Page 115 of Guarded Knight

I need more focus than ever, because tomorrow she might be standing next to her stalker. And I don’t know what Kevin’s capable of—I only know how quickly violence unfolds, how little time there is between a wrong look and a shattered body.

And I haven’t had enough time to make this, us, real. That’s what claws at me most. But after tomorrow, we’ll take time together, sift through the possibilities, the desires, the truths and the fears.

I told Xander she’s a yes. I need to lay it on the table and see if it’s a yes for her.

I slip out of bed and stealthily sneak out. The stairs creak, but I manage to miss most of the spots. Down the left, skip the fourth, land quietly.

The kitchen is dark, save for the white glow of the oven clock. I flick the coffee maker on and brace my hands on the counter while it groans to life.

My heartbeat’s still too fast. I breathe in through my nose. Hold it. Out through my mouth.

The dream’s fading at the edges, but the feeling stays: the helplessness, the choking silence, the weight of not getting there fast enough, of not moving when it counts most, and this time, it wasn’t a nameless stranger. It was Lara.

They’re only dreams, but I’m so fucking tired of not getting there fast enough.

The coffee drips. I pour a cup and drink it black as usual, wishing the bitterness were something I could drink myself sober on.

And then, the stairs groan, too light to be Anton.

Her voice slices through the dark. “If this is your idea of a graceful exit, you’re not very good at it.”

Lara leans against the doorframe, hair mussed, wearing one of my old t-shirts with sexy bare legs tumbling out from beneath the hem.

“Sorry if I woke you,” I say.

“I wish you had.” She crosses the room and hoists herself onto the counter. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just needed a minute.”

She studies me. “Bad dream?”

How did she know? “Yeah.”

I think about leaving it at that.

But this? It deserves a conversation. I have to brave my way through the silence if I ever want to get to her.

“I’m pretty sure all this shit brought it on. I should have expected it.”

Sadness settles on Lara’s shoulders. “I’m a trigger?”

I turn to fill the mug again, even though it’s full, to avoid gazing at her. I’ve never spoken to anyone but my therapist, Anton, and Xander about the dreams.

I keep my back to her; it’s hard to open up. “The second I matter, the dreams come. That’s why I kept running—if I didn’t matter to anyone, I couldn’t fail them.”

When I turn, her legs dangle and her fingertips grip the counter tightly.

“So you planned not to let good things happen to avoid the pain?” She wiggles herself across the counter and straddles her legs around my hips.

I smooth hair off her cheek. “I have no plans of avoiding you.”

No. I won’t be avoiding her. But what if she has to walk away anyway? Scarlet Hope is collapsing. Her job will vanish. And no matter how much I feel for her, I can’t change the fact that she hates being someone’s worry.

And I will worry about her. I don’t think I can change that. I care too much.

The corner of her mouth quirks. “So this midnight exile isn’t you avoiding me?”

I tilt my head toward the coffee machine behind me. “Just putting a Band-Aid on it.”