I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes forward, but I see her in the reflection of the window. She’s curled in on herself and it feels like she’s gone all over again and I fucking hate it.
“He said something to you.” It comes out calm. Probably too calm compared to the alarm bells going off in my head. “Micah. He said something.”
She doesn’t even look at me. “No.”
Bullshit.
I nod once, like I believe her. Like I’m not already replaying every second in that hallway.
The way she looked when I came out.
The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
The way her voice didn’t sound like hers.
I tighten my grip on the wheel. “He’s a creep, Sutton.Nobody likes him. He runs his damn mouth and doesn’t seem to have much respect for women,” I say evenly. “So, whatever it was?—”
“It’s nothing, Shepherd.”
That stops me. Not the words but her tone. Flat and shut down.
Fuck.
I’m losing her.
I glance over at her. She’s staring straight ahead now, her jaw tight, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding something in…or holding something back. Whatever it is, she’s not ready to talk and I have no choice but to respect that. I refuse to be like him.
“Okay,” I say quietly, biting my tongue so damn hard I’m surprised I don’t draw blood. I know that pushing her right now is not the answer. I want her to trust me. I want to be her safe place, not the guy who makes her as uncomfortable as Brannigan clearly did.
I don’t want to lose her.
I love her too much to lose her. And that thought hits me like a freight train.
I love her.
God, I really do. It’s not just wanting her or caring about her. It’s this deep, almost painful need to protect her, to make her smile, to be the one she turns to. I didn’t expect to fall for her this fast or this hard, but here I am, terrified of saying the wrong thing and watching her drift away.
When we pull into my driveway, I shut off the engine but don’t move to get out. For a second, we just sit there in silence, the car ticking as it cools. Normally, she’d hesitate or make some sort of comment or even roll her eyes at something I might say, but tonight? Tonight, she’s already reaching for the door handle.
“I can help you inside,” she says finally, her voice small but determined. “You’re hurt.”
I want to laugh at the irony because I’m not the one who looks shattered right now. But maybe I should let her. Maybe her taking care of me would make her feel better.
“I can manage,” I tell her instead, immediately regretting it.
She nods silently and then says, “Okay. I’ve got some things to do.” She gestures out the window toward the guest house. “At my place.”
She doesn’t look at me, and she doesn’t wait to open her door.
My chest tightens. “Sutton?—”
“I’m tired, Shepherd.”
She’s not tired. She’s retreating. I see it for exactly what it is. Her walls are going back up brick by fucking brick.
“Hey.”
She pauses but doesn’t turn.
