Page 36 of The Vigilant

“My dad really saved your life?” I told myself it was part of the deception. Part of the distraction. Definitely not an intimate desire to know more about him.

“Yeah.” Tynan’s fork stabbed into his bowl a little more forcefully, and then added with a deeper voice, “One too many times.”

I ate another couple bites, and the warm melody of meat and vegetables and broth settled into my stomach. To eat without worry. Without anxiety or anger…the whole idea of rest and digest was an unfamiliar state for my physiology. The whole idea of being protected by someone…

“Why didn’t you turn me into the police?” I asked low, swirling my fork in the little broth that was left in my bowl, the tines skating along the bottom of the dish.

“Why would I do that, Sutton?”

I swallowed thickly. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

My chest cracked open under the knife of my breath when his big hand grabbed my wrist, stopping it from dragging the fork.

I could’ve done a lot of things—should’ve done a lot of things—but letting him peel my fingers away from the utensil wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t think that,” he rumbled, and the fork clattered lifelessly into the bowl.

But our hands remained linked.

I stared, frozen, at how slight my fingers looked compared to his. How the whole of my hand could easily be swallowed up in his if I let it.

“No, I don’t,” I confessed. “But you should.”

“The kind of woman who stabs a man to help a friend is someone who needs to be helped, not hindered.” The pad of his thumb pressed across my palm, a small massage on the muscle that far too often was formed into a fist.

“And the kind of woman who carves up a man’s chest?” I countered, feeling the waves of goose bumps roll out from each brush of his thumb.

“Who carves ‘PIG’ into his pecs for assaulting her?” One of his brows lifted. “That’s the kind of woman who clearly has never been respected by a man.”

My heart stumbled like a newborn foal trying to gain its bearings.

His fingers encircled my wrist and gently pulled my arm from the counter, spinning the stool so I was facing him.

“You can trust me, Sutton.”

I winced, realizing just how far I’d let him in, and then scrambled for whatever shields I had left.

“Thanks, but I’m good on heroes.” I pulled my hand from his and grabbed our empty bowls. I couldn’t cook for shit, but I could wash dishes.

Rounding to the sink, I started to wash, keeping him in my periphery as he gathered the pots and spoons he’d used to cook and gently setting them by the sink for me. When he was done, he picked up that towel that had the distinct pleasure of being draped over him earlier and began to dry.

“Your dad was so proud of you.”

The sentiment felt like a hand around my throat.

I didn’t know what dug deeper: talking about me or talking about my dad.

“Glad he told someone.” My sarcasm didn’t stop him.

“He was always showing pictures of you from your matches. Bragging about how good you were doing. How much ass you were kicking. He couldn’t wait to see what you would do next.”

“Well, if he just came home once in a while, he wouldn’t have had to wait.”

The air shifted as Tynan tensed beside me. It was probably because of my attitude. Disrespecting a dead man. Well, fuck that. Fuck him.

“He regretted not being there for you, Sutton. Especially at the end.”

I shut off the water and forced myself to swallow. “It doesn’t matter now.” Not after everything I’d been through.

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