Page 43 of Guarded from Sabotage

And as she snuggles up next to me while we share dessert, now having moved to the same side of the booth as me, I can’t imagine why I ever hesitated.

Sarah takes a bite of the churro cannoli and sighs. “This is so good. I never would have thought about this combination… but it’s incredible. We should try to make this at home.”

Home. It’s the first time she’s called Blade and Arrow home, and I like it. Not that I have any plans of asking her to move in with me, at least not this soon, but someday…

I can see it. Like a series of snapshots of our future, I can see me and Sarah, living together, cooking every night, throwing big holiday celebrations for both our families, getting a dog, and maybe, one day, starting our own little family. Sarah would instill her love of reading, and I could teach them about history, and?—

But we’ve only been dating for a week. It’s far too soon to be thinking about marriage and kids. Isn’t it? And who’s to say Sarah even wants that with me?

Maybe, once this is all over, she’ll decide to leave Texas. I know she said she wants to stay here, but if she moves back to the East coast, she’ll be closer to Hanna and her family. She could decide there are too many bad memories in San Antonio and it would be better to start over somewhere else. And I’m committed to Blade and Arrow; I can’t up and leave when our branch is just getting started.

“Dante?” Sarah’s concerned voice draws my attention. She’s looking at me with a worried expression, and she touches my arm lightly. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” I give her a reassuring smile as I shove my worries to the side. “Why?”

But I know why. Sarah’s so attuned to other people’s emotions, of course she’d pick up on any change of mood.

“You just looked… not happy. Worried.”

“I’m okay,” I reassure her. “Really.”

But she doesn’t look convinced, and since I don’t want to tell her what I was really thinking—it’s a bit soon for that, I think—I quickly change the topic. “I’m really okay,” I repeat, and I take her hand in mine, giving it a little squeeze. “Just got caughtin my thoughts for a second. But there’s something I realized I hadn’t asked you.”

“Oh?” Her brows wing up. “What’s that?”

“Well, I know how much you love being a social worker, and the kinds of things you do, but I don’t think we ever talked about why you decided to become one. Was it something you always wanted to do?”

Sarah hesitates; long enough for me to realize this wasn’t as innocent of a question as I thought. Then she blows out a breath. “Well. No. When I went to college, I thought I wanted to be a teacher. But sophomore year, I changed my mind.”

Even though her tone is carefully neutral, there’s an undercurrent of strain that makes me say, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Another deep breath, and a slow exhale. Her eyes darken to a tarnished bronze as she meets my gaze. “No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time, and I want you to know.”

I take both her hands in mine, cradling them like fragile glass. “What happened?”

“It was just before Christmas break, sophomore year,” she says, “and I went to a party to celebrate being done with finals. I went with a couple of friends from my dorm; one of them knew the guys throwing the party through one of his classes.”

A sick feeling settles into my stomach.

“I had some drinks, but nothing too crazy,” Sarah continues. “And I was very careful about not leaving my drink unattended.”

My molars grind together painfully. “Did someone?—”

“No. Not that. My drink was fine.” She pauses, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “But when I went to use the bathroom, the one downstairs was taken. One of the guys who lived there suggested using the one upstairs. I didn’t even think about it. I just went.”

Stabbing pain radiates from my jaw down my neck. “And?”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “When I left the bathroom, he grabbed me. Pushed me back inside. And he…”

Fuck.

It’s a pained groan. “Sarah?—”

“He tried to. But before he could, one of my friends came looking for me. Chris—my friend, not the asshole—got worried and when he heard the noises in the bathroom, he kicked in the door. Got the asshole off me.”

She strokes my clenched jaw, her gaze softening. “I was lucky. I walked away scared, shaken, but he didn’t get what he wanted. A lot of women don’t have a friend that stepped in.”

Forcing my voice to stay calm, I reply, “I wouldn’t call being assaultedlucky.”

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