Page 68 of Protector

His boots moved across the hardwood floor away from me. “Just gonna throw these in the fridge. Make yourself at home.”

“Oh.” I followed him. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to dry my hair.”

He kept his back to me. “End of the hall. Take a left.”

The rain battered the windows and lightning streaked across the dark sky as I walked through the living room. I took my time meandering down the hall, stopping to look at pictures of my husband before life had made him hard.

I closed the bathroom door behind me with a soft click and studied my reflection in the mirror. Mascara trailed down over my cheeks from the sudden shower, and I hastily swiped it away before leaning closer.

Why was he pulling away from me?

Was it because he blamed me for his relapse? Or had he only found me desirable when he was intoxicated?

I snagged a peach-colored towel and ran it through my damp hair with a frustrated sigh. If either were true, then he wouldn’t have shown up on my doorstep in a suit.

It didn’t make any sense.

He was still banging around in the kitchen when I came out, so I chose to explore the bedrooms. The first one had sunshine yellow walls and a small wooden desk but was otherwise empty. I decided the second one was the master, with its king-sized bed and dark wood nightstands. The faint smell of cigarettes and leather lingered in the air, confirming my suspicions.

I ran my hand over the faded white quilt, wondering if he’d brought anyone over. Listening for the sound of his boots, I quietly slid open the dresser drawers one by one, looking for signs that there was someone else.

There had to be a reason he was keeping his distance, and I wasn’t leaving this room until I found it. I pushed the bottom drawer closed and stood up, surveying the rest of the room.

A quick glance under the bed yielded nothing out of the ordinary, as did a check of one of the nightstands. I blew out a frustrated breath and tiptoed over the other, gently tugging the top drawer open.

Books.

The drawer was packed with books.I Can’t Get Over It: A Trauma Survivor’s Workbook. Love and PTSD. Rape Recovery Handbook. Born Silent: Healing After the Loss of a Child.The titles jumped out at me, one after one, and I clutched my stomach in pain before backing away slowly.

He knew.

A choking sound had me whipping around in horror before I realized it was coming from me.

Without thinking, I kicked off my shoes and bolted. The screen door slammed shut behind me with a loud crack, but I didn’t turn around to see if I was being followed.

Rain pelted my body, weighing my dress down with every step, yet I put one foot in front of the other, forcing myself forward. My feet kicked up mud before tangling in my skirt, sending me sprawling into a puddle with a grunt.

“Celia!”

I clawed at the soft earth, fighting to get back to my feet, before being lifted by strong arms.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” He brushed the rain from his forehead with a frown.

“You—” I raised a shaking hand. “You have those books!”

He mashed his lips together and nodded, and the weight in my chest grew heavier.

“No.” I shook my head, ignoring the tingling in my limbs. “Why would you have those?”

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

“Goddammit!” I slapped at his arms, sending sprays of water up toward our faces. “Tell me why you have them!”

I’d sworn Angel and Comedian to secrecy. I remembered that much. There was no way he could’ve known.

“You tell me why I have them!” he roared over the thunder; eyes wild with rage. “You. Tell. Me!”

I dropped my palms and stepped back. “What do you want from me, Jamie?”

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