“I told you; I do contract work for the government.”
“What kind of contract work?”
“The kind that makes enemies.” He crosses his arms. “I can’t?—”
“Elaborate,” I finish. “I get it.” Running both hands over my face, I groan. “I don’t know why this keeps happening to me.” Whether it’s the exhaustion, near-death experience, or the fact that Zane Knox is standing less than ten feet from me, those walls I’d been desperate to put up are paper-thin.
I hear him slide into the booth across from me. “What did you hold back earlier? You said that no one walking free would want to hurt you.”
“I told you. My dad is dead.”
“We both know you weren’t talking about him,” he presses. “Come on, Tessa. I know you. I can tell when you’re holding something back. If you remember, reading between the lines is a specialty of mine.”
I take a deep breath, then let it out in a frustrated sigh. “There was a guy a few years ago. We went on a couple dates, and he didn’t care for the pace. He showed up at my work and tried to take things too far. A man walked by and called the police.”
Zane’s expression turns murderous, his gaze narrowing, cheeks flushing with color. He clenches his hands into fists on top of the table, then lowers them into his lap. “What did he do?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Please tell me.” The brokenness of his expression tells me that he’s imagining the worst. And, to be honest, it very well could have ended up that way. Thankfully, someone overheard and interceded.
An old man I’ll never forget because he threw himself into the altercation without any thought for himself. Kind of like the guy sitting across from me. What does that say about me that I need to keep being saved? That I can’t seem to scrape together even an inch of peace?
“Like I said, he was unhappy with the speed our relationship was progressing. He showed up to where I was working at a truck stop outside of Tulsa, convinced me to take my break because he wanted to talk, then tried to force himself on me. I took a few hits, then broke his nose, but that made him angrier. An old trucker was walking by, and he stepped in to help me. If he hadn’t, things would have been worse.” The memory is vile, but it doesn’t strike the same fear in my heart that it used to. I survived.
I just keep surviving.
One of these days, that luck is going to run out.
“He’s in prison?” The look of fury on Zane’s face is something I’ve seen before. Whenever he’d find out that my dad had put hands on me again.
“He is. I pressed charges, then moved on and changed my name.”
“Is that why I couldn’t find you?”
“I’ve changed it a few times,” I admit. “But, yeah. That’s why.” Sighing, I close my eyes. “You really don’t need to be involved in this, Zane. Trouble finds me, and one of these days, I’m not going to walk away from it.”
“Do you really think that will scare me away?”
“It should. I can’t pay for your help. If that’s what you do, I don’t have any money.”
Now his anger is directed at me. “I don’t want money.”
“Then what do you want?” The question slips out before I can filter it. But it’s there now, and truthfully, I need to know what it is he wants. “I mean it when I tell you I have nothing to offer in exchange for your help.”
“I’m not looking for anything other than knowing that you’re safe.”
“That’s right. Zane Knox is everybody’s hero.” The sarcasm in my voice is unwarranted, but I can’t stop myself.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Putting up walls whenever you start feeling vulnerable. I didn’t tolerate it eighteen years ago, and I’m not putting up with it now. You’re too good for that.” He gets up and pulls the tea bags out of the still steaming water, then mixes honey and a splash of milk in each mug before carrying them over toward the table.
He sets one in front of me, the other in front of him as he slides into the booth seat again, this time opening his Bible.
My gaze remains on him as he scans the pages, his attention fully engulfed in God’s word.
