“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“There is no way I’m letting you go out there alone.”
“You have to,” I say, my voice breaking through his stubbornness. I gesture toward the windshield. “If you escort me inside, you’re going to lose it. You’ll punch three of them in the face, end up in jail, and Travis will have to bail you out.”
“She’s right, boss,” Travis mutters.
“Shut up,” Harrison snaps.
Something dark and volatile flashes behind his eyes. Pain. Raw and unguarded. And it guts me.
“I’ll just tell them we’re getting a divorce,” I say quietly.
“What?” he asks, suddenly distant. Detached.
“Can you imagine if the kids had been here?” My voice trembles now, but I don’t stop. “This doesn’t end just because I go back to LA. They’ll follow you. They’ll track you down. They’ll never give you your life back.”
My chest tightens. The tears come, and I don’t fight them.
He frowns, like the words physically hurt.
“We just stood in front of our family. Smiled. Told the world we were happy. Husband and wife.” His voice cracks. “And now you’re telling me it’s over.”
I cradle his jaw. “You’re not the only one who protects the people you love.”
When he finally turns, his eyes are raw and red.
“Don’t do this, Pix.”
I lean in and kiss him. Maybe for the last time.
“I was always leaving,” I whisper.
The tap on the window comes soon after Harrison gives in and directs his men over.
I didn’t want them to drive to the front. It was better this way. No pop will recognize the vehicle that came in.
He opens my door.
“Are you ready, Miss Alvarez?”
“Her goddamn name is Evans,” Harrison says.
No one corrects him.
The guard freezes and glances between us.
“My apologies. Mrs. Evans.”
Two more guards appear behind the first, a quiet formation closing around me. They give Harrison a look that says this isn’t their first rodeo.
I’m about to step out when Harrison’s hand closes around my arm. “Don’t you dare say a word about divorce.”
Shit. What do I do?
I get out, and the guards turn their attention to me. “Stay close.”
