Page 7 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

At the center of the square stands a grand statue of a soldier, cast in bronze, his expression stoic and dignified. Lola pauses, her hand shading her eyes from the sun as she gazes upward.

“He looks strong,” she murmurs.

I move closer, unable to stop myself. “They usually are. Soldiers, I mean. But strength isn’t always about muscles or battles won.”

She glances at me curiously. “What’s it about, then?”

I take a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Survival. Protecting what matters. Sometimes strength is about doing the hardest thing—even when it tears you apart.”

She searches my eyes, hers softening. “Is that why you keep pushing me away?”

I grit my teeth, torn between wanting to pull her into my arms and needing to keep distance between us. “You deserve better, Lola. I’m trying to protect you, even from myself.”

“What if I don’t want to be protected from you?” she whispers.

I turn away abruptly, unable to trust myself around her vulnerability. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

We continue our walk through town, past neatly trimmed lawns and white picket fences. We stop by an old stone fountain, water gently bubbling from its worn surface. Lola dips her fingers into the cool water, smiling faintly.

“It’s like something out of a dream,” she says softly.

“It is,” I agree, though I’m looking at her, not the fountain. The sunlight catches in her hair, illuminating the strands of gold threaded among the darker waves.

We spend the afternoon slowly exploring, stopping briefly in shops to look at trinkets and handmade pottery. Lola relaxes bit by bit, the tension easing from her shoulders as she becomes engrossed in the town’s simple charm. But my own tension only worsens, awareness of her presence growing sharper with every passing moment.

As the afternoon sun begins to dip lower, casting golden light over the streets, Lola glances up at me, her expression more relaxed than it’s been in days. “Thank you for today, Gus. It’s helped—being here with you.”

My throat tightens, heart hammering in my chest. “Glad it helped.”

She hesitates, her voice quiet but determined. “You can’t push me away forever.”

“I have to,” I say roughly, meeting her gaze. “It’s the right thing.”

She steps closer, determination flashing in her eyes. “What if it’s not?”

“Lola—”

“I’m tired of running from what I feel,” she whispers fiercely. “Aren’t you tired too?”

Her words land like a punch, and I take a shaky breath, every instinct screaming at me to pull her close, to give in. “More than you know.”

She lifts her chin defiantly. “Then stop fighting.”

“I can’t,” I whisper roughly, barely holding on. “Not yet.”

Her eyes hold mine, understanding softening the defiance in her gaze. She nods slowly. “Not yet. But I won’t stop waiting.”

I force myself to step back, breaking the moment before it breaks me. “We should go.”

We walk back to the truck in silence, both of us carrying the weight of unspoken words. But as we leave Cusp Hollow behind, heading back to the uncertain road ahead, one thing is clear—I won’t be able to keep pushing Lola away forever.

And part of me doesn’t want to.

5

Lola

The Georgia countryside rushes past in a blur of emerald greens and earthy browns, the gentle hum of the truck engine filling the silence between Gus and me. After our brief but comforting stop in Cusp Hollow, there's a lighter energy in the cab, despite the lingering tension simmering beneath the surface.

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