Page 66 of Man of Honor

Each step felt heavier than the last. The locker room was dead silent except for the fuzzy hum of fluorescent lights. Piece by piece, I folded the uniform I’d worn for more than a decade, tucking it into a duffle bag alongside my duty belt. It was more than fabric and patches. It was my identity slipping away.

“Wyatt… what’s going on?” Teddy stood at his own locker, watching in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, barely looking at him as I zipped the back shut. I slammed the locker, slung my bag over my shoulder, and gave him a nod. “Watch your back out there.”

“Wyatt—” he called, but I ignored him. His voice was swallowed up by the closing door.

No doubt, he’d be texting later, and maybe after a few beers, I’d manage a response. But right now, Gage was my complete focus. Once he was safe, I’d deal with the fallout.

Chapter Thirty-One

GAGE

By the timeI hit the parking lot, my brain felt like it was on fire. Light rain was falling, and the night air was suffocating. The faint metallic tang of a storm that had barely touched ground filled my nostrils, and I breathed deep.

Open space and fresh air should have felt like freedom, but my chest was tight, and my skin was crawling with unease. I needed a strong drink and a shower, something to scrape this hellish day off me. How had Ben survived five years of this feeling?

The change of fortune felt surreal. One minute, I was counting cracks in the concrete floor of my cell; the next, they were shoving my bloody clothes at me like I’d lost them after a bad night out. Wallet, keys, paperwork—I took it all on autopilot. My questions remained unanswered, but I didn’t miss the sideways looks exchanged by the deputies as they released me into the parking lot.

That’s when I saw him.

Wyatt was leaning against his Jeep, arms crossed, staring down at the asphalt. The half-dead streetlights cast murky yellowshadows that hollowed out his features. Strain was pulling his face taut. He looked like he was barely holding it together, like duct tape and prayer were all that was holding him upright.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept walking, but slower now. My knuckles stung and my shirt reeked of sweat and blood, but none of that explained the warning bells going off in my head. My instincts told me something was wrong, but after a day of emotional whiplash, I barely knew which way was up.

Still, the way his eyes tracked me sent a chill down my spine. Calm, but not really, watching me like I was a problem he didn’t know how to fix.

I stopped a few feet away, trying to get a read on him, but he was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. I’d spent hours convincing myself that he’d washed his hands of me, that even if he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do. I’d burned the last bridge and he was done trying to pull me out of the fire. Now he was here, looking at me like Iwasthe fire, and I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

“Didn’t think you’d leave me hanging,” I said, aiming for light and failing miserably. My voice was so rough it scraped the inside of my throat. “But I’ve got to admit…I wasn’t sure.”

Wyatt flinched, just barely, but I caught it. Not hurt, exactly. More like something I’d said had caught him on a raw edge. “You actually thought I’d leave you there?”

I shrugged, and it was only then that I noticed how sore my shoulders were. Every inch of my body ached, and all I wanted was to crawl into bed. Not my bed, though—that wasn’t where my mind went. I wanted Wyatt’s bed, the huge picture window overlooking the creek, and his arms around me. I wanted safety.

But the look on his face told me it wasn’t happening. He nudged a duffle bag with his boot, drawing my attention.

“What’s with the bag?” I asked, cocking my head. “You heading to the gym? Want me to call Mason for a ride?”

Before I could keep running my mouth, he cut me off. “Get in the car, Gage.”

I didn’t move. “Yeah, see, I’m gonna need more than that. I know you’re pissed about how I handled things?—”

“I’m not angry,” he interrupted wearily. It was a lie. Fatigue wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He was angry, and it was aimed at me. His eyes, darker than usual, pinned me in place. “I just want to get you out of here. I want you safe at home where I know you’ll stay out of trouble for at least one fucking night.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want to clean up any more messes tonight!” His voice cracked, and there it was—the jagged edge of something he wasn’t telling me. His fingers flexed at his sides like he wanted to punch something. Maybe me. “Get in the goddamn car, Gage.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” I snapped, glaring at him through the rain. “I never asked you to clean up after me. I’ve been taking care of myself since before I could walk. I’ll find my own way home.”

I headed in the opposite direction without a plan, but the parish wasn’t that big. Even walking, I’d be home before midnight. All I knew was that I needed the space and to get away from that cold look in his eyes before I said something I regretted.

Before I made it halfway across the lot, Wyatt was on me. His hands were in my hair, spinning me around, and then his mouth crashed into mine. It wasn’t a soft kiss. There was no tenderness in it, only frustration. His tongue shoved between my lips to score the inside of my mouth, and for a confused moment, I just took it. Just as I began to tentatively respond, he tore his mouth away, leaving me breathless and stunned.

“After everything you’ve put me through today, you can damn well cooperate for once,” he growled. “Get in the damn car. We’ll work the rest out later.”

“If you’re done with me, just say it,” I said shakily.

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