Page 78 of Breaking Point

I shake my head. “I’m okay.”

He nods, not quite believing me. “That phone call back home. It was about last night?”

“Yeah.”

Just the memory makes me feel queasy.

The fire wasn’t an accident. I’m not foolish enough to think that it was.

“I can’t help but feel like it was my fault,” I say, my voice hoarse. When he looks like he’s going to object, I add, “I know- logically- it isn’t. I didn’t start that fire. But they left that note for me.”

Understanding passes over his face. “Did you talk to Harvey about it more?”

Not exactly...But that’s not a wound I want to poke at right now.

“We talked,” I say, clearing my throat. “Had a bit of a fight actually. I’ll call him sometime this week. You shouldn’t worry about that right now.”

“I will though.” His arms drop, shoulders still tight.

I want nothing more than to touch him, to soothe the tension away.

But we still haven’t acknowledged things since the night we last…

“I know…” I say, tucking my arms into the jacket he lent me. “Maybe we can both just agree to worry about it later?”

He doesn’t nod, but I know when he blows out a breath that he’s letting it go.

For now.

I watch as he reaches for the gun at his thigh. He adjusts, and I see him reach beneath his jacket to hide the pistol in a holster against his side instead. I don't comment on it, but part of me wonders whether he's hiding it to keep his parents at ease.

I smile, turning to watching those brown eyes assess me from under his cap. “You know I’m gonna tease you about Mama Warden forever, right?”

He huffs, finally cracking a smile. “It’s just something the guys call her. I’ve never called her that.”

“Should I?”

“No.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Theresa’s fine.”

“Do you know if your Dad is still in the hospital?”

“They released him this afternoon.” The gas tank clicks, indicating the tank is full, and I nod before hopping back in the car. “Olivia.” The sound of my name on his lips halts me. “Things might be tense. I haven’t been home in-“ He rubs the back of his neck. “Too long.”

There’s a reason for that,I’m sure, but I don’t press him.

I just smile. “Don’t poke any proverbial bears. Got it.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. I try my best to focus on Chesna who’s curled in my lap, gently pawing at my sweater.

Ultimately, my thoughts wander to other things. To work and the burning hell-hole I feel I’ve left behind. To the fire, the apartment, and the mystery stalker who has now threatened my father, my cat, and me. A year ago, I never would have dreamt things would turn out this way.

Yet here we are.

A few winding turns in the road reveals a humble estate, covered in greenery and pine. The house itself is two-stories of ivy and cobblestone, and as we pull into the driveway, I notice flowers and vines trailing every window ledge. A smaller house sits in the garden around the back, and as we step out of the car, I smell fresh paint.

Crew grabs our bags, and I carry Chesna, doing my best not to seem awkward as we climb the front steps and ring the doorbell. I know how it looks to bring a woman home- especiallyone his parents likely haven’t heard of before. I glance at him out of my peripheral, nudging him with my shoulder.

“You’re not breathing,” I tell him, and when I hear footsteps creak inside, he takes a heavy inhale.

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