Page 14 of Can You Take It?

“Are you not even a little bit guilty? You know, a girl lost her life because you were too busy following protocol.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s frustrated, but he still won’t look at me. “Guilty for what?”

“For doing nothing!” I nearly shout. “For sticking to your fucking rules while someone neededyou, not the system. You just let her slip away.”

“Let me tell you something. Guilt doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring people back, it doesn’t fix the fucked-up shit in this world, and it sure as hell doesn’t help me do my job.”

“That’s it? That’s your excuse for not giving a shit?”

“You think guilt is supposed to make me better at what I do? No. It makes you weak. And in this line of work, weaknessgets people killed. You follow the protocol because it works. You follow the rules because they keep people alive. I’m not here to save everyone. I’m here to do my job, and that’s what I did with Lyla.”

The car lurches to a stop, the sudden jerk snapping me out of the spiral I’m in. I glance over at Richard, who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing control.

I open my mouth, ready to spit out something—anything—before I can even think it through. “Fuck this.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even flinch. His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, and he pulls the car into park, finally shutting the engine off. But I’m already moving, shoving the door open before he’s even finished parking. I burst out of the car, slamming the door behind me like a teenager.

What the fuck am I doing?

I stand there, staring at nothing. This is what he wanted. I am feeling stupid as hell. I gave myself away. I let him get to me.

I close my eyes, forcing the anger down. This isn’t me. I’m not supposed to care. Slowly, I take another breath, grounding myself. I know better than to let my emotions show, especially around Richard.

I hear his car door open and shut behind me. I don’t move, but I can feel him watching me. For a second, I wonder if he’s going to say something, throw my outburst back in my face. But instead, I feel his hand on my arm.

With a deep breath, I finally turn back to him. “You coming in or what?” he says, motioning toward the house with a nod of his head.

I don’t respond, just nod slightly and let him lead me. He walks beside me, his hand falling away as we head toward the house in silence.

We reach his home, and I take in the view. The house is decent, more than decent, actually. It’s spacious, big enough for at least four people to live comfortably and still have room to spare. The furniture is sleek and new, a far cry from the messy, cluttered apartment I used to share with Cassie.

Richard starts putting his things on the table, arranging his gun and wallet with precision. It’s clear that he’s used to being in control, to having everything in its place. He looks over at me and says, “You can take the room down the hall to the right.”

I follow Richard’s instructions and make my way down the hall to the right. The room is simple, much like the rest of the house, lacking any personal touches or decor. It’s just a space, a place to sleep, and I’m not expecting much more.

There’s a large, comfortable-looking bed against one wall, a spacious closet for my use, and a small desk with a chair by the window. The window overlooks the backyard, offering a glimpse of a garden that’s been neglected for some time.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. “You can use the bathroom to freshen up. I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything.”

I give a small nod and place my bag carefully on the bed, feeling the softness of the comforter beneath my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I glance around the room, anchoring myself. After a moment, I begin to look for my phone, but it’s not in my bag. A wave of anger washes over me as the thought crosses my mind that Richard might have taken it. I have this recurring feeling that my privacy is being intruded upon.

I storm out of the room and walk in the direction of his. I push the door to Richard’s room open, and what I see leaves me momentarily stunned. He’s just stepped out of the shower, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. The towel hangs so low, drawing my attention to the defined V-shape of his abdomen and the toned muscles sculpting his body.

But it’s not just the muscles that draw me in. It’s the scars. Jagged lines and faded slashes crisscross his skin. They’re stark against the tan of his body, somehow enhancing his beauty rather than detracting from it. And in that moment, I feel a pang of something I can’t quite name—envy, maybe. Because I have scars too, hidden beneath my clothes, but mine don’t look like his. Mine aren’t beautiful. They’re messy, chaotic, ugly reminders of everything I’ve lost and broken along the way. His scars speak of strength; mine are just proof of my destruction.

He glances at me with those piercing blue eyes. His voice breaks me out of my trance. “Need anything?”

“Where is my phone?” I snap back to reality, and my face probably is betraying the shock and embarrassment I’m feeling.

He looks puzzled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Your phone? It wasn’t at the crime scene.”

I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off here. But it’s hard to focus on anything else when the image of his nearly-naked body is burned into my mind. I try to push away the flush of embarrassment and concentrate on the issue at hand.

“Are you sure?” I stammer, struggling to keep my eyes on his face and not let them wander. “It has to be with...”

But I can’t do this. He’s too naked for me to have this conversation. The sight of his bare chest is distracting, and I feel my cheeks heating up again. The words are jumbled in my head, and I can’t seem to string them together.

“Screw this,” I mutter under my breath, spinning on my heel and storming into my room.

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