bad intentions - tim bradford x oc x john nolan

two

Genevieve searched through her closet, a frown forming with each piece of clothing she considered. The pressure to choose the perfect outfit was perplexing; she insisted it was for class, not for the man who would soon arrive, her boyfriend's father.

Her hair was styled flawlessly, secured in a half-up, half-down look, adorned with a bow. Alone in the apartment, she was grateful Henry wasn't there to witness her fretting. The time spent primping felt like a betrayal, though she tried to dismiss the notion.

She slipped into her jeans and rummaged for a specific top, a sigh of relief escaping her when she found the cream sweater she sought. A glance at her phone hastened her pace, she quickly donned the sweater, scrutinizing her reflection with a critical eye.

As she was about to abandon her quest for the ideal ensemble, a knock sounded at the door. Her heart skipped a beat as she grabbed her bag and headed to answer it.

"Good morning," he greeted her with a smile, holding two cups of coffee. "Figured you could use some caffeine."

She accepted the coffee with gratitude. "Taking me to class and buying me coffee? You're spoiling me," she said, her cheeks warming with a blush.

His laughter filled the space as she locked the door behind her. "It's only right to make a good impression on my son's first serious girlfriend," he said.

The words tightened her throat, a stark reminder of her role. She forced a laugh and followed him to his truck where he opened the passenger door for her. She pondered when Henry last showed such chivalry. She pushed the thought aside as they both settled into the vehicle, her glances toward him frequent but discreet.

"So, Genevieve, what classes are you taking?" he inquired, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.

She turned to face him, explaining her major in computer science and minor in cybersecurity, detailing her current courses.

He glanced at her with raised eyebrows, visibly impressed. "That's remarkable, Genevieve. Have you ever considered a career with the force? They're always on the lookout for individuals with your expertise."

Genevieve clasped her hands together, a smile spreading across her face at the compliment, her lower lip caught gently between her teeth as she gazed out the window. The warmth of his praise was quickly tempered by the thoughts of Henry, casting a shadow over her upbeat mood.

She toyed with her mother's necklace, a nervous chuckle escaping her. "I've always dreamed of working for the LAPD," she confessed. "But Henry... he's not keen on the idea."

John's expression shifted, concern etching his features as he navigated the traffic. "Is that so?"

Her voice was a murmur, tinged with hesitation. "Yes, but I get it. There are inherent risks, even in a tech role with the police."

He nodded, his thumb absently tracing his lip. "Still, if it's something you're passionate about pursuing, don't let anyone dissuade you. I started as a rookie at forty, after all."

A giggle slipped from her, and she offered a smile of thanks. "What was it like, being a rookie, I mean?"

"You mean how was competing with recruits half my age?" He gave a wry snicker. "About as fun as it sounds... but worth it."

Genevieve hummed in response, a comfortable silence enveloping them as they drove on. She leaned her head against the window, lost in thought. The complexities of her emotions were a knot she couldn't untangle. The truck came to a halt beside the life-sciences building.

"Thank you, again, for the ride," she said, her gratitude genuine. She reached for the door, keen to distance herself from the confusing pull of his presence.

John's hand on her shoulder gave her pause. "Anytime. And if there's anything else you need, just say the word."

His sincerity was palpable, a testament to his character. She nodded, a wave of emotions swelling within her. Exiting the truck, she felt his eyes follow her. She offered a small, parting smile before stepping into the building, the flutter in her stomach persisting.

She battled the turmoil within, reminding herself that her heart belonged to Henry, not John. As she navigated through the crowd, the weight of the bag was a grounding presence. She sought refuge in the bathroom, hoping for a moment of solitude.

The empty room granted her a moment's peace. She winced at the red mark from her bag's strap and vowed to lighten its load later. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she sought to cool down, but the effort was futile. Confusion of her reaction to John lingered; she prided herself on choosing the safe, predictable types, not those who sent her into a tailspin with a mere touch.

Suddenly, a loud bang pierced the quiet, sending a jolt through her. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot echoed, followed by screams and chaos in the hallway. Panic surged, propelling her into a stall where she climbed onto the toilet, concealing her presence.

She pressed her back against the cold tile of the stall, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The world outside had erupted into chaos, the sounds of gunshots tearing through the once peaceful morning. Her hands shook violently as she clasped them over her mouth, trying to silence the sobs that threatened to escape.

Tears streamed down her face, hot and relentless, as she crouched in the cramped space. The fear was a living thing inside her, clawing at her throat, threatening to choke her with its intensity. She could hear the screams, the running footsteps, the cries for help that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Another gunshot rang out, so close it felt like it was right outside the door. She flinched, her whole-body tensing, and a whimper slipped through her fingers. The metallic taste of fear filled her mouth, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage, a desperate drumbeat in the silence that followed.

The bathroom door creaked, and footsteps echoed on the tile floor. Her mind raced with terrifying possibilities, each more gruesome than the last. She was paralyzed, her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from beneath her lashes.

The voice--his voice--pierced the fog of her terror. "Genevieve?" It was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness that had descended upon her world.

She collapsed; her body no longer able to sustain the weight of her fear. The stall door swung open, and there he was--Nolan, his face etched with concern. He didn't hesitate as he knelt beside her, his arms wrapping around her trembling form.

"You're okay. I got you," he whispered, his voice steady and sure.

In his embrace, the sobs she had been holding back broke free, her body wracked with the force of them. He held her, his presence a solid reassurance that she was safe, that the nightmare was over-- for now.