Thank you, thank you, thank you to those who reviewed and to those who have continued to read and to follow after so long. It means a lot :)

The locker room seemed louder, more crowded than usual. The team, both coaches, over-enthused fathers who took their sons' football far too seriously, were all raucous, high off our win. Testosterone filled the air, weighing down on what seemed suddenly like such a small space. The palpability of sweat and blood lessened gradually, was warped by steam to reveal various scents of after shave and body wash. It was disorienting, a sensory overload, and only contributed to my feeling of unease and discomfort, making me feel as if I couldn't catch my breath. Were there more in people in here than usual?

No. I knew there weren't. It was almost always like this, even more so after we had won. The real reason why I felt ill at ease, on edge, was because I couldn't see Liam. I had lost sight of him, and while I rationally knew he could be anywhere—on his way to a party or off to get his hands on his cheerleader of the week—that did nothing for me. What he had said about Chloe, the look of calculation mixed with a sort of glee when he said it, bothered me, made me wary, and was the reason I rushed through showering—trying simultaneously to be thorough while fast—and was now pushing my way out of the crowded locker room. Once I saw her, knew she was okay, then I could calm down, roll my eyes at my overreaction.

But still.

The way he was—intense and aggressive—the way he had looked, and not to mention Chloe's knack for finding trouble, all had me striding purposefully, simply wanting to find her and get her home.

Rounding the corner, my worries were dreadfully confirmed. She was on the stairs and he had his hand on her elbow. The fact that he was touching her, that he was close enough to touch her, made my skin crawl, had my eyes narrowing. Approaching them, wanting to be closer to him and have easier access to her before acting, I saw his grip tighten, successfully snapping any sense of calm and self-possession I had in half. If he hurt her, I would not be as rational, a truth he should shy away from for I did not regret it.

"Let go of her," I commanded, willing myself to keep my voice controlled. Equally startled by my presence, their heads snapped towards me in synchronization, Chloe looking relieved and Liam looking frustrated. I had surprised him enough that I saw his grip loosen and Chloe rapidly took advantage of that, wrenching herself free. Having steadily continued to bring myself closer to them, I was able to hold my hand out to her, helping her down the rest of the way, feeling safer that I had a grip on her. I felt even better—well, as best I could considering the circumstances—once she had stepped on to firm ground and I placed her behind me, knowing now that she was protected, safe. Because, if it came down to it I was a willing shield, and while Liam and I were pretty evenly matched, I knew I could come out on top, especially if Chloe's safety was my motivation.

As Liam continued to glare at me, I took notice of Chloe's rapidly beating heart, able to feel it for she was standing so close to me. Without consciously thinking about it, I reached my hand back and took hold of hers, moving my thumb softly up and down, hoping the steadiness of the movement would counter and thus bring down her heartbeat.

Noticing this, Liam barked out a malicious, belittling sounding laugh and began to descend the stairs with narrowed eyes, his gait and swing of his arms perfectly capturing his arrogance and high opinion of himself.

"Well, well, who would've known? Derek's got himself a girl. I was just telling her that I'd be able to show her a better time than her mystery man would be able to, and now, I can say that with certainty." He was toying with me, trying to get to me, and as much as I knew this, as I repeated it in my head in an effort to remain collected, he managed in doing so nonetheless.

"Leave her alone," I said, voice tight. There was no need for formalities, to dance around the subject; he needed to know where he stood, what would be tolerated: nothing. Simplicity and conciseness were what was called for, what I needed to utilize for him to know that I would not allow any of his bullshit, would not stand for his mind games. Not when it came to Chloe.

"I don't know if I'd be able to do that. Look at her, so tiny and blonde. Just the way I like 'em." I didn't know whether it was the way he was leering at her, the flash of pleasure I saw in his eyes, or the determined set of his jaw that seemed to say 'challenge accepted', but regardless of whichever, heavy apprehension and worry set in, the reality of the threat he presented solidifying itself, settling itself into the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. I was actively trying to take even breaths, fighting to keep my hands where they were, as they were itching towards him.

Forcing out an even breath and pulling myself up to my full height, using my size—which trumped his—to my advantage, an almost instinctual response, I said, "If you so much as go near her, you'll regret it." And he would. I would make sure of it.

Liam thrived off of others' weakness, whether it be physical or emotional. Chloe wasn't weak; from what I've seen, she's silently brave. But she was also at a clear disadvantage when stacked up against quarterback, Liam. He needed to know, however, that if he intended to make her prey, to pull her into some sick game of cat and mouse—which I knew he did with a sinking certainty I wished I didn't possess—I would be standing in his way.

And I wasn't going anywhere.

Regarding me, the thrill of a challenge, the desire for control, the irritation and rebelliousness all clear in his eyes, he finally looked away after he realized that I would not budge, that there was no room to intimidate me and that he would not win this battle of wills.

Chuckling to himself, he ambled past us, a quarter of an inch away from grazing my arm, his intent to goad me. Just as I was about to take a relief-filled breath at his departure, his whisper of, "For now," ripped away my remaining equanimity, shattering the careful handle I had had on my emotions. His murmured words catalyzed an unexpected reaction—for the first time, in a long time, I felt afraid, not for myself, but afraid for Chloe, for her safety and well-being. So afraid, in fact, that her heartbeat was no longer the only one I felt, a rapid rhythm against my back. I was now painstakingly aware of mine, beating hard and heavy as possibilities of what could come tore through my mind, succeeding in deepening the fear that was made worse by the reality that it was not irrational.

Chloe was a target. His target. And I was the only thing standing in his way. How badly did he want it, want her? How capable was I, of all people, to protect her? And, at the back of my mind, a thought too distracting I had to push it away for now, how far was I willing to go to protect her? I already knew the answer, an answer that brought on another, new wave of fear, still not for myself, but of myself.

R&R, please! (I did update rather quickly, after all.. :p)