Safe With You

Flashbulbs and School Runs

~ Alyssa ~

Mornings in our house are never quiet — but this one feels suspiciously smooth.

Hope’s happily babbling in her bouncer, Quinn and Poppy are actually dressed and ready, and Greyson… well, Greyson hasn’t spilled coffee down his shirt yet.

That alone feels like a small miracle.

He’s standing by the counter, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, looking too put together for a school run.

I sip my coffee and eye him over the rim of my mug. “You’re setting the bar too high for the other dads.”

He grins. “Good. I like to keep them nervous.”

Before I can reply, Quinn groans from the doorway. “Can you two stop being weird? We’re gonna be late.”

Poppy giggles. “They’re not weird. They’re in love.”

Quinn crosses her arms. “Still gross.”

Greyson scoops both girls into a hug. “You’re lucky I love you, tiny critics.”

Five minutes later, we’re all loaded into the car — Greyson driving, me in the passenger seat, Kelsi wedged in the back between the twins, helping them buckle their belts and arguing playfully over who gets to sit by the window.

Everything feels… right.

Normal.

Peaceful.

Until we turn the corner near the school.

And suddenly, it isn’t.

Flashes go off. Voices rise. A wall of people crowds the street — reporters, parents, strangers — cameras pointed straight at us.

Greyson swears softly. “What the hell—”

The girls jump. Quinn’s voice cracks. “Daddy? Why are there so many people?”

I twist in my seat. “It’s okay, sweetheart. They’re just excited. Everything’s fine.”

Kelsi’s leaning forward now, eyes wide. “Alyssa, there are dozens of them. The engament party footage going viral. I warned everyone this might happen.”

Before we can react, someone lunges forward with a camera — too close.

SCREEEEEECH.

The sharp, stomach-churning sound of metal on metal tears through the air.

I gasp. “Greyson! Stop!”

He slams the brakes. The car jerks to a halt. Poppy cries out.

My pulse spikes as I glance at the side mirror. A man stumbles back from the car, camera dangling, guilt written all over his face. A long white scratch scars the paintwork along the door.

And just like that — the calm shatters.

“Get the girls out of here,” I snap, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Alyssa—” Greyson starts, but I cut him off.

“Go! Take them to the staff gate. Now!”

He hesitates for half a heartbeat, then nods.

Kelsi’s already got her arms stretched across both girls. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths, okay? We’re fine, we’re fine. We’re just going around the back to see Mrs. Telford. You remember her?”

Poppy sniffles. “What about Bailey? He’s not here.”

Kelsi gives her a reassuring smile. “He is, love. Triston dropped him off early this morning. He’s waiting for you inside. I promise.”

That seems to calm them — a little. Quinn nods bravely, clutching her sister’s hand.

Greyson catches my eye one last time. “Be careful.”

“Go,” I say again, and he does.

The car roars to life, tyres screeching against wet tarmac as they pull away, Kelsi still murmuring calm words from the back seat, the girls holding hands tight.

Then it’s just me.

Standing in the chaos.

And that’s when the adrenaline turns to fury.

I turn toward the crowd, my heart hammering, voice slicing through the noise.

“Who did it?”

The shouting dulls instantly. Cameras falter.

I take a step forward. “Who scratched the car? Who thought it was a good idea to charge at a moving vehicle with children inside?”

A man at the front flinches. His camera hangs limp in his hands.

“You,” I snap. “Was it you?”

“I—I tripped,” he stammers, colour draining from his face.

“Tripped,” I repeat, the word sharp as glass. “You tripped and managed to drag your camera across a car door? While my daughters were screaming? ”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

I move closer, my voice low and cold. “You didn’t just scratch my car. That cost over eighty thiusand pounds may iI add. You scared my kids. You terrified them. All for a photo? Was it worth it? Was it worth your career?”

The crowd starts to shuffle back. Even the loudest ones are suddenly quiet.

I gesture at the scratched paintwork, fury barely restrained. “That’s not journalism. That’s vandalism.”

Someone mutters, “She’s right…”

I don’t stop. “You wanted a headline? Here it is — Mother defends her children from a pack of vultures. Make sure you spell it right.”

The man mumbles an apology, but I’ve already turned away, breathing hard, shaking with anger — and power.

~ Greyson ~

By the time I reach the staff entrance, both girls are trembling.

Poppy’s clinging to Kelsi’s arm, Quinn blinking back tears she’s trying not to shed.

Kelsi’s voice is calm but firm — pure maternal steel. “We’re okay, loves. Look — there’s Mrs. Telford!”

And there she is, bless her, waiting by the gate like a guardian angel in a cardigan.

But it’s not just her.

Bailey’s there too, backpack half unzipped, biscuit in hand. Triston must’ve dropped him early.

When he spots us, his face lights up. “Quinn! Poppy!”

The girls run to him, both crying and laughing as he hugs them tight.

Mrs. Telford crouches down to their level, voice soft and steady. “It’s all right, sweethearts. You’re safe now. Let’s get you inside.”

Poppy looks up at me, eyes huge. “Daddy… where’s Mummy?”

I crouch, brushing her cheek. “Mummy’s fine, baby. She’s just sorting something out. You know her — she’s brave.”

Quinn nods fiercely. “She’s scarier than the reporters.”

Kelsi laughs through the tension. “That’s not wrong.”

Mrs. Telford smiles gently. “Come along, my darlings. Mrs. Baker’s got more biscuits waiting.”

Bailey offers his bag. “Chocolate ones.”

That earns a small giggle from Poppy — the sound I needed to hear.

As the gate closes behind them, the air feels still again. Heavy, but calmer.

Kelsi exhales shakily. “God. My heart’s still in my throat.”

“Mine too,” I admit. “Let’s go get Alyssa.”

~ Alyssa ~

The crowd has thinned out by the time the car returns, though a few linger — watching me warily, murmuring to each other.

I cross my arms, anger radiant on my face and in my posture. I can’t even photograph the damage — Greyson’s got the car with the girls — but I want the image seared into every mind that saw it happen.

When I hear the engine again, I look up.

The car pulls back through the side street. Greyson’s jaw is clenched, eyes scanning for me before the tyres even stop.

Kelsi’s face pops up in the back seat window — both relieved and pale.

As soon as they stop, Greyson’s out of the car. “Are you okay?”

I nod, voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “I’m fine. They’re not.”

He glances at the reporters still hanging back, tone low. “What happened?”

“One of them scratched the car. I made sure everyone here knows it.”

Kelsi leans out the back window. “Translation: she verbally annihilated them.”

I arch a brow. “They’re lucky that’s all I did.”

Greyson’s hand slides to my lower back, grounding me. “The girls are fine. Mrs. Telford had Bailey with her — he helped calm them down.”

That softens something in me. “He did?”

Kelsi smiles weakly. “Yeah. Little man hugged them both like a hero.”

I take a breath, letting the edge in my voice fade just a bit. “Good.”

Greyson studies the scratch on the car door, jaw tightening. “You made your point.”

“Damn right I did.”

Kelsi chuckles from the back. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Alyssa.”

“Noted,” I say dryly. “Now let’s go home before I make tomorrow’s front page for assault.”

Greyson smirks faintly. “Operation Glitter didn’t quite go to plan.”

“No,” I say, sliding back into the passenger seat, still fuming but calmer. “But the girls are safe. That’s all that matters.”

He starts the engine, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You sure you’re okay?”

I meet his eyes, letting the tension ease. “I’m fine, Grey. Just angry. And still uterlly pissed they scratched my car.” I exhale and cross my arms.

Kelsi laughs from the back seat. “Honestly? That’s scarier.”

I allow a small smile. “Good.”

Because they might have scratched the car —

But they’ll never get near my children again.