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“I didn’t at the time, but I saw the video a few weeks ago and had a gut feeling something wasn’t right. Then Marcus sent me this video. Everything started falling into place.”

“You can’t tell Marcus it’s us,” I stupidly respond.

“Marcus is the least of my worries. Right now, I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’d put yourself in these situations, and that you’ve been keeping this from me. I don’t tolerate liars.”

“I’m not a liar. Just because I didn’t tell you doesn’t mean—”

Any control he was holding on to breaks, and he throws his hands in the air. “I’m a cop, Emi, a cop! I can’t have a girlfriend who breaks the law and puts herself in danger for whatever the fuck’s sake. How can I trust you? What the hell else are you keeping from ME?” He screams so loud I jerk back on the sofa and curl in a ball.

Guilt and shame slam into me at the look on his face, and my eyes start to burn. My vision becomes blurry as tears well up and slide down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” comes out in a broken gasp.

“Oh shit, you’ve made her cry. Emi never cries,” Maren yells at him and throws herself around me.

I suck back a sob and start to tremble right as strong arms wrap around my middle and pull me away from her. “Baby, don’t cry.”

I don’t respond, mostly because my throat is clogged and I can’t speak. Maren is right; I’m not a crier. Maybe a few times during a movie, but never over a guy. The happy tears I shed the other night with Walker were the first in a long time. I may be dramatic, but I’m not emotional.

Until now.

“Look at me,” Walker says gently, running a hand down my back.

I shake my head and bury it deeper in my knees.

I don’t tolerate liars… How can I trust you… What else are you keeping from me? His words play over and over in my brain.

“Baby, please look at me.”

I continue to shake my head, the tears pouring out even though I’m squeezing my eyes tight. Roaring starts in my ears as my heart races faster.

“Emi, please.” There’s a gentleness to his voice that eases some of the anxiety inside my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Unwind yourself and look at me.” He kisses the top of my head and tries to pry my arms free.

I let him loosen my hold and tip my head up to him. Slowly, I open my eyes and try to focus. His face is etched with concern, his eyes a stormy shade of green. I inhale sharply, trying to get control of my raging emotions. A few more tears fall, and he wipes them away, bringing his forehead to mine.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I can’t stand that you don’t trust me.”

He blows out another breath, cupping my face and sweeping his lips over mine. “I trust you.”

“Do you still love me?”

“So much it makes me a madman.”

“Remember how I said there’s nothing you aren’t good at? I think I found something. You have a temper.”

“You put yourself in stupid, crazy, or dangerous situations again without telling me, I’ll lose my shit. Otherwise, I’ll try to keep my temper in check.”

“Are you going to ask us to quit?”

“Don’t ask me that right now. I’m still grappling with this.”

“Walker, maybe I can explain a little better.” Maren starts to talk—telling him everything. She doesn’t hold back, going as far as to tell him all of our cases.

I bow my head and hold my breath to the point of dizziness when she touches on our trip to Myrtle Beach and his arms tighten painfully.

Her explanation ends, and the anger and tension in the room scares me. Walker remains quiet, too quiet. Maren’s hand slides to grip my ankle, which is still tucked under me. The gesture is meant to reassure me, but my anxiety spikes again at the low grumbling coming from Walker.