Page 4 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

My pulse jumps sharply, tension coiling deep in my gut. “Don’t say that,” I growl, trying desperately to control myself. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking,” she says firmly, despite the tremor in her voice. “I’m not a child anymore, Gus.”

“No,” I say roughly, “you're not. But you're still my responsibility. Crossing lines would complicate everything. It’s wrong.”

Her blue eyes blaze with determination. “Does it feel wrong, Gus?”

I close my eyes briefly, breathing deep to steady myself. “Eat your food, Lola,” I mutter tightly, ending the conversation with my tone.

She sighs, retreating slightly as she picks at her fries. The silence settles awkwardly between us again, tension humming like electricity beneath our carefully maintained distance.

When she finishes eating, I toss some cash on the table, and we walk back toward the truck. I open her door, waiting until she's safely inside before rounding to the driver’s seat. As we pull away from the diner, the road once again stretches out, dark and uncertain ahead.

“Where are we going next?” she finally asks softly, defeat evident in her voice.

“North,” I repeat simply, glancing at her in the faint reflection of passing lights. “Away from here. I know a place in the mountains. Safe. Secluded.”

She nods silently, turning her head to stare out the window again. The weight of unsaid words fills the space between us, heavier than ever.

As the miles blur by, I force myself to focus. I will protect Lola at all costs, even if it means burying these dangerous feelings forever.

But the aching tension in my chest tells me one undeniable truth—I’m already too far gone to ever truly let her go.

3

Lola

I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the truck window, eyelids heavy as I watch the shadows pass by in streaks of black and gray. Gus’s quiet breathing and the steady rumble of the truck create a hypnotic rhythm that lulls my tired mind into a fragile half-sleep.

But even as exhaustion drags me under, memories tug at me like dark currents beneath calm water, pulling me back into Tyler’s grasp.

The first time I met Tyler Cole, he had seemed so effortlessly charming, his blue eyes bright and playful, his smile crooked in a way that made my heart flutter. I was nineteen—young, carefree, certain I knew everything. My father had warned me about guys like Tyler. “Be careful,” he’d said, his eyes wary. “He’s trouble, sweetheart. I can feel it.”

But I hadn't listened. Back then, Tyler’s attention had felt like sunshine—warm and addictive. He’d told me I was beautiful, special, different from anyone he’d ever met. And I’d foolishly believed him, losing myself entirely to his charm.

Now, I feel sick at how easily he manipulated me. How blind I'd been to the truth hiding behind his honeyed words. The first red flags were subtle, just whispers of his true nature: possessive questions about my friends, silent anger when I spent too much time away from him. But by the time I saw the danger clearly, I was in too deep to get out easily.

And the last thing he’d whispered, face twisted with cruel determination, still echoes through my head: “You can run, Lola, but I’ll find you anywhere.”

The thought sends a shudder through my body. A hot tear escapes down my cheek, and I quickly swipe it away, praying Gus doesn't see.

When sleep finally takes me, it’s fitful and shallow, riddled with nightmares. Images of Tyler stalking closer, eyes burning with rage, jolt me awake repeatedly until Gus’s deep voice finally breaks through.

“Lola. Wake up, kid.”

I startle awake, heart hammering, pulse pounding against my ribs. Gus’s hand is on my shoulder, gentle yet firm, grounding me. I glance around, disoriented. We’ve stopped. Outside the truck window, the dull glow of a roadside motel flickers in faded neon.

“What—where are we?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

“You need proper sleep,” Gus says quietly. He looks weary, eyes shadowed beneath dark brows. “We’re at a motel. We’ll rest a few hours.”

I nod mutely, swallowing hard as he climbs out and walks around the truck. When he opens my door, offering his hand tohelp me down, the rough warmth of his palm sends sparks up my arm.

The room is small and tired-looking, dimly lit by a lamp on a worn wooden table. But all I see is the single bed dominating the cramped space. Heat floods my cheeks, and I quickly glance away, heart racing with sudden nerves.

Gus stiffens slightly beside me, clearly having the same realization. “I’ll take the floor,” he mutters gruffly, averting his eyes.

“Gus, no,” I protest quietly. “It’ll kill your back. You’ve been driving nonstop—you need real rest.”

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