Page 16 of Welded Defender
I nod, plant my feet a step back from her threshold. "Just thought I'd ask."
Her grip on the door loosens. The line between her eyebrows smooths, and the corner of her mouth lifts, just barely. "Thanks, Landon."
I shift on my feet, suddenly too aware of the narrow space between us. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call or text me. I left my number on your fridge last night.”
She smiles. “I noticed. I already added you to my phone.”
“Alright.” I step back, giving her the space she asked for earlier. “Have a good night, Marcy.”
“You too.”
She closes the door gently, and I stand there a second longer, staring at the wood grain like it might tell me what she’s reallythinking. Then I force myself to turn and head back down the stairs.
Becket’s locking up the shop when I come back around.
“I thought you already left,” I say.
“Was finishing up paperwork.” He nods toward the apartment window above us. “You checking on her?”
I don’t answer right away. He doesn’t really need me to.
Becket exhales slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Be careful, man. She’s a sweet girl, and I’m glad she’s got a steady gig here, but she’s been through a lot.”
"And?” My voice comes out flat, but my pulse picks up.
His eyebrows climb. “And you’ve got a habit of hauling in lost causes, sticking by them till you get burned.”
My jaw clenches. Memories flicker: Allie calling at two A.M. in tears, the rent I fronted Tessa while she promised to pay me back “next week” for six months straight; endless rides to Rachel’s cognitive therapy sessions. I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the knot in my chest.
“She’s not a lost cause,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intended.
His face softens. “Yeah, I know. Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. Just…look out for yourself, okay? You’re one of the best guys I know, but you dive in headfirst whenever someone needs saving, and you end up getting knocked around.”
“This isn’t the same,” I protest. “I’m not dating Marcy.”
“But you want to be.” He shakes his head before I can interrupt. “You don’t get to deny it—I’ve known you since grade school. I can read you.”
I grit my teeth. “Is there a point?”
“Just don’t forget to protect yourself once in a while.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads for his truck.
I frown. “I haven’t been on a date since Rachel and I split. I’m not exactly a serial heartbreaker.”
He stops at the tailgate, lights from the garage sign haloing his shoulders. “Sure—you’re not hopping from one train wreck to the next. But when you do date, you always go for the damsel in distress.”
“Marcy’s not a damsel.” I hate that I’m defensive.
“Maybe not. She’s got grit—I’ll give her that. She’s got a plan, she’s paying her own way. But she’s vulnerable, fresh off a bad relationship, who knows how long she’s sticking around?” He turns to me, eyes steady. “I don’t want to see you get hurt ’cause you swoop in to save her—and she might not need saving.”
“I don’t swoop.” I mutter.
He snorts. “Dude, you swoop more than a superhero.”
I rub my temples. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
“Do you?” His tone is gentle, but firm.
I meet his gaze. Air freezes in my lungs. Then I let it out in a long sigh. “Yeah. I get it.”
