Page 65 of My Damaged Protector

It is so uncomfortable, and it drags on for so long I'm close to asking if I should go out. But I don't want to come off as rude, so I remain seated and listen to them whisper for over an hour.

Eventually, the whispering stops and Sarah turns to look at me.

“I'm going to get freshened up. Do make yourself at home, and don't hesitate to ask if you need anything.”

I watch her in amazement as she speaks and only manage to nod afterward.

I'm supposed to feel at home?

After all the suspicious whispering they've been doing for a while now?

Sarah stands up and walks away, and I do my best to not look at her. I have so many questions that I want to ask her, none of which she'll want to answer right now.

Sighing, I push back on the couch and let my head fall back. I didn't even remember to bring any clothes with me.

I always have some extra clothes in the back seat of my truck, but I'm certain they're mostly dirty. I'll have to wash them to have any hope of decent clothing.

“Would you like some iced tea?” I hear Sheila ask, and I raise my head to look at her.

Now that I'm allowing myself to properly assess her, she looks familiar. She looks like Sarah will look in twenty or thirty more years, only with brown hair.

“I'm fine,” I say and look away.

She hums and then stands up to leave. I'm suddenly overcome with the need to keep her with me, so I speak again.

“You have a lovely home.”

She turns to look at me, a knowing look on her face paired with a mocking smile. “Do I?”

It's not a question. Not in a real sense. Indirectly, she's asking me to cut the bullshit.

Fine.

“I need to know if she's hiding something important. How do I protect her if I don't know what I'm protecting her from?” I say in exasperation.

The whole secret thing is killing me. I don't do well with secrets, and I certainly don't know how to keep one. Not effectively anyway, and especially not from the people that matter.

Do I not matter to Sarah?

Is that why she's keeping this from me?

She doesn't trust that I'll keep her secret?

She did promise she’d tell you eventually.

Well, when will that be?

And of all the times for my subconscious to be subjective, now's not it.

I'm frustrated, damn it.

“You love her,” she says, robbing me of my ability to speak, literally.

“What… I… You… I don't understand,” I sputter.

She chuckles like someone who knows something you don't. Well, she does know something I don't know, and she's not telling me.

Going back to sit down, she holds my gaze, her smile still in place.

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