Page 61 of Newton

Steam follows him from the bathroom, and I can imagine that every surface in there is fucking damp. It wouldn't be an issue for me if I were sharing a room with Brielle, but it seems a little gag-inducing to go into the hot and damp bathroom after someone else. It's too intimate.

"We have an hour before we have to leave. Get your shit together."

"My shit is together," I snap.

"Sure it is," he says with his back to me.

My lip twitches in irritation as I stand, and he freezes when I take a step closer to him rather than grabbing my shit out of my suitcase and heading into the bathroom.

"We can go if you want to," Hemlock warns. "But I'm not going to fucking hold back."

I've seen what the man is capable of, and even though I'm looking for a fight, I know he won't stop until I'm required to eat out of a fucking straw.

He doesn't taunt me for backing down when I grab my things and head to the bathroom.

Fighting a teammate would be stupid, and it's something I'm well aware of but I just have this insane urge to fucking hit something. I want to scream and yell, go back in time, and take those words back. I want to change the trajectory of my life.

The way she looked at me last night like I was a stain on the bottom of her shoe was a defense mechanism, wasn't it?

It's not possible that she was pretending this entire time. I would've known if that were the case.

By the time I get done with my shower, Kincaid is in the living room part of the four-bedroom suite speaking with Hemlock.

"You need your vest," Kincaid says to me, looking over Hemlock's shoulder as I enter the room.

"I'll grab mine also," Hemlock says.

"That won't be necessary," Kincaid informs him. "ICE doesn't want you out in public."

Hemlock nods as if he figured that was going to happen at some point.

My head is full of all sorts of clapbacks as I walk back into the bedroom I had to share with the grizzly bear last night to grab my vest. I knew I needed to wear the damn thing, but I figured, why not skip it. It's not like a bullet to the gut would cause any more pain than I already feel.

After removing the mic from my ear, I pull off my suit jacket and button-down shirt and slip my lightweight bulletproof vest over my t-shirt, grateful that Kincaid isn't a cheap ass. Our gear is top-notch, the best in the business, making this vest less bulky and more comfortable than any other brand.

After putting my shirt and jacket back on, and reinserting my earpiece, I head back into the living room, hoping that Brielle will have changed her mind overnight and run into my arms when she comes out of her room.

My breath hitches when I enter the room to see her exiting her bedroom. The makeup she's wearing is foreign to me. She hasn't used anything other than Chapstick since I took her to the clubhouse.

She's beautiful no matter what, she's just a different kind of beauty right now.

She looks around the room as she runs her scarf through her hands, but she makes a point to not bother looking in my direction.

She holds her head high, and if I didn't know her as I do, I'd never be able to imagine her huddled in a closet begging me not to hurt her.

Right now she's a force to be reckoned with. She's strong and full of fire. This woman is ready to take on the world or slay a dragon.

God, I love her and to think for a second that I'd want to stop is insane.

Kincaid says something to her, and she nods in a businesslike way, standing so proud and sure for a moment I have to wonder if this is the real her. Maybe she was playing pretend back in New Mexico.

Then I see the flash of the blue gemstone at her throat when she wraps her scarf around her neck. If she hated me, if she wanted me out of her life, if she was the evil woman just toying with my emotions like she claimed last night in order to get me to leave the room, she wouldn’t be wearing it. At least that’s what I choose to believe.

I have to keep the hope that eventually she’s going to find her way back to me.

She may not be ready to be loved, but I can do it silently. I can show her a million ways how I feel if it’s the use of the words that bother her so much.

If anyone has the ability to understand what being unlovable feels like, then I’m that person. When you’re born to a woman who’d choose a needle filled with heroin over the son she's supposed to protect, it doesn't exactly build the most trust in that emotion, but my adoptive mother proved that I was worthy, and I can be that person for her.

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