Chapter 74 Chapter 74

Chapter 74 Chapter 74
Tito’s POV

By the time I stepped out of the shower, my skin still warm and damp, I felt like I was shedding not just the day’s sweat and grime, but also some of the tension that had been clawing at me since yesterday.

Kendrick was in the kitchen when I wrapped the towel around myself, casually flipping through a small cookbook while humming something low and indistinct.

The smell of something simmering on the stove hit me immediately, and I realized he had gone ahead and prepared dinner, probably anticipating that I would be starving after the morning’s driving lessons and the brief but mentally exhausting main-road practice.

I hesitated for a moment, letting my eyes wander around the kitchen, taking in the subtle touches he’d added—fresh herbs in small glass jars, a couple of mugs drying neatly on a rack, the sunlight slanting in through the blinds just right.

Everything looked ordinary, domestic almost, yet my chest tightened. Ordinary was foreign. Domestic was dangerous in its own way. Because it reminded me of what had just happened to me a week ago, the kidnappings, Jax, the terror I had lived through, the uncertainty of who I could trust.

Kendrick looked up when he heard the shower door click. “You taking forever?” he teased lightly, but his voice had that edge of calm control he always seemed to carry, the kind that kept me from spiraling when my thoughts threatened to twist out of proportion.

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “Not forever,” I said, though my voice still sounded fragile to my own ears.

He gestured toward the small table he had set. “Sit. Eat. Relax. You earned it today.”

I hesitated a fraction longer than I should have, then sank into the chair, feeling the lingering tension in my shoulders ease slightly. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the table, and I noticed the little details again—the cutlery polished just so, the plate of food arranged neatly, with steam rising from the vegetables and roasted meat. It struck me how meticulous he was, even in moments that should feel casual.

We ate in silence at first, the clink of forks and the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sounds filling the kitchen. I found myself stealing glances at him. The way his silver eyes caught the light from the overhead lamp, the faint streaks of grey at his temples that reminded me of someone who had seen too much, and yet had somehow held himself together. His presence was grounding. Even now, even after everything, he made me feel like I could breathe.

“You handled yourself well today,” he said finally, breaking the quiet, his voice low, deliberate. “On the main road… you surprised me.”

I laughed softly, a little self-conscious, glancing down at my plate. “I think I surprised myself more than anyone. My heart was going a mile a minute for the first ten minutes, and then I just… tried not to stall the car in front of everyone.”

Kendrick’s lips twitched in a faint, amused smile, though his eyes remained serious. “You adjusted quickly. That’s what matters. Panic is temporary, control lasts longer.”

I nodded, chewing slowly, letting his words sink in. There was something about the calmness in his voice that made me want to believe him, even as my mind replayed the terror of the past week—the cold metal of the gun at my throat, the overwhelming adrenaline, the helplessness I had felt when Jax had cornered me. I shook my head slightly, trying to push the memory away. Dinner felt like a fragile bubble of normalcy, a brief reprieve, and I wasn’t ready to let it shatter yet.

We talked then, quietly, about small things: the food he had prepared, the minor details of my driving lessons, how my muscles ached pleasantly from the effort. But under the surface, the conversation carried the weight of everything unsaid. I could feel the lingering anxiety in my chest, coiled and persistent. The air between us was calm but taut, the kind of silence that could either snap or deepen trust.

“You were nervous,” he said after a pause, leaning back slightly, one elbow on the table. His gaze didn’t waver from me. “But you adapted. That’s good enough.”

I felt my cheeks warm, partly from the praise, partly from the intensity in his eyes. “I… I guess I just… I didn’t want to mess it up. Not for you, not for myself.” My voice softened. “I’m… tired of failing at everything lately.”

Kendrick’s hand rested briefly on mine, just enough to anchor me without overtly drawing attention. “You haven’t failed,” he said, quietly but firmly. “You’ve survived. That’s more than most people can say. You’ve grown. You’re growing.”

I swallowed hard, the warmth of his presence mixing with the lingering adrenaline in my body. His words were steady, quiet, but they carried weight. I wanted to believe them. I wanted to hold on to this calm, this sense that not everything in my life was chaotic and dangerous.

We finished dinner, and Kendrick leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly. I noticed the way the lamplight caught his silver eyes again, softening them. He glanced outside through the window, then back at me. “Your mom should be back soon. I’ve kept her updated. She doesn’t know the half of what happened, and that’s for the best. You’ll see her soon.”

A wave of relief washed over me, and I felt my shoulders relax slightly. Just knowing she would come back that evening, that she would be safe and unaware of the terror I’d endured, was comforting. “She… she’ll be fine?” I asked quietly.

He nodded. “Yes. I made sure of it. You have a little time to yourself before she arrives. Don’t worry. Focus on what you need—rest, reflection, preparing for school. We’ll talk about everything else later.”

I exhaled, letting the tension in my chest ease just a fraction, though a knot of unease still lingered. The world had changed, my life had changed, and yet here I was, sitting across from him, eating dinner, feeling the strange, grounding normalcy of it all.

After a moment, he pushed his chair back slightly. “Shower, relax, and then we’ll discuss school and your lessons. I want you ready.” His tone was firm but gentle, the kind that demanded attention without harshness.

I nodded again, the weight of the past week pressing down on me even as I tried to focus on the warmth of the kitchen, the lingering scent of the meal, and the quiet hum of the evening. I realized how strange it felt to have someone care so thoroughly without needing to state it outright, to have protection and guidance given as naturally as air.

As I washed off the last traces of sweat and fatigue, I thought about the week I had just survived…the kidnappings, the terror, Jax, the helplessness, and the rare moments of courage. The shower felt like a cleansing ritual, not just for my body but for my mind, a preparation for whatever awaited me in the evening, including the fact that mom would soon be home. I could only hope she had fun.

When I returned to the kitchen, Kendrick was already cleaning up, and I realized the day had shifted seamlessly from chaos to calm. The lingering tension hadn’t vanished, but it had been softened, made bearable by the simple acts of normality: eating, speaking quietly, sharing space.

We lingered over a cup of tea afterward, the conversation light but laced with meaning. Every glance, every pause, every small smile carried an unspoken acknowledgment of the past week’s events and the delicate trust that had been built. I could feel the exhaustion in my limbs, the lingering adrenaline, and yet a strange sense of peace settled over me.

As the sky outside darkened, shadows stretching across the floor, I heard the faint sound of a car approaching. My chest skipped a beat.

My mom was home.

I felt a sudden flutter of anticipation, relief, and anxiety. She would have no idea what had happened, and for now, that was the way it should be.

I felt a soft warmth in my chest knowing she was safe and would be surprised but unharmed.

Kendrick glanced toward the window as well, his expression unreadable but protective, and I realized, quietly, how much he had come to mean to me—not just as a guardian, but as a stabilizing presence in the storm of my life.

By the time I sank onto the couch, tea in hand, I felt the exhaustion of the day press down fully. My eyelids grew heavy, and the hum of the kitchen behind me, the lingering scent of dinner, and the soft, steady presence of Kendrick beside me became a lullaby.

I felt safe, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the terror of the past week seemed distant, held at bay by something simple and grounding: presence, protection, and quiet care.

I drifted into sleep slowly, the weight of the past week pressing on me even as I allowed myself a fleeting moment of comfort in the calm.