Page 47 of Beyond Protection
His hands rested loosely around his cup. No tension. No performance.
He was safer at the Roastery than I was.
"Can I ask you something?" Mac leaned back. "How long have you been doing this? The hypervigilance. The scanning. The thing where you can't turn it off."
"Since my first job."
"Bullshit." He held my gaze. "How long have you been running from whatever made you like this?"
Three years. Ever since Kyra died on my watch because I hesitated.
"A while," I said finally.
"And it's working for you? This strategy?"
"It's kept clients alive."
"That's not what I asked." He leaned forward. "I asked if it's working for you."
"I'm doing my job."
"I know." His voice softened. "I'm just wondering what it costs you."
Everything. But saying that out loud would crack something I'd spent three years keeping sealed.
Mac's phone buzzed again. He picked it up. Glanced at the screen.
"I have to take this," he said. "Two minutes."
He walked to the far end of the mezzanine. Pressed the phone to his ear. His posture changed instantly—shoulders back, smile appearing.
I watched him talk to his agent. Watched him perform being fine while standing ten feet away from the only space where he'd been fine in days.
He hung up. Stood there a moment, head bowed, breathing.
Then he turned and caught me watching.
"Sorry," he said, returning to the table.
"Don't be."
"My agent. Wants to schedule January interviews."
I checked my watch. 11:43. We'd been at the Roastery ninety minutes. Longer than I'd planned.
"We should go," I said.
"Yeah." He didn't move. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For the coffee. For not laughing when I ordered something goofy—that Chestnut Praline monstrosity. For—" He looked out at a hint of sun peeking through the ever-present clouds. "For remembering I'm from here and that this matters."
"It does?"
"More than I expected."
I stood. "We should beat the lunch rush."
