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The Breaking Point
POV: Maya
I didn't even make it out of the driveway before the world dissolved.
My hands were shaking so violently I couldn't get the key into the ignition. The cold leather of the steering wheel felt like ice against my palms. I leaned my forehead against it, the horn letting out a tiny, pathetic beep that mirrored the state of my soul.
Six years.
I had given Ethan Vale two thousand, one hundred, and ninety days of my life. I had been his shadow, his therapist, his cheerleader, and his safety net. And in less than seventy-two hours, less time than it takes for milk to spoil, he had replaced the "love of his life" with a corporate lawyer who liked to ski.
He hadn't even waited for the salt to dry on my cheeks from the night he cried in my arms.
A sob ripped out of my throat, jagged and raw, sounding like something breaking deep inside a machine. Then came the next one. And the next. I couldn't catch my breath. The air in the car felt like it was being sucked out through the vents. My chest tightened, a phantom hand squeezing my lungs until my vision began to tunnel.
Inhale. I can’t. Exhale. There’s nothing left.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound on the glass was sharp. I didn't look up. I couldn't. I was drowning in an inch of water in my own driver’s seat.
The door suddenly swung open. The dome light flared, blindingly bright, and the scent of rain and tobacco flooded the small space.
"Maya. Look at me."
Cade. His voice was a low, heavy anchor.
I shook my head, my hair plastered to my damp face. I was a mess—snot, tears, and a six-year-old delusion finally shattering into a million pieces. I didn't want him to see this. I didn't want the "dangerous" brother to witness my final humiliation.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.
He didn't wait. He reached in, his large, calloused hand cupping my chin and forcing my head up. He was crouching in the dirt of the parking lot, his gray eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"Breathe with me," he said. He didn't sound sympathetic; he sounded like a commander on a battlefield. "In for four. Do it now."
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. I tried to follow, my breath hitching in a pathetic hiccup.
"Hold it. One, two, three, four. Now out. Slow. For four."
He counted me through it. Again and again. He didn't look away, and he didn't loosen his grip on my jaw. He was grounding me, tethering my frantic mind to the physical reality of his hand on my skin.
Gradually, the tunnel vision cleared. The oxygen returned, though it tasted bitter. My sobbing slowed to a jagged tremor.
"There," Cade murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear with a roughness that felt more honest than any of Ethan’s hugs. "You’re back."
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like I’d swallowed glass. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... you shouldn't be here."
"He showed you another girl," Cade said. It wasn't a question.
I nodded, the shame fresh and hot.
"And you smiled," he continued, his eyes darkening. "You looked at those photos, and you told him she was perfect for him."
I nodded again, a fresh sob threatening to break through.
"Fuck that," Cade growled. He stood up, the sheer height of him blocking out the porch lights of the main house. "Get out of the car."
"What? No, I’m fine. I’m going home…"
"You’re not driving like this. Your hands are still shaking, and you’re two seconds away from a relapse." He reached in, unbuckling my seatbelt with a decisive click. He didn't ask. He simply wrapped a hand around my arm and pulled me out.
He was gentle, but there was an immovable strength in him that made protest feel futile. He led me away from my car and toward the blacked-out beast of a truck parked in the shadows. He opened the passenger door and hoisted me into the high seat.
"I'm taking you somewhere," he said, slamming the door before I could argue.
He climbed into the driver’s side, the engine roaring to life with a predatory growl. He pulled out of the driveway, the Blackwood estate disappearing in the rearview mirror like a fading bad dream.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice small and exhausted.
"Anywhere but here," Cade said. He glanced at me, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. "And when we get there, Maya, you’re going to scream."
"I don't... I don't scream," I whispered.
"Yes, you do. You've been screaming internally for six years. It’s why you can’t breathe. It’s why you’re breaking." He reached over, his hand briefly covering mine on the center console. His touch was steady, warm, and utterly certain. "Tonight, you let it out. All the rage, all the pain, all the 'best friend' bullshit. You leave it on the dirt."
I looked out the window. For the first time in my life, I wasn't worried about what Ethan would think. I wasn't worried about being "family" or being "safe."
With Cade, I wasn't safe—not in the way I used to be. I was on a fault line. But as the truck sped toward the dark outline of the mountains, I realized something terrifying.
Cade Blackwood was the only person in the world who made me feel safe enough to finally break.
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