Page 64 of My Damaged Protector

“I'm coming back home,” she says into the phone.

That has me sitting upright. She can't travel alone with the media going crazy over her. It's not safe.

“No, Auntie. Listen. I'm safer over there. Ian will drive me, okay? Don't worry.”

I don't know when I volunteered to drive her, but it makes me happy that she believes I'll keep her safe.

She speaks for a few more minutes with her aunt, then she ends the call and fixes me with a stern look.

“Don't ask anything,” she says with a pleading look.

“Well, that's a difficult thing to ask of me, especially as you're making me your personal chauffeur without my knowledge. I need to know if I'm going to be an accomplice in a crime.”

“Really?”

“I was joking. Jeez.”

She rolls her eyes at me and then stands, holding her bag up.

“Are we leaving now?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she responds with a pointed look.

Oh boy. There are so many things I want to ask her, but the look on her face tells me nothing I say will make her tell me anything.

Well, I guess I'll just have to trust her. I know she wouldn't do anything illegal or make me an accomplice to any crime.

What am I even saying? She's an author. What could she possibly be involved in that would be incriminating?

I'm overthinking this whole thing, right?

So, while she's not telling me everything, I'm sure she has a good reason for that. I'm hoping.

Shaking my head. I walk back into my kitchen and turn off the gas switch. I go through the house and ensure every electrical appliance is unplugged. When I'm certain everything is in good shape, I pick up my truck key from the center table and go to open the door.

“We'll need to get gas on the way,” I say, hoping she'll get the message.

“I’ll cover it,” she responds. And I nod. Guess I'm going back to Glazer Ville.

The four-hour drive to Glazer Ville isn’t only an awkward one, but it’s also tense.

Sarah is restless, and nothing I say or do makes it better. Occasionally, I joke to distract her from whatever is bothering her, but the distraction only works for a few minutes before she’s back to sulking.

After a couple of attempts, I stop trying and instead focus on the drive.

It's not easy going back to the town for me, especially how I left things the last time with my aunt's lawyer.

I think of reaching out to him, but I immediately discard the thought. I'm not going to the town because I want to. It's because I have to.

Sarah needs me, and I'll be there for her however long it takes.

When we get to the town, Sarah directs me on how to get to her aunt's place. Soon, we're pulling up in front of the brown-painted bungalow, and I kill the truck's engine.

Sheila is out of the house before we even get out of the car, and she welcomes us warmly. Well, she welcomes Sarah warmly. She barely gives me the time of the day after saying hello and then following it up with, “It's good to see you without a swollen face this time around.”

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that, but I decided not to do anything.

We enter the house, and they both immediately start to talk, whispering so low you'd think I was a spy.

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