“No. The running.”
I glance at him, then back at the water. “That depends on what or who is chasing me.”
That smirk is back on his face, and I can’t help but admire the way the setting sun frames it with golden rays. “So, what about you? Lexi? What’s the story there?”
I refill my glass and take a deep breath. “We’ve been best friends for… well, forever. She lived in the apartment next door. We’ve always been there for each other — ride or die. It was us against the world. So, when she needed help with Zoe, we moved in together.”
Locke studies me for a long moment. “Can you finally tell me what she does for a living, or is it still classified information?”
A giggle, an actual giggle, escapes me. I had completely forgotten about his questions when we met. “She’s a stripper. Exotic dancer. Whatever,” I say waving my hand at him. “We only keep it secret from Zoe. Also, before you jump to conclusions, she doesn’t work in some sleazy, run-down hole-in-the-wall. She performs at one of the best clubs in Vegas.”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s waiting for me to go on.
“The money is good, but I worry about her. She’s a hopeless romantic, but most men can’t handle being with someone in her line of work.”
Locke keeps nodding. Gazing thoughtfully down at his glass, “And you? Your family?”
That word makes my heart drop. “Just Lexi. My dad disappeared when I was twelve. He was mixed up with the wrong people… cartel business, I think. I never knew the details. After that, it was just my mom and me for a while. She was an addict my whole life, and it only got worse when he was gone. She overdosed a few months after I turned eighteen.”
Locke’s eyes shine in the golden light as mine rise to meet them again, gold flickering in the whiskey brown. It feels like he’s seeing straight through me.
I’m the first to break the gaze, reaching into the pocket of my jeans. When I pull my hand out, a gold chain with a tarnished cross dangles from it, the sunlight glinting off its edges. I hold it out to him as he raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I think this belongs to you.”
Locke nods and takes the cross, running his thumb over it. “Didn’t think I’d see this again. It was my dad’s... and his dad’s before that. So, thank you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to take something sentimental. Not really my thing. Just wanted to make sure you got it back.”
Locke tucks the chain into his pocket, eyes lingering on mine.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The string lights hum softly above us, and the air smells like wine and salt and something almost sweet. He reaches out, brushing his thumb over my hand. “You could’ve kept it,” he whispers.
I swallow, feeling warmth spread through me. “Why would I do that? It’s special to you.”
He doesn’t respond right away, just leans back on his elbow, still looking at me like I’m part of the view. I look out at the view, too, as the last rays of sun dip below the horizon.
His voice is nearly a whisper a few moments later. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”
I nod. “I have.”
“And?” Locke sighs.
“This has been my identity throughout my entire adult life. I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself.” I shift closer to him.
He studies me thoughtfully, considering his answer. “I don’t know, but whatever you want to do, you’ll have the ability to do it.”
He sips a fresh glass of wine. “Start a business, a charity, read books, travel the world. I truly don’t give a fuck. Just let me take care of you.”
“So, what, we’ll move in together? Or are you going to pay my rent too?” I challenge, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Whatever you want, Arden. I mean it. I will support any decision you make.”
I look away from him, back toward the lake. The word ‘support’ sounds like a foreign language. My life has been a series of carefully crafted walls. Keeping people out, keeping myself upright, making sure I never leaned too hard on anything that could give way. To let him do this isn’t just about the money or the freedom; it’s about handing over the heavy armor I’ve worn since I was a child. It’s terrifying. If I stop being the girl who survives, who am I?
But then I consider the weight of the last few years. The constant looking over my shoulder, the exhaustion of the hustle. I look at Locke, really look at him. He isn’t offering a golden cage; he’s offering a floor that won’t give out from under me. For the first time, I wonder what I could actuallybeif I weren’t always just trying to stay afloat.
I nod slowly, the tightness in my chest finally beginning to uncoil. “Okay,” I whisper, the word feeling heavier and more honest than anything I’ve ever said. “I guess I can live with that.”
And for the first time in a long time, I stop pretending I don’t want to be seen.
