Page 139 of The Defender
“Hey.” She greeted me with a smile. “How was training?”
“Fine. The usual.” I kissed her, my throat closing at her familiar scent. “How was your day?”
While she told me about her afternoon, I tried to find the right words to broach the elephant in the room. But therewereno right words, and there was no right time.
If I didn’t say it now, I’d never say it. So when Brooklyn paused for breath, I looked her in the eye and let the weight of my words drop between us.
“I think you should take the job in Chicago.”
CHAPTER 39
BROOKLYN
I froze, my brain struggling to make sense of his words.
I think you should take the job in Chicago.
The sentiment was so sudden, so unexpected, that I couldn’t break free from that mental no man’s land between confusion and disbelief.
My heart rate sped up, and when I finally found my voice, it came out smaller than I wanted. “Do you want me to leave?”
The prospect of Vincent asking me to walk away from him, fromus, sent an arrow of hurt through my chest.
I’d spent the weekend agonizing over my decision. Should I take the Moore job, or should I stay? Like I told him on Friday, my instinct was to stay, but the more I thought about it, the harder the choice became.
I loved my life in London. I couldn’t fathom leaving it behind. At the same time, I couldn’t say with certainty that I wouldn’t regret turning down the Moores. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and if I said no, I’d always wonder…what if? And I was afraid that wonder would turn into resentment and bitterness down the road.
But throughout all my internal debates, I’d banked on the fact that Vincent wanted me to stay. He didn’t say it, probably because he didn’t want to influence my decision one way or another, but the way he’d held me on Friday after he heard the news made me think that my leaving would devastate him as much as it would me.
But what if I was wrong? What if he didn’t care whether I stayed or left?
I think you should take the job in Chicago.
A cold, hollow sensation seeped into my limbs.
“Fuck no,” Vincent said, the fierceness of his denial halting the icy creep of doubt. “If I had a choice, I’d never leave your side. But this is your dream job, Brooklyn. I want you to stay, but I want you to be happy more.”
I blinked hard, my throat thick with emotion. “How can I be happy when I’m not with you?”
“You will be. London to Chicago is just distance. It doesn’t mean we won’t be together.” Vincent framed my face with his hands, his thumb brushing over my cheek with such tenderness it made my heart ache. “I want you to give the Moore job a chance because I don’t want you to look back and wonderwhat if. If you don’t like it, you can quit and move back. I’ll be right here waiting for you. If you do like it, then fucking smash it in Chicago, and we’ll find a way to make our relationship work. I promise. If you think I’d let a few thousand miles come between us, then you don’t know me at all.”
I laughed through a veil of tears. Thewhat ifpart. I should’ve known Vincent would pick up on what I was thinking without me having to say it.
As for the rest…my chest squeezed.
I was tempted to follow his suggestion because he was right. I wasn’t guaranteed to like the job once I started it, but I owed it to myself to try. Talking to the Moores had been a moment ofclarity when my life finally clicked into place. For the first time since I turned down Blackcastle’s offer, I had a solid vision of what I wanted my career to look like.
But despite Vincent’s sincerity, I couldn’t shake the sense that there was something he wasn’t telling me—another reason he wanted me to take the job so badly.
“If I had to bet on you or a few thousand miles, I’d always choose you,” I said. “But I’m going to ask you something, and you have to answer honestly. Are you pushing me to move to Chicago because you’re afraid the intruder will come after me?”
I didn’t blame him for the intruder’s actions, but it was obvious how guilty he felt about putting me in potential harm’s way. His willingness to hire a bodyguard—something he’d refused to do just a few months ago—proved how seriously he was taking the threat.
Vincent released a slow breath, as if he were debating whether or not to confess. “I should’ve known you’d see through me,” he said ruefully. “I spoke to Smith after training.” He gave me a brief summary of their conversation, including Smith’s tacit confirmation that the intruder might come after me. “You’ll be safer in Chicago. The intruder won’t follow you there if I’m not with you, and I need you to be okay.” His voice turned raw and rough. “Ifanythinghappened to you, I wouldn’t survive. Do you understand?Tu es plus que mon cœur. Tu es mon tout.”
I didn’t know what he’d said, but I felt the emotion behind it in my bones. It twisted something inside me—a mixture of fear, anguish, and inevitability that threatened to drown me.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I whispered, my words barely audible.
