Page 122 of Guarded Knight

I’ll be changing your life all right.

“I get it. Don’t worry. And I’m glad Freya’s speaking. It will make it easier to drum up those extra donations tonight.”

He simply nods, turns without another word, and walks out.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, my lungs rebel.

A cough punches out of me, then another. My whole body seizes. I grip the edge of the vanity, knuckles white, bent double as my chest tightens.

Water. I need water.

Gabriel is back through the door and closes it behind him.

He grabs a bottle of water, unscrews the cap, and steadies me with one hand while offering it with the other.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb brushing under my eye where a pressure tear has escaped. “You did so damn well.”

He rubs my back hard, and the jostling feels good, but sometimes, once I start coughing, it’s hard to stop. Anxiety is such a trigger.

But the burn in my chest is nothing compared with the fire I feel toward Kevin. It’s fury. Shame. The ice-cold realization that Kevin isn’t just a fraud. He’s a threat.

“I need a minute,” I whisper hoarsely. “Maybe splash my face.”

Gabriel tucks the bottle into my hands, wraps his arm around my waist again like he’s not ready to release me to the world.

“Some cold water…” I hack again. “Might do the trick.”

He doesn’t need another word, he just keeps his arm wrapped around me and escorts me down the hall. When we get to the restroom, he pushes the bathroom door open and calls inside, “Man incoming.”

I roll my eyes. “Nice.”

“What should I say?”

I shrug.

Nobody answers, probably because everyone near this restroom should be seated. Freya is about to make her speech, and lunch will be served shortly. I stand just inside the door as Gabriel sweeps the stalls, checks the vent is screwed on, and rattles the locked handle of the janitor closet door.

“All clear.” Then he leans against the wall next to the door as if waiting.

So much for ugly coughing in privacy.

But just then, the door pushes open and a woman in a designer dress huffs at Gabriel, not taking her eyes off him until the very last minute when she enters a stall.

She must be a donor.

“It’s fine,” I say quietly, gesturing my head toward the now closed stall. “I’ll be right out.”

“I’m right here. Two steps away.” And he slips out.

The bathroom is cool. White tile. The buzz of air vents and distant bass from the speakers outside. I set the water bottle down, brace myself on the sink, and stare at my reflection.

I look haunted.

Cough.

Ugh.

I run the tap. Splash cold water on my face. Once. Twice.