Page 64 of The Defender

It was also easier to believe people had ulterior motives for softening me up.EspeciallyVincent. Especially given our circumstances. The alternative was too risky.

So why was I so crushed by our sudden distance?

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to emotionally manipulate me into kissing you.” I adopted a light tone, hoping it’d ease the sting of my words. “I’mnotsaying that’s you, but we’re both competitive. We both want to win. I just—I’d rather have a clear view of what’s happening.”

A muscle twitched in Vincent’s jaw. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He didn’t sound upset. He sounded…hurt.

The bubble of distrust collapsed inside me, replaced with shame. I opened my mouth, but before I could get an apology out, a sharp, acrid smell stung my nose.

Vincent and I both whipped our heads toward the stovetop, where the second batch of pancakes was burning to a crisp in the skillet.

“Oh,putain!” He reached for the handle.

My eyes widened. “Wait! Turn off the?—”

Flames burst to life in the pan before he touched it. Billows of hazy gray smoke curled toward the ceiling, and the alarm shrieked into action.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!” This was followed by a stream of French curses I couldn’t decipher.

All thoughts of our bet vanished as we rushed to put out the fire before it spread. Vincent turned off the stove while I grabbed a lid from a nearby pot and tossed it at him. “Cover it!”

He caught it easily and slapped it over the pan. The flames hissed angrily against the metal, but they gradually petered out from the lack of oxygen.

Meanwhile, the alarm wailed on, relentless. My head pounded from the noise, and I was getting a little woozy from the smoke.

Vincent darted to the windows and cracked them open while I grabbed a placemat and flapped it uselessly against the sensor.

“You need to get closer!” he shouted. “I’ll get a chair.”

The kitchen stools were too unstable, but he returned a minute later with the desk chair from his room. He climbed on. I handed him the placemat, but it was too floppy to work. The smoke alarm continued to shriek like it was the end of the world.

“Try this!” I grabbed my notebook from the island and shoved it at him, desperate to make the noise stop. It was so shrill I felt my bones rattle.

My neighbor pounded on the wall and shouted something I couldn’t make out. The distant rumble of traffic trickled through the open windows. The smoke had cleared somewhat, but the entire flat reeked.

And amidst all this chaos, the doorbell rang. Once, twice, followed by a series of insistent knocks that were barely audible over the ruckus.

“Coming!” I yelled.

I left Vincent to take care of the alarm while I answered the door. It was either my landlord, who lived upstairs, or the fire brigade. Either way, it didn’t bode well for my security deposit.

I sneezed, my eyes watering. I was so distracted by the stench of smoke that I forgot to check the peephole. The security system beeped the way it did every time someone opened the door, and I remembered belatedly that Vincent’s intruder was still on the loose.

The chances of them showing up were slim, but…

I gripped the brass knob, ready to slam the door shut at the first sign of trouble. But the person on the other side wasn’t a stalker determined to kidnap Vincent,Misery-style.

No, it was worse.

It was my dad.

I blinked, certain I was hallucinating. His image didn’t waver. The gray hair, the bushy brows, the Blackcastle tracksuit—it was him to a tee.

“Dad?” I gaped at him. “What are you doing here?”