Chapter 2
Reginald had taut muscle and a ramrod-straight spine. Adelaide thought of him at Marshall's funeral again—standing perfectly upright, grief in his eyes, but he never shed a tear.
Marshall used to say he was special forces, a protector. That she shouldn't be afraid of him.
But the sheer intensity radiating off him was enough to make her knees weak just standing nearby.
All she managed was a quiet, "Thank you."
Reginald didn't seem to think anything of it. He handed her a gray T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, pointed toward the bathroom, then carried her suitcase upstairs to the guest room.
When she came up after her shower, the bed was made with gray sheets, creases sharp and even, the pillow pressed perfectly flat. Military precision.
A glass of warm water sat on the nightstand. Adelaide picked it up and took a sip. The temperature was perfect—soothing as it went down.
Her eyes stung suddenly. Frederick never remembered things like this.
He only remembered that Melissa couldn't drink anything cold. He rarely thought to prepare warm water for her too.
She set the glass back down and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing for a long time.
Her phone was still off. No messages. No calls. No exhausting explanations from Frederick.
She lay down. That night she tossed and turned for hours before sleep finally pulled her under.
The next morning, Reginald drove her to campus. His driving was steady, unhurried. Adelaide sat in the passenger seat watching unfamiliar streets roll by, then pulled out her phone and powered it on.
The instant it booted up, notification chimes fired off one after another—over a dozen, all from Frederick.
[Where'd you go?] — 11:23 PM.
[Pick up the phone.] — 00:15 AM.
[Melissa said she saw you leave with your suitcase. What's that supposed to mean?] — 1:02 AM.
[Adelaide, if you're throwing a tantrum over something this small, I think we both need to cool down.] — 1:47 AM.
Throwing a tantrum.
She closed her eyes.
In his mind, that's all this was—her being dramatic. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He didn't even think he'd done anything wrong.
She scrolled down.
[I'm outside your dorm. Are you here?] — 2:35 AM.
[It's raining. Where the hell are you?] — 3:10 AM.
Three in the morning, pouring rain, and he was standing outside her dorm waiting for her.
She pressed the phone face-down on her knee and stared at her competition manicure—the one Frederick had gone with her to get. He'd sat beside her and waited three hours.
She took a deep breath, flipped the phone over, and read the last message one more time.
Did this count as caring?
She didn't know.
The car stopped at the campus gate.
She pulled Reginald's T-shirt from her bag and placed it on the seat.
"Returning this."
"Keep it." His hand rested on the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead. "It's yours."
She blinked, then figured he was meticulous about everything—probably particular about hygiene. She tucked the shirt back into her bag.
"Then I'll buy you a new one."
She was pushing the door open when she heard him say her name. "Adelaide."
She turned. He looked at her, calm and steady. "I'm off duty for now. If something comes up, call me. Don't go running around in the middle of the night."
"Got it, Reginald." She nodded obediently—then noticed his grip tighten on the steering wheel, his gaze cooling a shade.
Was he... angry?
She didn't dare linger. She shut the door quickly.
Walking onto campus, her feet had a mind of their own. Instead of heading to the cheer squad's training facility, she found herself at the football team's stadium.
She stood outside the training center, peering through the glass doors.
Empty.
Then she remembered—the football team didn't have morning practice either.
"Adelaide!" Someone called from behind.
She turned.
Frederick stood by the entrance holding two cups of coffee.
Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. His hair was a mess. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, wrinkled beyond saving.
He walked over quickly. "Where were you? I looked for you all night."
Adelaide looked at him. Said nothing.
She braced for anger, for another lecture. But Frederick softened instead.
"Adelaide, about yesterday. Let's talk about it. For real."
He started explaining from the beginning, words tumbling out fast, as if terrified she'd cut him off.
"Melissa's allergic reaction was real. She's my sister. Isn't it normal for me to take care of her? I wasn't thinking anything beyond that."
"The lingerie on the couch—she said the fabric was too tight, she couldn't breathe, so she took it off. I really didn't think anything of it."
He held her gaze, eyes earnest. "It won't happen again, okay?"
It won't happen again.
What won't? Melissa coming to the apartment, or Melissa stripping in it?
She wanted to demand the truth—did he see Melissa as a sister, an ex, or some untouchable dream? But in the end, she let it go.
She saw the red veins in his eyes. He really hadn't slept.
Both coffees were cold—one Americano, one strawberry latte. The latte was for Melissa. But at least he'd remembered her Americano.
"You waited downstairs last night?" she asked.
He nodded, voice dropping low. "It was raining. I thought you'd come back."
"At three in the morning?"
"Yeah."
"Don't you have practice?"
"I gave the team the day off." He smiled awkwardly. "Figured if you didn't show, I'd go to the cheer squad and call in sick for you."
Adelaide took the Americano and sipped. "It's cold. Tastes bad."
He took the cup back, downed a large gulp himself, then laughed—relief flooding his face. "I'll get you a fresh one."
"Don't bother." She looked at him. "Next cheer competition, you have to be there."
"Absolutely!" He nodded vigorously.
"And one more thing." She clenched her fist at her side. "No more of her clothes in our closet."
He froze for a second, then nodded blankly. "No problem."
She turned and walked toward the cheer squad's training facility. Rookie tryouts were today. She couldn't miss them.
At the door, she glanced back and saw him toss the strawberry latte into the trash.
She exhaled slowly.
Fine. One more chance.
