Page 35 of My Damaged Protector

“Are you a fan too?” comes the inquisitive voice of the lady who's holding the book.

I blink at her words, realizing I've been standing and staring at the book in her hand.

Feeling stupid, I shrug and walk away.

As I walk back to the motel, the spot where my phone is currently resting in my pocket starts to burn with an alarming awareness that leaves me with no choice but to pluck it out.

Once.

I'm just going to call her once, and if she doesn't pick up, I'll let it go.

I find her card in the same spot I'd shoved it in earlier and dial her number on the screen of my phone. I hesitate before pressing the call button, but I quickly tap it before I can chicken out again.

The phone starts to ring, and I force myself to continue walking so I don't look like a total loser in the middle of the road.

Just when I'm close to giving up, she picks up the call.

“Hello?”

I exhale at her voice, a huge sense of relief slamming into me as I enter the motel and pass by the reception. I look away from the front desk area so I won't have to exchange pleasantries with the Susie lady.

“Sarah, it's me.”

“Ian?” Her voice sounds strained. Almost as though she's asleep. Did I wake her up?

“Yes. How are you?” I ask.

“I'm… um… I'm in front of your room's door?”

What?

I quicken my step to turn the corner that leads to my room, and true to her word, she's standing in front of the door.

What is she doing here?

Walking fast toward her, she turns just as I'm about to get to her.

“Sarah, what are you doing… “ I trail off at the sight of tears in her eyes. Some have rolled down her cheeks, too.

What the fuck?

“What's going on?” I ask, immediately I'm in front of her. My hands cup her face on instinct, and I peer into her eyes. She closes them for just a few seconds before she opens them, wipes her face with a palm, and then clears her throat.

“Can we go inside?” She nods at the door, and I release her face.

“Of course.” I find the key and open the door. I let her go in first before I follow her.

“Give me a minute,” I say and run down to the bar where I get a bottle of wine and return within five minutes. She's seated on the floor when I come in.

I open the drink and fetch the empty glass I have from the water I drank earlier and pour her a huge portion.

She takes it from me with a grateful smile and gulps down a decent amount before she places her glass down.

I sit beside her. “What's going on?” I ask her.

She shakes her head at my question, a shadow casting over her face.

“I don't want to talk about it?” The way she speaks makes her words come out more like a question than a statement.

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