Page 60 of The Bodyguard

“We worked together. We’d been partners – in the professional sense – for a long time, a couple of years or so, before we realised we were way more than just colleagues. And neither of us wanted to fall in love because it…”

He stops talking, shifts his gaze and stares out to his right, out across the hotel grounds. And I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. I just watch him, the way he clasps his hands tighter, so tight his knuckles start to turn white: the way his jaw is clenched, I don’t think he’s comfortable talking about this. So why is he?

“What we – whatIdo, it’s complicated.” He turns to look at me again, and his eyes are almost dead. There’s a coldness in there that makes me shiver, so I break the stare. I look down, at the handkerchief in my hand, spots of blood of various sizes dotted all over it. I think my lip’s stopped bleeding now, though. I can’t taste blood anymore. “Lena? I need you to look at me. I need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you. I need you to hear this. Please.”

I look up, my fingers tightening around the already scrunched-up handkerchief.

“Her name was Kate. And we tried everything we could to avoid falling in love, we really did. We tried so fucking hard, but once those feelings are locked inside of you it’s impossible to turn back from that. But we kept it to ourselves, it was our secret, you know? We didn’t like the idea of everyone else knowing our business, but in hindsight, if wehadmade our relationship public…”

He stops talking again, his eyes down, his shoulders tense, and I don’t know what I’m feeling now. I don’t. I don’t know where this is going, I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me, I don’t know anything anymore.

“If we’d told people, about us: if they’d known we were a couple maybe they would’ve assigned us different partners.”

He lifts his gaze.

“Maybe she’d still be alive, if she hadn’t been with me that day.”

I feel my stomach lurch, and I take a deep breath, there’s a pain in his eyes so great it makes my heart break.

“We were working on something – something big. A group of people who…” He shakes his head. “The details don’t matter.”

I think they do. To him. And as I watch him, his body language, the way he holds himself, I’m feeling flickers of every emotion from anxiety to fear, things I can’t even get my head around. I don’t think he should be telling me any of what he’s telling me right now, so why is he? Why is he telling me this?

“Everything turned to shit so fucking quickly.” As he talks his eyes once more dip to his hands that are balled up into tight fists on the table. “She was doing her job. She was thinking on her feet, doing what she thought was the right thing to do, but I should’ve pulled her back. I should’ve stopped her.” He rakes a hand through his hair and throws his head back, sighing so heavily the weight of frustration coming off of him hits me like a punch to the face. “I should’ve stopped her.” He looks at me, and he shrugs. “They came at her from out of nowhere. I keep playing it over and over in my head, did I miss something? Did I take my eye off the ball for a second too long?”

I have no idea what to say to him. I still don’t know why he’s telling me this, do I really need to hear it? What kind of conversation are we having here, exactly?

“They just drove into her. It was deliberate. They came for her. The second she stepped out into the road they were there, they’d been watching. Waiting. Out of sight. How the fuck did we not see that…?”

That last sentence, it’s like he’s talking to himself, it feels like a question he silently asks himself quite often. Maybe every day.

“They drove into her, and then they drove over her. Once. Twice…” He looks away again, and it’s obvious that this is something that, understandably, has affected him badly. A memory he can’t shake. “They killed her. Murdered her. Right in front of my fucking eyes.”

I drop my gaze, down to the handkerchief I’m now gripping tightly in my bunched up fist. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. Because what else am I supposed to say? And then I feel his fingers brush my hand, and I look up.

“I gave up on so much shit after that. I blamed myself, no matter how many times people told me it wasn’t my fault: that I couldn’t have done anything, and I had to keep telling myself that, but I never really believed it. I still don’t, to be honest. I still blame myself. I made a mistake. A tragic, fatal mistake. I don’t intend to make another one.”

I frown, glancing down at his hand holding mine. I don’t understand any of this.

“I care too much about you to let it happen again, Lena. The circumstances aren’t the same, but the end game could be, if I stand by and do nothing.”

My frown deepens, and I pull my hand away from his and sit back. “I – I don’t understand.”

“Someone I loved died, because of me. Because of something I’m sure I could’ve stopped, if I’d tried harder. That’s not happening again. Not a second time.”

I cock my head slightly, and I look right into his eyes, and there’s a determination in there that’s quite startling.

“I can change this. I can prevent shit from happening, and I promise you, Lena, youwillbe safe.”

My head’s a mess, confusion sweeping over me so fast I feel dizzy, even though I’m sitting down. He reaches for my hand again, and when he looks at me this time he’s almost pleading with me.

“People are lying to you, Lena. Your family are lying to you. They’ve been lying to you for a long, long time.”

“I – I still don’t understand.”

“Lena, look at me. Look at me, please.”

I stare at him. “What’s happening?”

---