Page 91 of Protected from Torment

“No, you,” she retorts.

“You go,” I repeat more firmly.

She gives me a long look. Then she takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about the whole job thing.”

“The job thing?”

“Yes.” She bites her lip. “We were talking about it before everything… You know. So, I’ve been looking into options. With my history, it’ll be tougher. Even without the criminal charges, if an employer runs a background check⁠—”

“They have no reason not to hire you,” I interrupt. “That shouldn’t matter.”

Mel smiles sadly. “We both know it does. But I can’t change what they’ll find. I’ll just need to look a little longer. Expand my search.”

My heart thuds hard. “Expand your search? To where?”

“Um.” Her gaze dips to the butcher block surface of the island. “I’m not sure. There’s New York, of course. Or South Carolina. When I was talking to my parents the other night, they brought it up.”

“Brought what up?”

There’s a long pause. “Moving closer to them,” Mel replies. “I’m not saying I want to. I just… I need to make money. Find a permanent place to live. I know I don’t want to go back to Northville…” She shrugs. “I have to figure out something.”

Ask her to stay, a voice in my head shouts. Not the scornful one, but one still clinging to the hope that everything with Melissa can work out.

I almost do it.

It’s on the tip of my tongue.

Then, as I move closer to Mel, I notice the fading bruise on the side of her forehead—the bruise she got when she hit her head on the car window while I was trying to get away from those assholes.

The bruise I put there.

My eyes travel from the bruise to the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Shadows from lack of sleep thanks to the resurgence of her nightmares.

Nightmares of the all-too-real nightmare I pulled her into.

And the question—will you stay?—dissolves.

“What do you think?” Mel asks. Her eyes widen as they meet mine. “Do you have any ideas?”

“A job isn’t a bad idea. I can help you with that.”

“Okay…” She plays with the twist-tie on the bread bag. “What do you think about me finding an apartment?”

I hate it, I want to say. You don’t need an apartment. You can stay here. Everyone loves you—my teammates, all the other women, you’d be safe here⁠—

Until she wants to go somewhere on her own.

Until she’s reminded of the day I almost got her killed.

Until the day I put her in danger again.

As I stand in the kitchen, looking at Mel, a thought comes to me with absolute certainty.

I love her.

And sometimes loving someone means letting them go.

It means saying goodbye when it’s the best thing for them.