Page 85 of The Vigilant

Mara was the softer of the two of us. Everyone could be harsh. Everyone had sharp edges. But Mara’s never cut quite as deep. I remembered thinking sometimes that she went along with my rebellious ideas only because she believed in me—in our friendship—not because she believed in them.

Maybe now she did.

Tynan grunted and then stretched his fist open in front of him like he had to physically pry the last of the memory from his stone grip.

“Our last mission, we were compromised. Betrayed by an informant and then ambushed. Ryan was the only one who didn’t make it home.” Air expelled from him in a low hiss. “He was too young…he should’ve made it home.”

My throat knotted up. The heaviest grief was a life cut too short. A string snipped at the middle before life had a chance to gently and fully untether it. It wasn’t the same situation at all, but that was what I feared about Mara. That she’d gotten involved in all of this because of me, and if she wasn’t okay at the end…

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all get used to carrying the weight of the past; it’s the price of having a future,” he drawled, and for a moment, I found it harder to breathe.

The timer went off, and I jumped at the grating sound.

The ramen was done, and the vegetables had cooked down into an aromatic, soy-glazed mixture in the pan. Neither of us said anything as I drained the noodles and split them into bowls, layering the vegetables and sauce on top. I passed one across the counter to Tynan and carried my own to the seat next to him.

“Smells great.”

“Well, at least it has that going for it,” I murmured, hardly taking a second to cool off my first bite before shoving the ramen in my mouth. And then I instantly regretted it. “Hot,” I warned, gasping and fanning my mouth. Tears blurred my vision, and then a water bottle appeared miraculously at my lips.

Tynan.

I whimpered in relief when the cold water hit my tongue. My hands reached for the bottle and landed on top of his in the process. I relished the contact. The relief on all my senses.

“Why don’t you wait and let it cool off?” he growled, pulling the water back.

I turned to him just as he reached out and gripped my chin, his thumb swiping away the drops of water that leaked free.

“Because my mom ate so fast when I was little, and if I didn’t finish by the time she did, she’d take my plate away even if I wasn’t done. She didn’t want to wait, and she didn’t want to clean up twice,” I told him, feeling the pad of his thumb slide across my bottom lip. Not because there was any water left on it but because he couldn’t stop himself. And I didn’t want him to. Maybe that was why I kept talking. “And then in juvie, eating fast was a boon.”

There wasn’t any bitterness in my tone, just the answer to his question, but that didn’t stop shame from softening his frustration and pity flooding his features.

Instantly, hot anger rushed from my bones.

“Don’t do that,” I warned and yanked my head from his hold, twirling another bite of food on my fork.

“Do what?” he rumbled. “Care about you?”

“Pity me.” This time, I’d either cooled it enough or my mouth was so scorched it didn’t hurt when I took my next bite.

Tynan backed off for a few minutes, the two of us eating in silence, but that didn’t make it any better. The truth loomed over me like the blade of a guillotine. Tynan knew enough—knew more than most about my past, but even still, he looked at me like something fragile. Like there was some part of the little girl he’d first met that he could save. The truth would cut off that hope in one fell swoop.

“How is it?” I broke down and asked, desperate to say anything but the words knotting in my chest.

“Really good.”

A molten shiver coursed through me. His praise sounded sincere—looked sincere. And the way he devoured the rest of the bowl in a short amount of time attested to his sincerity.But then again, when had Tynan Bates ever not been sincere?

Meanwhile, I’d been nothing but a liar.

“I don’t pity you, Sutton,” he said hoarsely.

I swallowed my last bite of food, feeling the sudden coldness flowing through my veins. “Good, because you shouldn’t.”

“And should I not want better for you either?” he growled, his fork clacking into the empty ceramic bowl. “Should I not care what happened? Should I not want you to trust me?”

My lips parted, my breath breaking through them like a hot, heavy wrecking ball. I shouldn’t want any of those things, but I did. I dangerously did.

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