Page 59 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
That shuts us both up.
Huck takes a left hard enough to make the tires chirp. “You think she just wanted space?”
“No,” I say. “She wanted control.”
He glances at me, eyebrows raised.
“She snuck out with Maeve. No guards. No heads-up. No location beacon. She didn’t just want a break from us—she wanted to prove she doesn’tneedus.”
“She’s wrong.”
“She’s scared.” And I don’t blame her. Not really.
She’s had her world flipped inside out. Between David’s threats, the rooftop, the Friedburg pressure—every day we ask her to trust us more, lean harder, hand over pieces of her autonomy. She’s done it. Again and again.
But there’s a line she’s not willing to cross, and that line is letting someone else carryeverything. To be honest, if I were in her shoes, I’d probably pull some bullshit too.
That doesn’t mean I’m not furious right now.
Wesley’s voice cuts in again. “I’ve got the video.”
“Send it.”
He does. I narrate for Huck so he can watch the road. “The video is an ice cream parlor patio. Bailey’s got her back to the camera. Maeve’s sitting across from her. Two paparazzi cross the street. You can hear them shout her name. Bailey grabs Maeve and starts walking.”
“Where?”
“Looks like toward the side lot.” I slam a fist against the armrest.
Huck doesn’t flinch.
“Tell me why,” I mutter.
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me why she won’t let ushelpher.”
Still silence.
Because we both know the answer. It’s not pride. It’s fear. Fear of being dependent. Fear of appearing weak. Fear of needingusso badly that she forgets who she is when we’re not around.
Fear of losing herself to another man. Or in our case, men.
I grit my teeth. “How the hell am I supposed to protect her if she keeps making herself a target?”
Huck finally says something. “You already are.”
I don’t respond. Because I don’t feel like I am. Not when I’m one stoplight away from watching the woman I’d take a bullet for get backed into a wall by camera flashes she never asked for.
We make the turn onto Ventura and the streetlights hit the windshield like spotlights.
Not just streetlights. Camera flashes.
A cluster of bodies angled toward a single storefront. Ice cream shop. Chalkboard signage out front. And just inside the window?—
Bailey, standing in front of Maeve like a human shield, lips pressed into a tight line, shoulders squared like she’s preparing for war.
She’s alone. No security. No plan. Just a mother with her daughter in a glass box.
