There’s something heavy in his voice. Worn-in, like old damage.
I recognize that tone. It lives in my head at 2 a.m., when I’m staring at the ceiling and wondering where everything went wrong.
But I don’t push. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to hear it. I’ve got enough ghosts of my own without borrowing someone else’s.
I turn to check on my other customers, and his voice stops me.
“Where did you get the bruises?”
My hand flies to my sleeve again before I can stop it. Tugging. Hiding. Like that’s going to help.
“I’m clumsy.”
“Bullshit.”
No heat in it. Just flat, factual certainty. Like he’s commenting on the weather.
It’s bullshit, and it’s going to rain tomorrow.
I should be offended. I should get defensive, tell him to mind his own business, walk away and refuse to serve him.
Instead, the tight band around my ribs loosens. Just a little. Just enough to be dangerous.
Because he’s right. Itisbullshit. And there’s something almost comforting about someone calling me on it instead of politely pretending not to notice.
“Who did that?” he asks.
I fold my arms on the bar, leaning in like we’re sharing a secret. “What are you, some kind of hero looking for damsels in distress?”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “I’m no hero.”
The way he says it makes something cold slither down my spine. He means it. Whatever this man is, hero isn’t on the list.
“But I could teach the asshole that hurt you a lesson.”
I see it again. Viktor’s hand closing around my arm. Viktor’s face twisted with rage. Viktor shoving me against the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
You don’t get to leave me. You don’t get to decide when this is over.
I flinch. I can’t help it.
The stranger notices. His eyes narrow, and something shifts in his expression. Something almost like concern.
And that is insane. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t owe me anything. And I definitely don’t want to be another man’s project, another broken thing for someone to fix.
“Thanks for the offer,” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “But I’m fine.”
I walk away before he can argue.
I’m okay. I’mfine. I just need to get through this shift, go home, lock my door, and try not to think about the fact that I’m apparently collecting dangerous men like some kind of messed-up trading card game.
I can feel his eyes on me as I work. It should make me uncomfortable. Itdoesmake me uncomfortable. But there’s something else too, something I don’t want to examine too closely.
He’s not looking at me the way Viktor does. Viktor looks at me like I’m something to own. Something to break.
This man looks at me like... I don’t know. Like he’s trying to figure something out.
I don’t know which is worse.
