I swallow hard. “Ask it.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“The question,” I say, voice shaking. “Ask me. I can see it in your face.”
Oaks’s eyes drop to the counter like he hates what he’s about to do.
“How long was she alone,” he asks finally, voice low, “between you running and you coming back.”
The room tilts. My stomach drops like I’m back on that collapsing shoreline, falling before I can catch myself.
“I don’t know,” I choke out. “A few minutes. Maybe ten.”
He nods once, like he’s filing it away, like he’s building a timeline in his head.
Like a cop. Like a man who has to think like one even when he doesn’t want to.
I stare at him, and it hurts in a way Bethany’s slap didn’t. Because I expected Bethany to hate me. I expected the town to chew me up. But Oaks is the one person who should’ve been solid.
He sees my face change, and something sharp crosses his eyes.
“Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?” My voice rises. “Don’t notice that you just did the exact thing everyone does to me in this damn town? You just looked at me like I’m capable of…”
“I looked at you like this is serious,” he snaps. The curse sits right under his tongue but he swallows it. “Because it is.”
My eyes burn. “So what, you’re going to protect me until it’s inconvenient and then step back and let them have me? Just like you slept with me and then ignored me.”
His shoulders go rigid. “That ain’t what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it,” I whisper, and my voice cracks on the last word like my pride finally gives out.
Oaks stares at me for a long second, and I see war inside his face. Instinct pulling one way, duty pulling the other. He takes another step closer, close enough that my body reacts even while my heart breaks.
Then he stops, like there’s an invisible line he can’t cross in daylight.
“Listen to me,” he says, low and fierce. “You’re not going to talk to anyone without Lottie present. You’re not going to answer questions from cops alone. You’re going to stay where you’re seen, where you’re safe.”
“And what about you?” I ask, hating that I need the answer. “Are you staying?”
His eyes go flat with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. It comes from decisions you can’t undo.
“I can’t,” he says.
The word lands like a door slamming shut.
“I’m VP,” he adds, like that explains why my chest just split open. “My wife’s missing. The club’s getting heat. Pearly Gates is circling. If I’m seen hovering around you right now, it looks like motive. For both of us. Either of us. It looks like guilt. It looks like I’m choosing you over the patch.”
A tear slips out before I can stop it. I wipe it away with the back of my hand like I’m ashamed. He sees it anyway.
“This is for your protection,” he says.
I laugh, sharp and broken. “That’s what men say when they’ve gotten what they want.”
Oaks’s eyes flare. He takes a breath like he’s about to say something that would hurt both of us.
Instead, he says, “I’m going to handle this.”
