Page 128 of My Damaged Protector

“Yeah, I am.” I don't want any alcohol in my system tonight, especially if things go south.

I'm still not calm about Sarah leaving the estate.

“Alright.” She places the bottle of whiskey down and carries the iced tea with her. “Fetch some glasses, will you?”

I do as she says and pour us both a portion before passing one to her. Taking a sip of my own, I let the past day's events play in my head again.

“Kyle Austen though, of all people. Did you know?”

Sheila shrugs, her face taking on a thoughtful look.

“I didn't know who he was until after Olivia's birth. I tried to pressure her into making him come see her, and that's when she caved. Told me he can never know about her. That's all I needed to know. A few years later though, I saw some news about him, and that's when I knew how dangerous he really was.”

Damn. I wish she had someone who protected her back then. If only I had stayed…

“Enough about that asshole. Are we going to talk about how you've still not told Sarah you're in love with her?”

“Sheila, shush,” I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious at the thought of Sarah's daughter hearing us.

Come to think of it, how come I hadn't remembered her when we were talking about her father?

Chuckling, Sheila speaks. “She’s asleep Ian, and even if she isn't, she's in the last room down the hall. No way she can hear us. Now quit deflecting and start telling me why you're still hiding how you feel from her.”

“I'm not hiding anything,” I grumble.

She gives me a look that says bullshit. I scoff and look away from her, take another sip of my iced tea, and wish I had taken the whiskey instead.

Why did she have to bring this up now?

Do I really love Sarah?

It's one thing to think I do. It's another thing entirely to be sure. And with all that's going on with us, I think the secret is the biggest problem I have with her. How can I know for sure that I love her when she won't even trust me with her secret?

She had sex with me many times, made me confide in her about Justin, yet not once did she think to tell me about her daughter. Or the fact that the father of said child is a notorious criminal.

“I don't know, Sheila.”

“What don't you know? That you love her or if you should tell her how you feel?”

A bit of both, to be honest, and it makes me smile at how insightful she is, yet she's being so graceful about it.

“You're a good man, Ian. She'll be lucky to have you.”

Those words have me turning my head to look at her. She barely knows me, yet she speaks those words with so much conviction.

“Thanks, Sheila.”

“Don't thank me. Just tell Sarah you love her.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Well, don't take too long,” she says in a tone that tells me she knows something.

Of course, she does. The secret.

“Alright,” I mumble.

We remain seated in silence, neither of us speaking yet bothered as time passes between us.

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