She didn’t skip a beat, didn’t bother to ask about the injury. Did she already know about it? “I mean your strategic thinking. Your protective instincts. The way you always knew when someone was going to cause trouble, long before they made a move.”
“Why ask me? We’ve barely talked in the past year.”
“Mum suggested it.” She shrugged, a gesture we both knew meant Evelyn Reynolds had connections neither of us would ever fully understand. “She’s been keeping tabs on you.”
Scarlett shifted on the couch, then, without warning, lay down and placed her head in my lap. I stiffened, surprised by the casual intimacy, although it was a position she’d adopted a hundred times before—during movie nights, after exams, when the anniversary of her father’s arrest made the news again.
“Remember when Sandy Peterson started that rumor about Brie?” she asked, looking up at me. “That she was using money from her dad’s ‘spy fund’ to buy test answers?”
Ididremember. Fourteen-year-old Brie’s devastated face, Scarlett’s fury, and my quiet conversation with Sandy that ensured the rumors stopped immediately.
“You didn’t make a scene,” Scarlett continued. “You just made it clear what would happen if she kept it up. No drama, just… looking out for the people who mattered to you.”
“Scarlett—”
“I’ve missed that.” She was quiet for a moment, as though remembering. “Having you around, watching my back. Declan too, but he’s different now.”
I wanted to ask her why she was really here, how she’d found me, what she thought she was accomplishing. But the weight of her head in my lap was strangely grounding, the first human contact I’d had in months that wasn’t medical or transactional.
Against my better judgment, I said, “Tell me more about Reynolds Recoveries.”
She smiled and rolled onto her side, looking at the now roaring fire. “We’re based in Halifax. Small team, specialized skills. Putting everything Mum taught us to use.”
“Sounds like a fancy way of saying something else.”
She laughed, the sound unexpectedly bright in the quiet cottage. “Sometimes. But we help people who deserve it. People who’ve been wronged.”
“Like Robin Hood?”
She glanced up at me as she smacked my knee. “Something like that.”
As she spoke about their operations, her voice grew animated. The work sounded challenging, interesting—the kind of strategic thinking I’d once excelled at. The type of purpose I’d lost.
Her words gradually slowed, her blinks becoming longer. Shewasgenuinely exhausted, not playing a game.
“You should get some sleep,” I said when she stifled a yawn.
“Mmm,” she murmured, her eyes already closed. “Just a little nap.”
Within minutes, her breathing deepened, and her hands dug under my thigh as though it were her pillow. I remained still, not wanting to disturb her. The disassembled Glock still lay on the coffee table, within easy reach—but suddenly remote.
As though Scarlett were a barrier between the old me and what could be the new me.
We’d been friends since we were kids. I was there for her when the whispers about her father grew too loud, and she was there for me when I lost the last member of my family.
She knew.
She had to have known what I’d been planning. She’d walked in, seen the gun, and pulled me back from the edge.
My hand hovered over her hair for a moment before gently smoothing it back from her face. The gesture felt foreign after so many months of isolation, but also familiar. As though we were kids again, hanging out with my grandmother.
I couldn’t protect Brooke completely. I’d taken three bullets, but it hadn’t been enough to prevent her injuries. I’d failed the one person who’d mattered most.
But maybe…
Maybe I still had something to offer. Not as a soldier, but as whatever I was now. Maybe Scarlett and her family’s company could use someone who understood security, who could anticipate threats.
Someone who could make sure they never experienced what I had.
