Page 1 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

1

Lola

My hands shake as I toss clothes into my old duffel bag, heart thudding so loud I can barely hear the creaking of the front door downstairs. I freeze, fingers clutching my faded jeans.

“Lola!” The deep, gravelly voice carries easily through the house, filling the emptiness with Gus’s usual brusque authority. “We need to move, kid. Now.”

I swallow hard, shoving the jeans into the bag before yanking the zipper closed with a force that nearly breaks it. Gus has always been gruff, his face permanently etched in a scowl. But today there’s something more—something urgent beneath his grumpy tone that sends shivers cascading down my spine.

I scramble down the stairs, bag slung over my shoulder. Gus waits by the door, arms folded across his broad chest. Even at forty-three, he’s built like a fortress, a towering mountain of protective muscle. His dark hair, streaked lightly with gray, falls across a forehead furrowed in impatience. His stern gaze locks onto mine as I stumble down the last few steps.

“Finally,” he growls, grabbing my duffel from me without asking. His movements are brisk and precise. “Let’s get moving.”

Outside, twilight casts long shadows across the sleepy Florida street. The humidity clings to my skin, oppressive and suffocating, echoing my mood. Gus’s battered truck is idling at the curb, rumbling like an old lion growling awake from slumber. Without a word, he tosses my bag into the back seat before pulling open the passenger door for me. I slide inside quickly, pulse racing, throat dry with anxiety.

The driver’s door slams shut, and Gus throws the truck into drive, jolting us forward. The radio is silent, amplifying the charged air that fills the small space between us. I can feel Gus’s gaze flick toward me, heavy and scrutinizing.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gentler now. It startles me, coming from him, this softness. It almost hurts more than his brusque orders.

I nod, fighting the burning sting behind my eyelids. “I’m fine,” I lie, voice tight.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Lola,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as he watches the road ahead. His large hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. “You’ve never been good at it, anyway.”

His bluntness makes me bristle. “Maybe I just got better at it.”

He snorts softly, shaking his head. “You haven’t. And that’s a good thing.”

A painful silence swallows us again, filled only by the truck’s rumbling engine. I turn my gaze out the window, watching the familiar streets of my hometown blur by. This isn’t howI imagined leaving Palm Beach—fleeing like a hunted animal, hiding behind my dad’s best friend because my ex-boyfriend turned out to be a dangerous mistake.

“You think he knows?” I ask quietly, my voice barely audible over the engine noise. “Tyler, I mean. Do you think he figured out we’re leaving?”

Gus’s jaw tightens. “Doesn’t matter if he does. I’m not letting him get near you again.”

His voice is hard, protective, and it makes something flutter deep in my chest. I swallow again, fists clenching in my lap. Gus has always been around—always a silent presence in the background of my life. He was there for my birthday parties, graduations, awkward teen years, even my mom’s funeral last summer. He’s always been reliable, strong, dependable.

But this—this level of intensity in his voice, in his stare, feels different. It feels dangerous, complicated.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“For what?” Gus shoots me a sharp look, confusion flickering briefly across his hardened features.

“For bringing this to your door,” I say, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over. “Dad would be furious if he knew how badly I messed things up.”

Gus reaches over abruptly, his large hand gently covering mine. The touch sends a shiver racing along my spine. It feels too intimate, too warm.

“Your father would be angry at Tyler, not you,” he says, voice rougher now. “You did nothing wrong, Lola. You hear me?”

I nod slowly, staring down at our intertwined hands, my stomach twisting in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with Gus himself. He pulls back sharply, as though suddenly aware of the closeness. The loss of his touch feels strangely hollow, leaving me colder than before.

“I’ll protect you,” Gus says after a long moment, voice quieter, almost a vow. “No matter what it takes.”

“Thank you,” I say, barely more than a whisper.

Silence fills the truck again, but it’s different now—charged with something neither of us dares to acknowledge. We speed onto the highway, the lights of Palm Beach fading behind us, my past slipping away with every mile.

“Where are we headed?” I finally dare to ask, glancing at him sidelong.

“North,” he replies shortly, eyes fixed on the road. “I have a place up in the mountains. Quiet. Remote. Nobody will find you there.”

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