Page 26 of Second Chance Serenity

“We had one date,” I tell him.

“He has a clean background,” he tells me. “If you were curious.”

“You ran him?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. Michael’s dad is retired police. Michael works with a former detective, and he, Elijah, and Lance all served as Rangers in the Army. Of course he looked into Liam.

“We’ve run everyone in your life. Past. Present. Future.”

“You include yourself on that list?”

He snorts. “I know my transgressions,” he replies. “And I’m still paying for them.” His gaze finds mine, and the air between us charges with tension.

I could have spent my forever with him.

But now I can’t trust him.

“The nightmares something new?”

“I had them?—”

“As a kid. I remember,” he interrupts. “But now. After?—”

“Yeah. That was the first one I’ve had in a long time.” My throat burns as I try to swallow back the emotion. “I know I survived. That could have been so much worse. But I just can’t get the feeling of helplessness out of my head.”

Michael stares straight ahead. “Helplessness is something I understand quite well,” he says. “I wish I had gotten there sooner.”

“I’m just glad you got there at all.”

We fall into silence, something rather unusual for the man sitting next to me. A man who always seems to know the right thing to say. “I want you to know that even though you don’t want me as your bodyguard, I will never let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

He turns to me. “Do you?”

Something in the question catches me off guard. A deeper meaning behind those two words that feeds the pieces of me unwilling to let him go. “Yes. And thanks again.” I reach out and offer my hand.

Michael studies it, and for a minute, I wonder if he’s going to refuse the handshake. But then his large hand closes around mine and I see the simple gesture for what it is: a mistake.

Because the feel of his hand against mine soothes a need I’ve carried since the moment he walked out of the door.

CHAPTER 9

Michael

“Michael.” My father stands in my doorway, his arms crossed. He’s in uniform, about to leave for the night shift, and based on his expression, he’s not thrilled with me.

Closing the book I was reading, I glance up at him.

“Margot, I need to speak with your brother.”

My sister sits up and takes her book with her, giving me an apologetic glance as she goes because we both know what this is about. As soon as she’s out of the room, he moves all the way in and closes the door.

Then, in typical-of-my-dad fashion, he stands there like a statue, letting the tension between us simmer. I know from experience that he doesn’t want me to talk. No, he wants to let the silence draw out because he thinks it makes me sweat.

It doesn’t. Because I’m used to his typical brand of lecturing.

“Your mother said you haven’t applied to any colleges. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

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