Brian's eyebrows rose. "That sounds like good news."
"Is it?" I stared at the ceiling. "He didn't even ask. Just... handled it. The way he always does. As if my choices don't matter as long as the outcome is what he thinks is best."
"But the outcomeisgood. Your license is safe."
"I know. I know that." I pressed my palms against my eyes. "I just... I spent fourteen years building a life he had no part in. Proving I didn't need him. And now he's in every corner of this thing. He's even arranged for a car to drive me everywhere. With a security detail."
Brian blinked. "Security detail?"
"Yeah." I dropped my hands and looked at him. "So I guess you don't have to take me to and from work anymore."
"I'm going to miss that." The words slipped out, unfiltered. He heard himself say them and went still.
I looked at him. He looked back, and for a half-second, the mask slipped. Something raw. Something that made my pulse trip.
I tried not to think about what that meant.
Failed.
"Anyway." I pushed past the moment like it was a crack in the sidewalk. Step over. Keep walking.
"The evidence against the Langs, my career, my safety—he's got his hands in all of it now. I feel like I'm losing ground I fought for years to gain."
Brian was quiet for a moment. Then: "Can I say something?"
"You're going to anyway."
His mouth twitched. "You've been doing things alone for a long time, Ava. Fighting your own battles. Carrying everything yourself. That's how you survived. I get it. But maybe..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe accepting help doesn't mean you lost. Maybe it just means you're not fighting solo anymore."
"It feels like failure."
"I know. But your father isn't the only one in this with you. Shane and Maya are in this. Garrett's tracking down evidence. Sloane Harper's going to meet us about the case. I'm—" He stopped.
"You're what?"
"I'm here." His voice was simple. Steady. "Whatever you need. However long this takes. I'm not going anywhere."
I looked at him, this man who'd rearranged his entire life to keep me safe, who checked under my car every morning and varied our routes and made me dinner like it was his responsibility.
"What matters right now is taking the danger off the table," he said. "We get through this. We make sure the Langs can't hurt you. And then we figure out everything else. Your dad, yourcareer, whatever comes next, we deal with it after. One thing at a time."
"Spoken like a true firefighter."
He grinned. "We're simple creatures. See problem. Fix problem. Eat dinner."
I laughed despite myself. "Is that what's burning on the stove?"
"Shit." He was up and across the kitchen before I could blink, rescuing whatever he'd been cooking from the edge of disaster. Watson meowed reproachfully.
I watched him move. Confident, capable, completely unfazed by the small catastrophe. The tightness behind my sternum eased, just enough to take a full breath.
He was right. I'd been doing this alone for so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like to have people in my corner. Real people. Not obligations. Not transactions.
The fear was still there. The sense that the other shoe was about to drop. But underneath the fear, something stubborn had taken root.
Hope.
Fragile and unfamiliar, but there.
