Page 75 of The Defender
Someone stepped out at the exact same time I walked past.
Dark hair. Lean frame. Sculpted jaw.
Vincent.
We came to a mutual standstill, and my pulse slowed to a glacial pace as we stared at each other.
“Hi,” I said, painfully aware of my ruined makeup and mascara-stained shirt. I summoned what I hoped was a convincing smile, but the sight of him made my heart twist all over again.
I missed him. I saw him every day at work, but it wasn’t the same. That was Vincent the footballer. I missedhim, Vincent the man. The one who was obsessed with theGreat British Bake Offand played pool like he was born with a cue in his hand. Most of all, I missed how easy our relationship had been before there was a giant question mark hanging over it.
His forehead creased. His gaze swept over my face and shirt and back up again. “What’s wrong? Who made you cry?” he demanded. His unexpectedly fierce protectiveness made my throat ache with fresh emotion.
“No one. It’s my allergies.” I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand again. “The pollen is, um, killer this week.”
“Brooklyn.”
One word. That was all it took.
Fresh tears scalded my cheeks as Vincent gathered me into his arms. There was no judgment, only solid, comforting strength as I buried my face in his chest and let him hold the broken pieces of me together.
“I saw my dad earlier. We talked, but it didn’t—he was still mad about Blackcastle, and Henry asked about ISNA, and I can’t find a single good job, and I’m just sofuckingoverwhelmed sometimes that I feel like I can’t breathe.” I rambled on, nearly incoherent.
I was certain I wasn’t making any sense. But if crying was cathartic, then saying those words out loud was a purge. It took away their power, and Vincent surprisingly had no trouble deciphering them.
“A few things,” he said when I finished. “One, your dad will come around. Two, fuck Henry. Three, you’ll find the perfect job when it comes along. Waiting is better than taking a shit gig for crap pay. As for feeling overwhelmed, you’re not alone. We all feel it. I’d suggest starting a group for it, but I’m still traumatized by the team’s book club.”
A small laugh escaped between the tears. “Who’s the pep talker now?”
“I learned from the best,” he said, seemingly referring to the pep talk I gave him about the Zenith partnership. “Take it from someone who’s been at rock bottom.Tout finira par s'arranger.”
My chin wobbled. “I have no idea what that means. I stopped taking French in high school because I—” I hiccupped. “I had a crush on a German exchange student so I switched to German, but it turned out he had a girlfriend back home and I’ve never evenusedGerman after graduation!” Apparently, my penchant for bad decisions dated back to my teenage years.
I was being a little hysterical at the moment, but emotions didn’t have boundaries. When one went haywire, so did the rest.
A chuckle rumbled through Vincent’s chest. “It means everything will work out—unless you’re talking about a relationship with the German exchange student. That obviously didn’t work out.”
My mouth twitched. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m trying to be sad.”
“You can be sad.” He rubbed a soothing hand over my back. “You can be anything you want.”
I melted into him. I wasn’t used to having someone solid to lean on, but it made all the difference. My tears slowed to a trickle far faster than in the restroom, and when I lifted my head, I was startled to realize only a few minutes had passed since I broke down in his arms.
“Sorry I got snot all over your shirt.” I hiccupped again, my face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll buy you a new one, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt.” Vincent studied me, his eyes dark with lingering concern. “Feel better?”
I nodded. Now that I wasn’t crying my eyes out, I was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that I was still in his arms. His body heat enveloped me, warming me from the inside out. Onehand rested low on my back while his other thumb rubbed a lazy circle beneath my shoulder blade.
Sparks raced up my spine.
It was our first time being this physically close since our almost kiss. Vincent seemed to realize this as well because his muscles subtly tensed.
The silence between us shifted. Melancholy gave way to something thick and electric. It crackled just beneath the surface, and I could feel his heart race in response. It matched the frantic rhythm of my own pulse.
Ask him about the bet.According to our terms, the bet was valid as long as we lived together. He’d moved out, but we’d never officially called it off.
We’d also neveraddressed what happened in the kitchen. This was the perfect time to do it, but I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for another hard conversation today.
