Page 89 of Protecting Peyton

Constance appeared outside. “Clear out here,” she said in my ear.

“Clear to the north,” Duke added.

I pulled Peyton tighter. “Constance and Duke are outside. The coast is clear. Are you ready to go home?” No way was I letting her go anywhere else. It was time for answers.

“Just a moment,” the woman said, rushing back to the counter. She returned with a pair of earrings and handed them to Peyton. “You can’t leave without these.”

“Thank you so much, Beth.” She released me to hug the woman and then pivoted to the man. “And you, Blake.”

“I hope you keep those,” Beth said. “Memories like that can’t be replaced.”

Peyton nodded and wrapped an arm around me. “Thank you again.”

“Exiting the shop,” I said into comms. As I opened the door, I scanned up and down the street before stepping outside.

Constance was the first to speak. “A man with different color eyes?”

Peyton nodded.

Duke had his head on a swivel, watching for trouble. “We’re too exposed here. Back to Hawk?”

“Bring her here,” Lucas said.

That would have been wise, but with Peyton as scared as she was, I vetoed it. “Just a moment.” I muted comms. “We can help you, but only if you’re ready to tell us what you’re running from.”

“What’s going on?” Lucas demanded.

“I think he’s kissing the girl,” Jordy said.

“Stand by one,” Duke told them both.

Constance smiled.

Peyton took in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Unmuting my comms, I announced. “Meeting at my place to discuss.”

“You heard the man,” Lucas said. “Jordy, organize the rest of the crew. Duke, you organize the food and drink. Meeting at Zane’s place.”

“At least I didn’t get stuck with the food run this time,” Constance noted.

That made Peyton smile.

I opened the car door for her, closed her in, and scanned the street one more time to be safe.

Getting in and starting the Porsche, I made the departure a calmer affair than the arrival. “Letting us help you is the right thing,” I assured her.

She nodded. “I know that now.” Her hand came over the console as an invitation, and I took it and intended to hold it the entire way home.

Peyton

I drewstrength from March’s hand as he held mine.

No, I couldn’t call him March any longer. He was my Zane. I’d been fighting the realization since the moment days ago when our lips touched in that moment that redefined what a kiss could convey.

He was the man I couldn’t avoid—the man I couldn’t keep from thinking about and couldn’t leave. He was a man I could count on, rely on, lean on—a real man.

I was done fighting it. “Zane?”