“Oh, God. Why would you—?”
He pulls away, and my heart sinks down to my toes. Rising, I start to pace his living room. “Because since I signed on, we’ve saved twenty-six people. Without us, they’d be dead. The military and the government can’t go places we can. We’re the best at what we do, and we’re…a family. I’d die for any one of them if I had to without a second thought.”
I can’t read him. His eyes, usually so expressive, are wide with shock. Fuck. This was a mistake. I’ve lost him. I knew the risks, but now…shit. I’ve ruined the fragile trust he gave me, and what’s worse? I can’t leave without making him understand how important it is that he never breathe a word of this to anyone.
With my hands shoved deep into my pockets, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Quinton. My baggage is way too much to dump on you all at once. I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again. But I need you to promise me that all of this—everything I’ve told you tonight—stays between us. This is life and death for me and everyone I call family.”
“Stay,” he whispers and pushes to his feet. But his legs give out, and I catch him, my arm banded around his waist.
“I don’t understand. You heard me, right? That I kill people? Regularly?”
He nods, and I can’t decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes. Until he lets out a sigh. “That’s not what I meant when I asked why.”
“Then what did you want to know?”
His fingers tighten on my biceps, and those brown eyes hold mine. “Why would you trust me with all this? You don’t even know me.”
“Because I want to know you. You’re a good person. I can tell. I’ve beentrainedto be able to tell. But also…someone hurt you.”
He flinches, and if I weren’t sure he’d been through some shit before, I am now.
“You don’t have to tell me about it. Not yet, anyway. But you need to know that you’re safe with me.”
“You should let me go,” he whispers.
“Am I hurting you?” I slide my hand up and down his spine, checking for swelling, feeling his terror in every breath.
“No. But Graham, I’m broken. My life is a fucking mess, and I don’tjustmean my back.”
I’d do anything to banish the pain from his eyes. “Do you trust me?”
“I haven’t trusted anyone but my brother in over a year.” I can barely hear his reply, and he won’t look at me anymore.
“But do you trustme?” Cupping his cheek, I lean in and rest my forehead against his. “I told you about what I do because I want to see where this goes and we can’t do that if we don’t trust each other.”
“What’s your real name?” he asks.
“Graham Davidson Peck.”
Quinton chokes out a laugh, but it’s not one that reassures me even a fraction. “Not Tempelton, but Peck? Like Tempelton Peck? Face from The old A-Team tv show? You’re trying to tell me you work for the A-Team?”
“Kind of? We help people when no one else can. Though we’re not currently wanted by the government since we don’tofficiallyexist. And when your last name is really Peck, what better alias is there? My boss let me choose, and my parents and I would watch the A-Team every Friday night when I was a kid. Face—Templeton Peck—always knew what he was doing. I never do.” It’s my turn to blush, at least a little, and I breathe in Quinton’s scent. Fuck. I want him like I haven’t wanted anyone in years. Maybe…ever. He’s still too spooked for anything but comfort, and I won’t do a damn thing he’s not ready for, but I don’t want to leave him. “My mom is LuAnn, my dad is Davidson—David for short. They live in Ann Arbor. I have one sister—Jennifer.”
He studies me, like he can’t quite decide if I’m telling the truth. Eventually, he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, I can tell he believes me. “My brother saved my life. But we almost never talk.”
“How come?”
Shaking his head, he stammers, “I...not tonight.”
“I won’t pressure you. For anything. That’s not my vibe. I just want to get to know you. When—if—you want that.”
“Even if I’m so fucked up, I can’t even step outside my front door?” The pain in his voice makes me want to hold him. All night. Every night. It’s stupid—feeling this much this fast. But I can’t help it.
“Your yard needs serious work. Can’t say I blame you for not wanting to go out there. It still smells vaguely of mint chip.”
Humor is my go-to. The defense mechanism I pull out whenever things get too intense. But sometimes, it backfires in the most epic of ways, and I hold my breath until Quinton’s lips curve into the barest hint of a smile.
“The store manager called me personally to apologize. Did you have something to do with that?” he asks.
