I was about to joke with Forest about Rory’s comment when I caught the look of fear on his face. “What happened?” I asked and glanced around.
“Would you really do that?”
“Kill Rory? Not unless he tried coming for me first, then all bets are off. I’ll be the victor there.”
“You talk about it so casually, like it’s no big deal.”
Leaning against the wall, I stuffed my hands into my pockets to resist the urge to reach for him, to brush my fingers over his. “Look where you are, Forest. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard the others talk about death, joke about hurting each other, or seen the scars the job has left behind. It’s part of life here.”
“Hearing it in passing, seeing the wounds, they didn’t bother me before, but when you said it, I feared for you, not Rory.”
That got my attention. “Why me?”
He shook his head and continued walking. “Never mind.”
“No, you don’t.” I rushed after him. “You don’t get to say things like that and not give me a reason why.”
Forest stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the down button. “It’s late. I should go home to try to sleep.” The doors opened before I could say anything, and he stepped in, hitting a button as he did so.
I wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily and slid into the elevator too. “Why does it matter what I say?”
“You’re not the same as them.”
“I beg to differ. We all have the same job: to guard and do what Jordan asks.”
“I’m not talking about your job. It’s you, Sheldon. You’re different. At least to me.”
The doors opened, and Forest stepped out while I was struck by his words. I should have gone after him. When the doors closed again, I found I couldn’t move.
I was different to him. Was that a good thing? Obviously, he meant it because his whole demeanor changed. I just wished he had stayed and elaborated.
6
FOREST
The air was still thick with humidity as I walked behind the buildings toward my apartment. It wasn’t far. Honestly, no one dared come back here with Jordan’s guards watching and waiting. I wrapped my arms around myself. The vulnerability wouldn’t leave. I said more than I should have to Sheldon. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when I got there. My entire world had been turned upside down, and I couldn’t make sense of it.
I was almost to my door when a hand caught my wrist. I gasped and spun, ready to fight whoever had me. There was no way I could take on someone like Sheldon or Jordan, but others, random assholes who thought they could get a jump on me, I had a chance. I was so lost in my head, I hadn’t heard a person behind me.
Lifting my free hand, I balled it into a fist and swung. Too bad I was right-handed and my left one was free. The punch was shit, although I grazed the person in a pathetic attempt to hurt them.
My other wrist was captured. My arms were pinned to my sides as I was pushed against the building, the air momentarily knocked from my lungs. The eyes that held mine were onesetched in my memory. They appeared darker than usual under the light that shone down from above my apartment door.
A shadow was cast on Sheldon, but there was no mistaking the pain on his face. “Stop,” he whispered.
It didn’t take much for me to tug my left hand free. There wasn’t more than a single thought in my mind as I lifted it to his cheek. “I could have hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
Instead of shaking his head or pulling away, Sheldon leaned into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I’m okay. I’ve had much worse.” The comment sent an icy chill through me, my hand jerking back.
All of my weight went against the building as I sank to the ground, not caring about the dirt or weeds or pavement digging into me. My arms wrapped around my knees, where they tucked close to my chest, and my head rested on top.
Sheldon’s gentle hands moved to my arms, and his legs bumped mine as he sat in front of me. “What happened just now?” How could this man, who told me he could kill so easily, touch me as if I were a feather about to float away?
“I should have been there,” I choked out, emotion clawing at my throat. How many times did I say the words to myself? How many times did I type messages to him, only to never send them?
“What are you talking about?”
“When you were hurt. I should have been there. I should have visited you. That’s what friends do, but I couldn’t even show the fuck up.”
