Page 90 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
Sean moves ahead of me, crouching by the wheel wells, running his hands along the undercarriage, checking seals at the doors. Every motion is deliberate, steady, like nothing else exists.
I stand near the workbench, clutching my keys until they leave half-moons in my skin.
“You know,” he says quietly, still bent low, “we only want you and the kids safe. That’s it. We’re not trying to pick a fight with you.”
The words slip under my ribs.
“I know.” My throat feels raw. “But you have to follow my lead. I know David better than you. I can’t believe he’d hurt Eli.”
Sean straightens slowly, wiping his hands down his thighs. His eyes lock on mine.
I keep talking, too desperate to stop. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t. And I—” My breath hitches. “I just can’t believe he’d do that.”
He steps closer, cupping the back of my neck, pressing his forehead against mine. His voice is low, rough. “I trust you, Bailey. Whatever you say goes. We’ll follow your lead.”
When he presses his lips to mine, it drags me out of the panic spiraling in my head, makes me remember what it feels like to breathe. I hold on to his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping me standing.
When he pulls back, his eyes burn into mine. “We are always here for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I slide into the driver’s seat, start the car, and watch the garage door lift. Late afternoon sunlight cuts across the hood, bright and harsh.
I don’t tell him where I’m going. I don’t tell any of them. It’s better that they don’t know. They’re sneaky, and they’d follow me if they knew.
The hum of the tires on the highway is the only sound in the car at first. I turn the radio on, flip through stations, then turn it off again. The silence feels heavier, but I can’t stand someone else’s voice in my ears right now. Not when my head is already so loud.
My throat aches like I’m still arguing, because somewhere in my head, I am.
I grip the wheel tighter, forcing my knuckles white. If I believe what Wesley said, then I have to accept that the man who rocked my baby to sleep could also shove him down a flight of stairs. And I can’t. I can’t make those two people exist in the same body.
But a question whispers into existence. If he could do what he did to me, if he could call me names, leave bruises, cut me, strip me down until I was small and silent, then what’s stopping him from doing it to them?
I shake my head hard, blinking back tears. The road blurs for a second before snapping clear again. I breathe out slow, forcing myself to count to four.
In. Out. Again.
This isn’t helping. I can’t show up to the meeting like this—red-eyed, cracked open, half-mad with fear. This is the biggest meeting of my career, the kind that could change everything for me. For us.
I focus on the windshield, on the miles ahead. The sky stretches wide, pale blue bleeding toward gold where the sun starts to climb. The landscape blurs past—palm trees, low buildings, billboards shouting things I don’t bother reading. I anchor myself in the details.
Brake lights three cars up. A truck hauling lumber. I can’t help but think ofFinal Destinationwhen I see the ends of the logs looking back at me. A green sedan drifting between lanes. Normal things, ordinary things, reminders that the world is still turning no matter how torn up mine feels.
I whisper out loud just to hear the sound. “He wouldn’t hurt them.” My voice is thin, breaking. “Not them.”
But saying it doesn’t make it true.
I blink hard, forcing my eyes back to the road. The GPS voice cuts in, telling me to stay on the freeway for another forty miles. I nod, even though it can’t see me. Forty miles. That’s time. Maybe by then I’ll know what to believe.
30
SEAN
The lie sitssour in my mouth. I hate lying to her. I hate it enough that my jaw aches from holding still.
Gravel crunches behind me. Wesley comes up on my right, hands in his pockets, eyes tracking the SUV like he can pull it back with a look. The heat has started to bleed out of the day. The shadows from the palms reach almost to our boots. “You’re not going to let her do this, are you?”
“She needs some alone time.” I shrug. “She can have it. In her car. The car I planted a tracker on while I was checking for a bomb.”
That knocks a grin out of him. “You’ve always been my kind of bastard.”
