come live with you. Are you trying to decide what I can and can't do?”

“I- absolutely not. I’m tryin’ to protect you!" Gator defended himself.

"I know!" you cried out. "I know you are. Logically. But… That’s what Caleb said. Every time - h-he said he was keeping me safe. Doing what was best for me.”

The comparison hung in the air between you, toxic and devastating.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darlin’. I ain't him," Gator said, his voice low and rough. “I’d never lay a fuckin’ finger on you. And I’m not tryin’ to own you."

"I know you're not," you said, tears spilling over your cheeks. "But… Gator, I’m scared."

"Of Caleb?"

"Of you," you whispered.

Gator stared at you, his heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. Obviously some trust issues would arise, given everything. But it still hurt. "Me? Why the hell would you be scared of me?"

"Because you’re doing the same thing. What if I get stuck making the same mistakes over and over again?” Your voice cracked. "You’re deciding my life for me. Telling me where to go, what to do. And you think you know what's best for me. And maybe you do. Hell, you probably do. But… what happens when I disagree? What happens when I want to do something you don't think is safe?"

Gator opened his mouth to argue, to tell you that he would never hurt you, that he wasn't that kind of man. But the words died in his throat.

Because you were right.

Technically - even though he was trying to do it for your own good - he was, in a way, controlling you. He was dictating your moves. Using fear and urgency to make you do what he wanted. He was boxing you in, just like Caleb had, even if his reasons were noble.

And now you were sitting on his couch, utterly terrified, not just of the monster hunting you, but of the man trying to save you. You were traumatized in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand. Your trust had been eroded, layer by layer, until you couldn't distinguish between a savior and a jailer. The same thing had happened to his mom. To Nadine. He’d watched it happen, even if he didn’t fully grasp it.

"I don't want to end up in the same cycle," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I don't want to go from one man controlling me to another. Even if the second man is… You."

Gator felt sick. He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He wanted to scream, rage, grab you by the shoulders and repeat over and over again that he would lay down his life for you in a heartbeat. But he knew that would only prove your point. Just another man using force to get his way.

So he stood there, hands hanging uselessly at his sides, and let the crushing weight of your words settle over him.

"You're right," he said, his voice hollow as his eyes stung with unshed tears. "You're… I’m not - I mean, I’m tryin’ to manage the situation because I’m scared I’m gonna lose you. Terrified, actually. An’ I’m sorry. I didn't mean to… to be like him. I just… I love you. More than anythin’.“

You stilled, and Gator realized what he’d said.

He hadn't meant to say it. No, he just hadn't planned on saying it. But it was out there now. The truth he’d been carrying around for years, buried under layers of friendship.

"I-I love you," he repeated, a little louder. "And I don't know how to stand by and watch you get hurt without tryin’ to stop it, but I also don't wanna be your jailer. I wanna take care of you, but I don't want to be... Him.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. The tears stopped flowing, replaced by a look of stunned silence.

"You… Love me?" you whispered.

"Yeah," Gator let out a shaky breath. "I do.”

“Since when?”

“Probably since we were kids. Or like… Forever."

You looked down at your hands, your mind racing. "I… I didn't know."

"I know," Gator said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I didn't want to ruin, you know, us. And then… Then everythin’ happened with Caleb. And I just… I just want you safe. No matter who you’re with. And I don’t expect you do say it back or nothin’. But, I figure you deserved some honesty.”

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