Page 10

CHAPTER 10

Tristan

The second I pull over at her house, she jumps off the bike, unbuckles the helmet and shoves it in my face. “Thank you for the ride.”

With a chuckle, I roll my eyes toward the little camera nestled at the top corner of the front gate. “My pleasure. If you have an app for that security camera feed, show it to me…please.”

She fumbles with her phone and lets me check the footage. The house seems empty, and the alarm is intact. “Happy? Now, off you go.”

“I’m not leaving until you’re safe inside.”

“You’re not my bodyguard, Mr. Morra.”

Whose fault is that, Mrs. Abel? I’m tempted to say it, but I don’t. “ And yet here we are. I save you from a potential stalker, give you a ride home and make sure you’re safe for the rest of the night. Almost like destiny .”

She shakes her head with a scoff when she realizes I’m not going anywhere until she enters her house. As she lets herself in and climbs the stairs to the front door, I regret that this is probably the last time we’ll cross paths. Repaying her for how much she helped me wasn’t just something I said. I meant it. It bothers me that this wonderful woman has been going through all that pain, and there’s nothing I can do to help. Well, there’s plenty, but she won’t let me.

Keys in hand, she stares vacantly at the door. Her steps falter back as she throws me a hesitant look. She’s scared to walk into her own house.

I kill the engine and hop off my bike. “On second thought,” I walk through the gate and climb toward her, removing my helmet, “I will check the house and secure the parameter myself before you go in.” It is what she wants me to do, but she’s too proud to show me her fear, too stubborn to ask me for help.

Her face, as pale as the moonlight, softens for a fleeting moment. Then she squares her shoulders and sticks her chin up. “Knock yourself out. It’s not like I can do anything to stop you.”

Good girl . I use her keys to unlock the front door and step inside. The house is quiet except for the soft ticks of the heating system. When I turn on the lights, everything looks exactly like in the feed. “You can disarm the alarm and wait in the foyer as I check the rooms.”

I do a quick sweep of the first floor. Living room, kitchen and dining room are one large space with no doors. There’s a guest bathroom, a small bedroom, and the study where she interviewed me this morning. All clear.

Upstairs, I check each room of the three besides the master suite. Then I nudge open the door to Mrs. Abel’s bedroom and tread slowly. The lights reveal a world of her own, glimpses of her tastes and habits, that engulfs and swallows me whole the second I dare cross the threshold.

Her essence, not only the faint floral fragrance that lingers in the air, but the hints of the complex soul she is, is imprinted everywhere. The black furniture dressed in elegant gold flicks. Books and trinkets arranged the way they are on the nightstand and dresser. The wisps of dark hair on her pillow. The lavender sheets rumpled from her slumber…where she’s been violated.

Anger and protectiveness take over me. She shouldn’t have to feel unsafe here. Why can’t she just let me protect her? Mrs. Abel has so many fine qualities I’ve always admired. Stubbornness isn’t one of them.

I check the bathroom and the terrace thoroughly. When I’m satisfied, I return downstairs. She’s waiting in the foyer, clutching her purse, eyes darting around nervously. “All good. No one is here.” I assure her.

She shuts the door and sighs in relief, but then she crumbles down on the couch and bursts into tears.

“Hey.” I hurry to her side and crouch down in front of her. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe , Mrs. Abel.”

She covers her face with her hands, crying harder. Then, as if that isn’t enough to hide her tears from me, she buries her face in my shoulder, her sobs sifting through me.

I don’t talk or ask her to stop crying. Part of it is out of respect, the other part is that physical touch I don’t initiate triggers me. She doesn’t know that, though, and right now, she needs me, so I push past my own conflicts and dare wrap my arms around her. A proud woman like Birdie Abel won’t be crying her heart out in front of someone like me unless she’s truly in pain and needs a shoulder to cry on. If that’s the only thing she’ll let me be, I’m here for it. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for her. I owe her that much.

However, it hurts to see her suffering to the point of breaking. It hurts to go back to a place where all I can do is watch helplessly. It’s the worst feeling ever, and I’ve promised myself never to be in that place again.

“Mrs. Abel, I—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morra.” She yanks herself away from me and wipes her face.

“For what?”

“This. I should have had more control over my emotions. I’m very sorry.”

“You’re apologizing for crying?”

She takes a moment before she says, “I guess I am. Crying in front of someone else isn’t something…I allow myself to do.”

That pause is holding more than just air. I can feel it. This isn’t a statement of pride. There’s something heavy behind it she won’t reveal in words. I sit in the armchair across from her. “There’s nothing wrong with showing emotion. If it’s any consolation, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you cry, so let it all out.”

Her face, her whole body goes rigid. She looks at me like I stabbed her. I was only trying to make her feel less vulnerable. Now, I’ve made things worse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you did. When did you see me cry before?”

“It’s nothing really. I’m sorry to have brought that up.”

“ When , Mr. Morra?”

Fuck. Here goes nothing. “Eight years ago, at school, you were talking to another teacher at the pantry. The door was open, I was passing by and overheard parts of your conversation. You were crying, the name Blake came up,” I swallow, “and you had sunglasses on…barely hiding the bruise under them.”

She jumps to her feet and turns, raising a hand at me to stop talking. Her steps drift away, but her chin and fingers visibly shake as she places the back of her hand under her nose. She’s crying again, and I hate myself for it.

I leave my seat and approach her carefully. “Mrs. Abel, please, I—”

“This morning when you said no woman should be afraid in her own house because of a man, stalker or otherwise, you knew, didn’t you?”

That Blake Abel, her fiancé eight years ago and now her husband, has been abusing her? Yes, I knew. “I’m so sorry for what you had to go through. I didn’t know how long it’s been going on until I met you again. All this time, in my heart, I was hoping it was just that one time. I guess I was being naive because it’s never just that one time.”

“Never meet your heroes, Mr. Morra. They can turn out to be utterly pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. You’re an amazing person.”

She spins, her eyes and cheeks wet and struck by red. “You know what was the first thing I did today when I left the house? I texted Gia the driver’s info because I thought she’d report back to Blake, and he’d know what to do if anything happened to me. And when I thought I was being followed, who was the first person I got my phone out to call for help? It’s not 911, not the one cop that’s actually on my side, it’s fucking Blake. My idea of protection is replacing one monster with another. What does that make me if not a pathetic imposter?”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. You’ve been conditioned to think he’s the only one who can protect you.” I hold her arms gently. “It doesn’t have to be that way anymore. I know you don’t want me as your security, but I can give you reliable referrals that you can hire. I can arrange for meetings first thing in the morning. The cycle can be broken.”

She sniffles, a broken smile on her lips. “You know a lot about abuse, Mr. Morra. I wish you hadn’t. Who was the victim? You? Someone you loved?”

A lump clogs my throat. “I’m going to check the backyard and the surrounding areas of the house.”

“Did you save them, Mr. Morra?” she asks as I walk to the door, the question a dagger in my back.

I stop for a second, memories attacking me. I shake them off and continue. “I won’t be long.”