Page 60 of Guarded from Danger

With a small nod in Dante’s direction, the decision is made.

“If that’s what you want, Luce.” And despite being in the middle of a meeting, I lean forward to brush a soft kiss across her lips. “I think everyone would love it.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LUCY

He’s still feeling guilty.

No matter how many times I tell Xavier what happened the other day wasn’t his fault, I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

Not that he comes right out and says it. He’ll come up with some vague response likeI’m just glad you’re okayor he’ll change the subject completely, asking me what I want for dinner or if I’d like to come to the gym with him the next morning to practice the self-defense techniques he’s been teaching me.

“Give him some time,” Erik told me during our yoga session yesterday, after I broke down and asked for advice.

“I know he thinks it’s his fault,” I said, “but it’s not. If anything, it’s mine. I’m the one they came after. If anything had happened, it would have been on me.”

Erik released his pose, turning to look at me with a serious expression. “No, Lucy. It’s not your fault. At all. And Xavier… he wants to protect you. He needs to. So regardless of how it happened, he’s going to feel guilty. In time, when the memories aren’t as fresh, he’ll get some perspective.”

“It stinks,” I replied. “All he’s done is protect me. If not for Xavier and you guys…”

“Give it some time,” Erik repeated, this time patting me gently on the shoulder. “It’ll all work out.”

When I first met Erik, I was a little intimidated by him. Almost a foot taller than my five-foot-six, heavily muscled, there was this quiet intensity about him, like he was constantly on guard, waiting for some sign of danger.

After spending weeks learning yoga and meditation with him, I know that once he drops his guard, he’s kind and funny. He makes goofy jokes just to make his friends laugh.

I know he still struggles with his PTSD, and being on guard is one way of coping with it. And I can tell, when he finally finds the right woman, he’ll be as fiercely protective of her as Xavier is of me.

It’s ironic, really. For years, I was so determined to be independent. Growing up surrounded by wealth, it would have been easy to let my parents take care of everything. Give me a cushy job at my dad’s company. Set me up in a mansion in their gated community. Replace my ten-year-old Honda with a luxury car and send me on expensive trips all around the world.

But that’s never been what I wanted.

While I would never complain about my childhood or the advantages my parents provided me, once I became an adult, I wanted to make it on my own. Find my own success, whatever that meant, just like my dad did when he started his company.

So I worked in restaurants and retail stores and wrote like crazy. I budgeted and taught myself how to make home repairs and babied my car so it wouldn’t need to be replaced. I bought furniture from estate sales and thrift shops. And whenever my parents would give me money—usually a wad of hundreds my dad would press into my hand at the end of a visit—I donated it to charity.

Kali thinks I’m crazy. She thinks I should embrace the life my parents could give me.

But my parents get it. They came from nothing, once upon a time. And while they’d gladly do anything to help me, they respect my decisions.

So it’s kind of funny that I ended up with a man who would do literally anything to take care of me. He would pay all the bills so I could stay home and write full time. I’d never have to fix a gurgling drain or a flickering light. He would insist on buying me the safest car, regardless of the price.

He hasn’t said all that to me, but I just know. It’s who he is. And I love him for it.

That’s why I’d let him do all the repairs. It’s why I’d agree to the car, if he really wanted. Would I give up all my independence? No. But if it makes him happy, I can compromise.

I’ve never felt this way before. Like Xavier’s happiness is truly my own.

And that’s why it hurts to know he’s suffering. To know he’s struggling with guilt over something I absolutely don’t blame him for.

I can see it in his down-turned mouth and the slump of his shoulders when he thinks I’m not looking. Or the way he stares out the window, his jaw flexing, like he’s thinking about the events of a few days ago.

My nightmares are the worst, because I can see his pain on full display. While I fight to steady my breathing and swallow back my tears, his eyes are dark and tortured, and I know he’s blaming himself for it.

The question is, how can I convince Xavier to believe me?

“Luce?” Xavier touches my hand. Worry darkens his gaze, and I realize belatedly that I’ve been staring at him for far too long without speaking. “Are you okay?”

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