He cut the engine and finally looked at me. “Reporters can be very persistent, Faith. The good ones will dig into your past and ask hard-hitting questions about things you’d rather forget.” He shifted, angling his body slightly toward me. “Even if you don’t answer, your reaction will be picked apart and scrutinized, frame by frame.”
My throat went dry. “And the bad ones?”
“The bad ones will antagonize you. Push every button until you crack.” His voice turned razor-sharp. “They’ll keep pushing until you lose it on camera, and then they’ll have their story.”
The reality crashed over me like a tsunami. They’d dig. Every foster home where I’d been unwanted. Every social worker who’dwritten me off as “troubled.” Every person who’d looked at me like I was broken beyond repair. Every fight, every suspension, every single thing I’d ever done that I was ashamed of.
They’d find everything, package it with a bow, and serve it to the world. All my broken pieces analyzed. Speculated. Judged. My worst fear coming true, and my brother, my friends, and Ryker would hear all of it.
I owed Ryker the whole truth. But he’d stopped me, hadn’t he? Cut the conversation short with that phone call. Maybe because he’d already heard enough. Maybe because he couldn’t stomach hearing more.
Ryker unbuckled his seat belt. “We can’t let them hurt your defense.”
I followed him to my front door, watching the way he scanned the street. Looking for reporters probably. Or maybe just looking for an excuse to leave.
At least he walked you to the door. That’s good, right?
“Do me a favor from now on.” His tone had gone all professional lawyer. The warmth from earlier—from the kitchen last night, from this morning’s flirting—was completely absent. “Stay inside. Lock your doors. Don’t answer if anyone comes knocking unless it’s me.”
“You really think they’ll show up here?”
“Faith.” The way he said my name made my chest tight. This was different from how he’d said it before. Distant. “They’re going to paint you as either a victim or a villain. And they won’t particularly care which one sells more papers.”
Fantastic.
We went inside, and he shut the door behind us, immediately moving to check the windows. Making sure no long lenses were pointed our way, I guess.
“I have to head to the prison,” he said, already pulling his phone out. Already mentally gone. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”
“You’re leaving?” The words came out almost as a shriek.
Real strong, Faith. Why not just beg him to stay?
I could see the shift in his face as clearly as I could feel the energy change around us. A cold frost had settled between us, shoving aside the tropical warmth we’d been swimming in and flash-freezing it into something that looked suspiciously like disgust.
“I have to meet with Knox.” He glanced at his watch like he’d just remembered he had somewhere more important to be. “My regular meeting with him.”
“Right.” I stepped back, putting distance between us before he could do it first.Of course you do.
“I’ll stop by later, okay? We’ll figure this out.”
The casual dismissal hit like a slap. “Is there anything I should do in the meantime? I want to help with my case.”
“Just stay out of trouble.” Again with that smile. The one that looked like it had been purchased from a catalog of Professional Expressions for Difficult Conversations. “I mean it, Faith. No reporters, no phone calls, nothing.”
With crushing clarity, the truth lanced through my entire core like a blade finding its mark.
Everything has most definitely changed between us.
I wanted to smack myself. Of course Ryker Kincaid was too good to be true. I knew better than to let myself hope that maybe—just maybe—I was worthy of love. Just like I used to feel with my parents. Before they both died in that car wreck.
The memory hit me suddenly, unbidden. I was five years old, and I’d had a nightmare. I’d woken up crying, and Mom had come running.
“I had a bad dream,” I whimpered.
“Tell me about it.”
“You and Daddy left. You didn’t want me anymore.”
