I turn back to her, and the hurt expression on her face is like a knife to my gut. She pulls the blanket up, creating a barrier between us. She thinks I’m rejecting her, and it’s killing me.
The space between us feels infinite and microscopic all at once. One step, and I could have her in my arms. One touch, and I’d be lost forever.
Instead, I clench my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. “I should go,” I say, each word a battle. “Call if you need anything.”
Twelve
RYDER
“Home?” I ask as Cora slips into the passenger seat, her presence commanding the small space of the truck. The soft scent of her designer perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that’s been growing between us for a week.
We’ve barely spoken more than a few words since that morning. The morning I sat in her bed, watching a movie as if everything between us was normal. It wasn’t.
That line between professional and personal had blurred dangerously, and neither of us has dared mention it since. But the memory lingers, heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing on us like an unspoken secret.
I hate it. I hate that I have to distance myself to keep things safe, but it’s for the best. It has to be.
I came closer to crossing that line than she’ll ever know. If she wanted to, she could end me with a single complaint. Mercer wouldn’t hesitate—he’d cut me loose without a secondthought. My future with his elite team would be gone in an instant.
So, I do what I have to. Keep my distance, stay professional. No matter how much I hate it, no matter how much the memory of her claws at me every time I’m near her.
“No,” she replies, clicking her seatbelt into place. The soft sound seems to echo in the tense silence between us. “To Arlo’s.”
I tense, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. It’s been weeks since she last saw that guy. I thought it was over. Hell, Ihopedit was over. Was I wrong?
Arlo. That name pulls at something deep in my gut, something ugly and unwanted. It’s none of my business, right? She can do whatever the hell she wants. But the thought of her with him—it grates on me, like a splinter buried too deep to pull out.
I don’t even know this guy, but everything about him rubs me the wrong way. Why him? A dozen questions circle in my mind, all pointless, all stupid. I’m just her bodyguard. I shouldn’t care who she spends her time with.
But I do.
“No problem.” I nearly spit the words out.
“Something wrong?” She turns her gaze to me, those blue eyes piercing through my defenses like they always do. “You have something to say?”
“I said no problem.” I shift into gear and pull out, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
She huffs.
“What?”
“Are you going to keep pretending everything’s fine?”
“I’m not pretending.” I try to keep my voice calm, though I’mabout to explode. My jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in my cheek.
“Look me in the eye and tell me everything’s fine,” she demands.
“I’m driving.”
“Look me in the eye and tell me everything’s fine,” she repeats, placing her hand on my arm. The touch burns through my jacket, searing my skin.
I turn to meet her gaze, those blue eyes full of hope and something else I can’t—or won’t—name.
“Everything’s fine, and there’s no problem,” I lie through my teeth, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“You’re like that meme, where the dog sits in a burning room and says ‘it’s fine.’ Know that one?”
I don’t respond.
