Page 52 of Her Dark Angel

And for some reason… the thought doesn’t scare me as much as it should.

“Miss May,” Officer Walker repeats, his eyes catching mine. “Make sure Mr. Beck stays out of trouble, okay? I don’t want to see him back here again.”

I swallow what feels like tar in my throat and nod, unable to form a sentence.

Goddamn.

He turns to Nash, who is a few inches taller than him, and pats him on the shoulder. “Get some rest, okay? You’ve been up all night.”

Nash murmurs something under his breath and steps away from Officer Walker. He doesn’t wait for me as he walks toward the exit, his grip on the jacket over his shoulder tightening.

My eyes find Officer Walker’s and I force a smile onto my lips, still dazed from what just happened. “Thank you for calling me.”

“It was no problem at all,” he responds with a shrug and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “Nash is a good man, but he’s troubled. He’s been in and out of this building more times than I can count, so I’m hoping a good woman like you will be able to help him turn his life around before he can no longer be saved.”

My forehead creases with a frown, and my mouth opens, ready to question him, but he’s called away by another officer. He waves goodbye before rushing off, leaving me alone in the foyer.

So much has happened in the past five minutes that my mind is struggling to catch up. Between being in the belly of the law and doing my goddamn best to not think about the last time I was here—begging for help that never arrived—and seeing Nash with busted knuckles, the last thing I needed to hear was Officer Walker telling me my fake boyfriend is close to drowning in the demons nipping at his heels.

I exhale a sharp breath and bite my bottom lip, the skin chapped. This whole fake dating thing is becoming a lot more complicated than I had anticipated.

Turning back to the receptionist, I thank her for her time and slide across the form. As she tells me to have a good day, concern plagues her kind eyes and I do my best not to dwell on it as I leave the building and head to my car.

Nash leans against the hood of my car with his arms folded over his chest. The stance makes the muscles in his biceps bulge to a size that has my mouth watering and my core tingling. His curly hair is a mess over his eyes, which isn’t unusual for him, but it looks like he has been running his hands through it a lot because the curls aren’t as defined as usual.

I want to ask how he knows my car, but remember that he likely saw it in the driveway last night when he stopped by to pick me up and drop me home after dinner. The night we spent together at Matt’s restaurant feels like a distant memory given all that’s happened since.

Nash’s eyes are on me as I walk to the driver’s side door, unlock the vehicle, and slip in without a word. In the ten seconds I’m alone in the car before Nash gets in beside me, I take a deep breath and steady my racing heart and jumbled thoughts. I have to remain in control of the situation if I’m going to be able to handle Nash, especially after the night he’s had. Instead of charging at him like a goddamn bull, I need to approach the topic with caution so as not to make him feel like he’s being attacked.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” Nash’s words are hoarse and deep as he speaks. He’s fiddling with the thick silver ring on his forefinger as he stares straight ahead.

I switch the car on, the engine roaring to life. “You didn’t leave me with much of a choice.” Realizing how harsh my words sounded to my ears, I sigh. “Are you okay, Nash?”

He simply nods and closes his eyes. I’m sure he’s exhausted after spending the night in a jail cell. Officer Walker said he didn’t sleep a wink, so I’m sure he’s itching to get some shut-eye. I need to get him somewhere safe where he can be alone. With a life like his, I’m sure he doesn’t get much alone time.

“Let me take you to my house where it’s quiet and that… friend of yours isn’t lurking around.” Without looking at Nash, I pull the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. My palms are sweaty as they grip the leather wheel and I can’t help but steal a glance at him slouched in the seat beside me, his right leg bouncing as he stares ahead.

As we drive in silence, I feel anger and frustration rolling off him in waves that threaten to drown me. I’m struggling to breathe as I focus on the road and not the fact that I’m slowly being consumed by Nash’s woodsy cologne and all-encompassing presence.

It isn’t until I see my house come into view that I release the breath I had been holding and notice my knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel.

The car rolls to a stop in the driveway and I don’t wait for Nash before I get out. The afternoon air fills my lungs and I close my eyes, steeling myself for what could happen as soon as I’m alone with Nash in my house. The conversation could go one of two ways. One, he loses his fucking mind and shuts me out, or two, he opens up and lets me into whatever the hell is going on inside of that pretty head of his.

I know Nash has followed me into the house because I hear the car door slam shut and moments later the sound of his combat boots squeaking against the wooden floor sounds throughout the foyer.

As soon as I step foot into the kitchen, I head straight for the bottle of wine stashed in my cupboard. I told myself I would only open it on days when I needed a little kick or had a rough day, and I think today fits the bill on that front.

Nash walks into the kitchen as I’m pouring us both a glass. His mismatched eyes flick between me and the two glasses of white wine on the counter.

“I don’t have anything stronger,” I say as I slide one of the glasses toward the three bar stools opposite me. When he continues to stare at me, I raise a pointed brow at him. “If you don’t drink it, I will.”

That seems to do the trick.

Nash slides onto one of the stools and brings the wine glass to his lips. My eyes widen as I watch this man chug the entire glass in three mouthfuls. He hisses a breath of satisfaction as he places the glass down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll take another one if you’re offering.”

I roll my eyes and pour him another glass. “I’m sure drinking is what got you into this mess. For God’s sake, Nash, you need to stop getting yourself thrown into jail. It’s not a good look for our relationship.”

“Fake relationship,” Nash emphasizes over the rim of the glass as he takes a sip. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault this time.”

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