Page 38 of Beyond the Stroke

“It’s really no trouble. I can make a quick call.”

“Rory,” I steel my voice before I continue, “I don’t need your help. Pleasego.”

I motion to the door before turning and setting Edgar down on his bed. Then I move toward the sink, putting my back to Rory to wash my hands.

“Sum—” he starts but I cut him off.

“Good night.” I emphasize the two words to give them the finality I desperately need.

After what feels like a lifetime of his eyes burning into my back, he finally relents. “Okay. Goodnight.”

Behind me the door opens, and a second later, it closes with a thud behind him.

I let out a caged breath, then tell myself to hold it together long enough to change into pajamas and brush my teeth. Knowing once I’m settled into my bed, I can let go.

I’m patting my face dry on a towel when there’s a loud thump outside the van. The sound has me jumping a mile and banging my head on the cabinet above the sink. Edgar stirs in his bed but promptly lays his head back down.

Rory was right, Edgar is not a guard dog and after the night he’s had, has no trouble sleeping through what could be a second break-in.

Anger is white hot in my veins. Not only from the bump forming on my head, but because I hate feeling vulnerable. And if the person who rummaged through my van earlier has dared to come back, they’re going to be sorry.

With one hand rubbing the throbbing lump on my head, I reach into my closet for the single golf club I acquired from a golf course’s clearance sale a few years ago. With the club raised above my head in preparation for swinging, I yank the door open.

But there’s no intruder.

There, lying on the ground outside my van, is Rory.

I drop the club to my side.

“What the hell, Rory?”

He winces at my scowling face.

“Sorry. I was getting comfortable and I bumped my shoulder into the door.”

“Why are you lying on the ground?”

He sits up, arms casually draped over his knees like him being here is the most natural thing in the world. “I’m sleeping here.”

“What?” I can’t believe what he’s saying. “No, you’re not. I said I’m fine.”

“I know you did,” he swallows, his comforting eyes drop to the golf club in my hand before meeting mine again, “but I won’t be okay if I know you’re sleeping here alone in a van that doesn’t lock.”

I press my lips together, slowly shaking my head.

“You need to go home, Rory.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not going home, Summer.”

My jaw tightens at his refusal.

Who does this guy think he is? Hasn’t he done enough today? It’s like he thinks his job is to make everything right with the world. I don’t need him to fix anything for me. I know how to look after myself. I’ve been doing it for years.

I could call the camp site manager to have him removed but then that will bring up the issue of why he’s here and I don’t want to deal with the break-in right now. And, technically, he’s not doing anything wrong unless you count being irritatingly concerned for my wellbeing a violation.

“Whatever.” I slam the door on Rory’s handsome face, then toss the golf club onto the dining nook bench.

Beneath the bench, Edgar jolts awake. He’d fallen asleep in the few minutes since I’d been in the bathroom. Must be nice.

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