Page 34 of The Bodyguard Situation

“I know,” he says. Because he was there. He’s always been there.

“Ever since, I’ve carried this emptiness inside me. Like there’s a piece of me missing. I’ve spent years trying to fill it, always with the wrong things or the wrong people. My dad was never around much because he was too busy running the company. So, it was just me and my brother and Billie.” I lift my gaze to his, vulnerability pooling behind my eyes. “It’s exhausting, always chasing something you know you’ll never get back. For me, I lost my sense of family. It was never the same after Mom was gone.”

Something flickers in his eyes, as though my words resonated deeply within him. A shadow crosses his features, and his jaw tightens as he shifts in his seat.

Brody visibly stiffens, his body instantly guarded again. I know he lost his parents and sister. I know he understands grief more than even I do.

“Thank you,” he says, but I see tension return to his shoulders. He’s rebuilding those invisible walls to keep me out.

The openness I glimpsed is replaced by a neutral expression. He clears his throat, turning his gaze toward the window.

“We all have our scars, Harp,” he says, his voice low. “Some of us are just better at hiding them.”

I nod slowly, feeling the careful evasion in his answer, but not wanting to push too far. The heaviness in the air is undeniable.

“Fair enough,” I reply, easing the tension with a gentle smile.

Brody’s expression softens again, an apology in his eyes. I give him a reassuring smile. Opening up to him wasn’t easy, but it was a start.

We finish eating without saying much else. My curiosity still lingers. Whatever secrets Brody guards are deeply rooted and painful. Despite his careful deflection, I feel closer than ever to understanding him and unraveling the mystery behind his strength. I thought maybe it was the loss of his parents or something that he experienced when he was in the Marines. Now, I’m not so sure what happened or why he’s so guarded, but I hope, one day, he really does tell me. And when that time comes, I will be there to listen.

10

BRODY

After dinner, the lingering tension between us evaporates.

It’s surprising how quickly Harper has settled into the rhythm of the cabin. The soft sound of her moving through the space, creating a peaceful background noise, is something I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

I gather an armful of firewood from the neatly stacked pile on the porch, then step back inside, shutting the door behind me. Harper is curled comfortably on the sofa, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She’s flipping through a magazine that has to be from the early 2000s.

Harper looks up at me, her bright blue eyes following my every movement.

“What are you smiling about?” I ask, suspicion edging my voice as I place the logs carefully in the fireplace.

I strike a match, and the dry wood crackles to life instantly. Flames flicker and cast long shadows around the room. It was in the upper fifties today, but it will dip into the lower forties tonight.

“Just enjoying the view.” She shrugs, pulling the blanket a little higher, clearly hiding a grin behind its soft folds.

I lift an eyebrow, feeling heat creep up my neck. Her teasing always seems to catch me off guard.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Definitely,” she replies playfully, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she reaches for the remote and flips through channels. “Now, what kind of entertainment do we have in this secret hideout of yours?”

I settle onto the couch beside her, intentionally leaving just enough space between us to maintain some semblance of control. Her warmth radiates toward me, tempting me closer. I swallow, focusing instead on the TV.

“It’s not a hideout. It’s a dainty cabin.” I smile, remembering my mom saying that once.

Harper hums thoughtfully, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Hmm. Cozy, rustic, secluded, only one bedroom—sounds like a hideout to me.”

I shoot her a playful scowl, but her teasing feels comfortable, normal—something we haven’t had in a long time. Without thinking, I tug the remote from her hand, flipping toThe Golden Girlsand turning up the volume slightly. I smirk when Sophia says some smart-ass comment. I think she’s my spirit animal.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You actually likeTheGolden Girls.”

“Shut up.”

Harper scoffs, laughing. “You’re a softy.”

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