The love of a badboy

Chapter Eight

Jamie had always believed that silence could be a comfort.

The quiet hum of her coffee shop after closing, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, the soft patter of Lily's breathing at night—those were the moments that kept her sane.

But tonight, silence felt like a warning.

She sat curled up on the worn leather couch in her living room, an untouched mug of tea growing cold in her hands. Rain tapped against the window, soft and steady, matching the anxious beat of her heart. Her dark curls were a mess from running her hands through them far too many times.

She should go to bed.

She should turn off her phone, shut down her mind, and let exhaustion win.

But she didn't.

Instead, she stared at the message on her screen, the words blurring together, bile rising in her throat.

SAM: We need to talk, Jamie. You can't keep shutting me out. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Because she wanted to scream. She wanted to send a message telling him to go to hell.

I will and I am. You don't own anymore.

You lost that right the first time you put your hands on me.

She had typed those words a million times since they separated.

Instead of pressing send, though, she locked her phone and shoved it onto the coffee table. Her pulse thrummed at her temples, an ache building in her chest.

She shouldn't let him get to her.

She wouldn't. But the words were easier said than done.

A soft creak broke the silence, and Jamie's head snapped toward the hallway just as Lily's small form appeared in the doorway.

"Mommy?"

Jamie forced a smile, immediately pushing the weight of the message to the back of her mind. "What's wrong, baby?"

Lily hesitated. "I had a bad dream again."

Jamie set her mug down and held out her arms, and without hesitation, Lily rushed forward, crawling into her lap and pressing her face into her mom's shoulder.

Lily had been having nightmares for a while now.

The same one haunted her every time.

In it, her father would try to take Bunny away.

That was how she explained it in her own small, trembling words: "Daddy tries to take Bunny and I scream but no one hears me."

Jamie's heart cracked a little more every time she heard of the dream.

Jamie had her own fair share of bad dreams—but unlike Lily's, they weren't about Bunny.

They were about Lily.

In her nightmares, it was always the same. Sam would take Lily—just vanish with her into the shadows—and no matter how far or fast Jamie ran, she could never find them. Her voice would crack from screaming, her legs heavy as lead, heart pounding in her chest like it was about to give out… but Lily was always just out of reach. Gone.

She'd wake up drenched in sweat, her throat raw, arms aching as if she'd been reaching for her daughter in her sleep.

Even in the daylight, the fear lingered—sticky, suffocating, like a storm cloud that refused to pass.

Jamie knew Sam wasn't the type to physically snatch Lily and disappear. He preferred control through manipulation—legal threats, guilt trips, the kind of slow, calculated pressure that made people feel like they were going crazy.

But the fear wasn't rational.

It was primal.

The kind that lived in her bones ever since she'd left him.

Jamie ran her fingers through her daughter's soft curls, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're safe," she whispered. "I promise."

Lily sighed, her tiny body relaxing against her. Jamie closed her eyes, holding her tighter, grounding herself in this moment. Because this was what mattered. Not Sam. Not the past.

Just her and Lily.

And nothing—no one—was going to take that away from her.

But deep down, Jamie couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning, that there were more moments and messages to come.

Aria had been skeptical of Jamie moving in by herself. At first, she'd insisted that Jamie take a place closer to her and Francisca, just in case she needed help. But Jamie knew that if she wanted to fully move on, she had to jump into the deep end, whether it was easy or not.

Turned out, it was a lot harder than everyone told her it would be.

Starting over was the worst and best thing she ever did.

Although she'd settled in quicker than expected, there were moments where she felt like she wasn't sure what she should be doing.

The house was small but cozy, tucked away on a quiet street where the world seemed to slow down. It was perfect for her and Lily—a fresh start, a clean slate.

Tonight, though, the quiet wasn't as comforting as usual.

She checked the clock. Nearly an hour had passed since Lily had crawled onto her lap, shaken from a bad dream. Now, her daughter was in a deep sleep, curled up under her pink blanket, still on the couch. Jamie had carried her back to bed, brushing her fingers through her soft curls as she whispered reassurances.

With one last glance at her daughter's peaceful face, Jamie slipped out of the room and padded toward her own, exhaustion tugging at her bones.

Then—the doorbell rang.

The sound sliced through the silence, high and shrill. Jamie's senses went on high alert.

She stilled, her breath catching.

Who the hell would be at her door this late?

Moving on instinct, she crept down the stairs, her steps careful and slow. The old hardwood betrayed her anyway, creaking beneath her weight. She winced, pausing to listen for any sign of movement outside.

Peeking through the small one-way window beside the door, she sucked in a breath.

Ace.

Ethan Cross stood on her front porch, completely at ease despite the late hour.

He wore gray sweatpants that clung to his body in all the right ways, a white T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Even in the dim porch light, she could see the way the fabric outlined his abs, each muscle defined in a way that made her mouth dry.

Jamie swallowed hard.

Damn him.

For a moment, she debated ignoring him. Pretending she wasn't home. But she knew men like Ace—they didn't scare easy, and they sure as hell didn't walk away without getting what they wanted.

Taking a steadying breath, she cracked the door open just enough to glare at him.

He smirked. "Hey, sweetheart. Got any sugar?"

Jamie blinked. "What?"

Ace shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was about to make some tea when I realized I had no sugar." His smirk widened. "Figured you might help me out."

Jamie narrowed her eyes, trying really hard not to let her gaze drop below his face.

The man was entirely too smug. Too sure of himself. And yet, here she was, standing at her door in the middle of the night, entertaining his bullshit.

With a sigh, she stepped back, opening the door just enough to let him inside.

Ace strolled in like he belonged there, his presence filling the space. Jamie turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen, ignoring the way her body thrummed with awareness.

"You like what you see?" Ace drawled, amusement lacing his voice.

Jamie didn't turn around. "Not in the slightest."

His chuckle was low, rich—dangerous. She knew that was a lie.

She grabbed the sugar container from the cabinet, scooped some into a small bowl, and shoved it toward him. "Here. Try not to make this a habit."

Ace took the bowl from her, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest second. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she immediately pulled back.

"What?" he asked, all feigned innocence.

Jamie folded her arms. "Showing up at my house in the middle of the night, asking for sugar."

Ace leaned against the counter, watching her with hooded eyes. "Oh? You don't like me asking for sugar?" His smirk deepened. "Because from where I'm standing, I think you like it a lot."

Jamie scowled, determined not to let him get to her. But when he stepped closer, his scent wrapped around her—dark, woodsy, with a hint of vanilla. It was a scent that demanded attention, one that made her stomach tighten.

Her breath hitched.

Ace must have sensed it, because just like that, he pulled back, taking the tension with him.

"Thanks for the sugar, sweetheart," he said, turning toward the door.

Jamie let out a slow breath, relieved and frustrated all at once.

Then he paused.

"Jamie," he called over his shoulder.

Her pulse spiked. "Yeah?"

"Don't forget to lock the door."

And then he was gone.

She rolled her eyes, Ace was really starting to get her.

Maybe she should take Ari's advice, but even that sounded ridiculous.

Did he even want her? Did he find her attractive? Would he agree to just one night, or would he want more? Would she want more?

All these questions plaqued her mind as she made her way back up the stairs to her bedroom, hopefully this time getting some much-needed rest.