Page 83 of Guarded from Treachery

I jerk my gaze from the curtains to look over at Erik. “What are you talking about? She lives at Blade and Arrow.”

He flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Don’t be purposefully obtuse. You know what I mean.”

That’s something I like about working with my former Green Beret teammate; after spending almost ten years serving together, Erik’s never afraid to call me out on my shit.

Still. I’m not going to make it easy on him. Especially when it comes to a topic I’m still hesitant to bring up myself. Every time I think about asking Isla specifics about her plan for the future—Dallas, San Antonio, Seguin, or worst case, heading to Vermont to move in with Rory—I feel more nervous than I did the time I asked out Emily Grayson in sophomore year of high school after months of an unrequited crush.

She told me no, by the way. Emphatically. And later, I heard her laughing to her friends about how I was fine for a biology lab partner but she would never consider dating me.

Not that I think Isla would laugh. I know she wouldn’t.

But every time I get close to bringing it up, my old nemesis, insecurity, creeps in.

It’s ridiculous, really. I’m forty years old. I spent decades in the Army, much of it in the Green Berets, heading off on missions that had equal chances of success and a torturous death. But here I am, afraid to ask my girlfriend to move in with me.

Except it’s not just Isla moving in. It’s Isla and little Dove or Eagle. Arealcommitment. One that lasts for years, decades, possibly, instead of mere months.

Do I want it? Isla? The baby? A family?

Yes. A thousand times, yes.

But what if I ask Isla and she says no? What if she’s not ready and I make her feel uncomfortable as a result? What if she feels obligated to say yes since she’s already staying at Blade and Arrow?

What if I jump the gun and ruin everything?

“Hey, I was just messing with you.” Erik’s expression sobers. “You don’t have to talk about it. It’s really none of my business, anyway.”

“No, you’re fine.” With a small smile, I add, “You’re one of my best friends. Of course you can ask.”

“Still, I’m not trying to push. If you’re not sure…”

“I am, though. That’s the frustrating part of it.” Glancing in the direction of the changing rooms again, I wait a few seconds to make sure Isla doesn’t come through them before continuing, “Iwanther to move in. To stay.”

Erik regards me contemplatively. “And the baby?”

“Islaandthe baby. I want them both there. Maybe it sounds crazy since it hasn’t been that long… But more time isn’t going to make me feel differently.”

“So why don’t you ask her?”

“Because of the situation, partly. I mean, she’s dealing with all this?—”

An alarm shrills from my phone, cutting me off mid-sentence.

It’s insistent. Impossible to ignore. And terrifyingly familiar.

As my heart rockets into my throat, I dig in my pocket for my phone, the damn case slipping from my hand twice before I can grab hold of it.

In the moments it takes to focus on the screen, silent prayers fly through my head.

Let it just be a false alarm.

An accident, someone inadvertently triggering their earring or ring.

Maybe Isla caught one of the dresses on her earring, and that’s what the alert is coming from.

Or maybe it’s a software malfunction. One of those stupid bugs that shows up after a system update.

Please let it be anything other than Isla being in trouble.

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