Page 155 of Saving Her

“I’m not thinking about it anymore. This needs to be done.”

Dread creeps into my stomach, growing with the blossoming silence.

I enter the room, all eyes turning to me as I pad my bare feet against the cold tile.

“Well, I’m going to make myself at home.” Hunter places his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter, then heads for the sofa. “No chick flicks tonight.”

“Is that so?” Sarah winks at me and follows after him. “I have a feeling you’re going to be outnumbered, big guy.”

I ignore them as I return to the island counter, noting the increased tension in Luca’s posture as the television blares to life.

Something’s wrong. Something that makes it hard for him to look at me.

“Is everything all right?” I keep my voice low, not wanting to be overheard. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t worry.” He gives a half-hearted grin and shovels a scoop of stir-fry into a bowl. “Enjoy the time without me.”

I thought I’d feared leaving the house, but the more the minutes tick by, the more I’ve come to realize that it isn’t these four walls. It’s Luca.He’sthe sanctuary. “Can’t I come with you?”

He bristles, the kind expression vanishing. “Not this time.”

“Why?”

He fills another bowl and another, placing them at the far edge of the counter. “Dinner’s up,” he announces to the room and sidesteps, grabbing forks from the cutlery drawer before handing one over. “There’s things I need to do, and I can’t have you with me.”

“Because it’s dangerous?”

He cringes. “No. It’s…” He shoves a hand through his hair as Hunter and Sarah approach and grab their dinner. He doesn’t speak again until they’re resettled on the sofa. “It’s just something I have to do on my own. You don’t need to stress about it.”

He isn’t telling the truth.

I’ve had enough experience with liars to read them well.

When he stalks to the dining table it only proves my point. His gun is on display at the back of his jeans. I know it’s always there. He’s never without it. But that’s to protect me, right? Does he really need a weapon if there’s nothing to worry about?

He grabs a jacket from the back of one of the chairs, pulls it on and walks back toward me.

“Make life hell for them, okay?” He stops at my side, his body stiff as he leans in and places a peck at my temple.

The connection startles me.

After days with little communication and an invisible wall of space between us, the delicate kiss is out of place.

No, it’s guilt in motion.

“If I’m late, don’t wait up.”

Without another word he’s gone, striding away like a determined soldier about to slay his demons, the front door banging shut moments later.

I’m left hollow, staring at the filled bowl of food as my anxiety grows wings.

I don’t know what I’d do if he got hurt. Or worse.

He’s been my constant for weeks. My guiding force. My survival.

I can’t live without him.

Ican’t.

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