Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
When he stopped at a red light, his dark brown gaze caught mine in the rearview mirror. “You don’t need to apologize. Emotions were high. They’re allowed to be.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavily on my heart.
I offered him a tight smile of gratitude. “Also… thank you for tonight. I know that couldn’t have been easy to arrange.”
The light turned green, and he eased onto the accelerator. I lost his eyes to the road again, but his voice remained steady. “I’m glad I could make it happen. Wouldn’t have been fair if you missed out on that.”
“None of this is fair, though. Marty worked his ass off for so long. He deserved to grow old and enjoy his life without always worrying about me.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But Marty died doing exactly what he believed in. Protecting someone he loved. There’s peace in that.”
I sank deeper into the seat, my tired shoulders sagging. “I’m not sure a grave is the peace he would have chosen.”
“No. But I can promise if it had gone the other way—if you were the one in that casket—he wouldn’t have survived it. We would’ve lost you both. He wouldn’t regret this outcome. Not for a second.”
I tipped my head down, a tear slipping free. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“Nothing will. But you want to give that man some real peace, you’ll stop locking yourself away as punishment for surviving.”
My breath hitched as his pointed gaze caught mine in the mirror.
The words sank in slowly, like something lowering into water.
Punishment.
That was exactly what I’d been doing. Hiding, while allowing the pain to shape my days, guilt masking itself as grief.
Marty would have absolutely hated it.
I peered out the window, blinking hard. “Bodyguard and a shrink. Lucky me.”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
A second arrow was rarely necessary after a bullseye.
We rode in silence for a while.
Me, lost in my thoughts.
Him…well, driving and either prepping more sage advice or regretting his life’s choices of taking this job. Definitely one of the two.
It wasn’t until he flicked on his blinker that I found my voice again. “Why are we getting off here? The beach house is in the other direction.”
“After you called a car, the beach house is compromised.”
Heat crept up my neck, embarrassment tangling with…oh look, more guilt. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw everything up.”
“You didn’t screw everything up. But you can’t freelance your own exits. Not right now.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hating how small I sounded.
He veered onto the highway, and for once, it wasn’t grid locked. Three a.m. definitely had its perks.
“Start talking to me,” he stated plainly. “You said you felt like a prisoner and if that’s the case. It means I’ve failed. My job isn’t to lock you down. It’s to give you freedom and keep you alive while you use it.”
I stared at the side of his head, passing headlights illuminating the sharp lines of his profile. “You’re not exactly easy to talk to. Marty was warmer,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t made the comparison. For his sake and mine. “I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything. It’s just, after you shut me down the other day for asking a quest—”
“I shut you down about my personal life,” he snapped.
“Wow, thank you for proving my point.”
He let out a low grumble. “Look, all I’m saying is if it’s work, and you need something, I’m an open book.”
“Really? Because I was asking about your past work when you slammed that book closed on my nose.”
His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror for a split second, something shuttering behind them. “We’ll call that a gray area.”
“Right,” I whispered.
A few miles passed in quiet before his voice came again, softer this time. “I should’ve given you a heads-up about the funeral. I assumed someone on your team would’ve told you.”
A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Oh please, if I’m not making them money, my team doesn’t give a fuck about me. I’m inconvenient. I can’t drop everything for premieres and press junkets the way they want me to. It drives my manager crazy. My agent pretends to understand, but she doesn’t. My career isn’t my whole life, and as you can imagine, that’s not a popular stance in Hollywood.”
“You need a better team then,” he said flatly.
“Probably. But they’re reliable. Predictable. We stay out of each other’s way. I have Brooke. That’s enough.”
That earned me a chuckle from the front seat. “I’m sure she is.”
I laughed, and finally it was genuine. “Let’s just say, Brooke is an acquired taste. She’s my pit bull. Big bark. Soft center. She only bites if you deserve it.”
“I can respect that.”
“You’ll get used to her. Or you won’t, she doesn’t care.”
“Comforting,” he deadpanned.
I wasn’t sure if it was because we were talking about Brooke, or that it seemed Devon had dropped his assholery—at least momentarily—but the tension in my chest eased a notch.