Page 43 of Sworn to Protect

“One more thing,” he calls after me.

I close my eyes and count to three before turning back. “What now?”

“I’m getting Liam a dirtbike for his birthday.”

My hand flies to my chest as a gasp escapes. If anything happened to my kid, I … I can’t even think straight. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Forget it. I don’t want to see one near my child, period.”

Jordan smirks, shaking his head. “You worry about the wrong things, sis. You’re raising those boys to be wimps. They need someone to teach them how to be men, not some stranger who’s only after one thing.”

His words sting, but before I respond, he walks away, leaving me fuming. My hands shake as I march to my car, fighting the urge to scream. How dare he? How dare he tell me how to raise my kids or who I can let into my life?

I slam the door shut and grip the steering wheel. Jordan’s voice echoes in my head, blending with Mrs. Morgan’s earlier warning.Is Nate a mistake?Doubt creeps in, coiling tightly around my chest. But then I remember Nate’s laugh, his patience with my boys, and how he looks at me like I’m someone worth seeing.

He isn’t out for anything. What would he gain from being in my life? Nothing.

I exhale sharply and start the car. Tonight isn’t about Jordan or Mrs. Morgan. Or anyone else. Tonight is about me.

The moment I pull into my drive, my doubts evaporate. The sight of a familiar-looking F250 parked in front of my house sends a flutter through my chest. I can deal with those doubts another day.

Tonight, I’m going to have fun.

Tonight, I’ll let the cards fall where they may.

Tonight, I’m not going to overthink and just do.

My stomach flips when the tall, brooding man steps out of his pickup and greets me with that rare smile reserved for me.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

I step out of the car and smile back, a real one this time. “More than ready.”

For once, I’m just going to live.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

NATE

The moment Mackenzieslid into my truck, I knew something was off. Her smile is tight while her fingers drum against her thigh like she’s keeping time with a silent song. But it’s her eyes that give her away. They’re too bright, too guarded. It’s like she’s bracing for impact.

She doesn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. So I won’t push.

For now.

“Here you go.” I sit her old-fashioned in front of her and take the chair across from her. Our table is tucked in the back of the bar, out of the fray of the Friday night crowd. A quiet corner made for us.

She lifts a brow as curiosity sparks through whatever’s weighing her down. “How did you know what drink I like?”

Shit. Rookie mistake.

I only know because her husband used to gripe about it when he was drunk, back when he was still alive. But I can’t exactly tell her that.

I lean back, playing it off with a wink. “You look like an old-fashioned kind of girl.”

She snorts. “Not sure that’s a compliment or an insult.”

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