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Half of my face gives way to a smile. The other half is still perturbed by his need to override every single emotional barrier I’ve tried to put in his path since meeting him.

“Fine. I work with a nonprofit organization called Warriors for Women. We help women and children who deal with varying degrees of domestic abuse. We offer them everything from legaladvice to counseling, and a few other services I won’t go into detail about. Everything is online and it’s all anonymous.” I don’t repeat what part I play in all of it, because I already covered it.

This time, he genuinelyisimpressed. “Wow, Quinn. That’s amazing. Is that something you always wanted to do? Or did your personal experience lead you there?” He’s asking a question to which he already knows the answer. He’s doing it because it would almost be awkward to assume. And even more awkward to say, “Well, Quinn, that’s really admirable, but what did you really want to do with your life?”So I skip answering the first one and go right to the real question.

“When I was younger, I was really into the rodeo circuit. My mare and I were steadily working our way up to the big leagues in barrels. Horses. Rodeos. That was my life from the time I was five. Kind of always thought I’d do it until I was ready to settle down, have a ranch of my own, and raise a few babies and foals.” I shrug. “When that didn’t pan out, I switched gears completely. Got my bachelor's degree in social work and wound up working for Warriors.”

Riker’s watching me intently, hanging on every word I say. “So do you eventually want to be a social worker and be more hands-on?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t choose the degree to learn the job. I chose it to learn the system so I could work around it. Not with it.” I shrug. “But I do want to eventually be more involved in something. My own thing.”

He sets his plate down and smiles. “You already know what it is, don’t you?”

I nod. I haven’t told anyone. I can’t believe I’m going to tell Riker. “I’m working on putting together a program that would match up dogs in need of adopting with women in need of saving.”

“I’m intrigued. Let’s hear it.” And because his blue eyes are so damn beautiful and so damn focused on me, Itell him.

“It’s no secret that most women who are in abusive relationships tend to struggle with breaking the cycle. Even if they do muster up the courage to leave once, nine out of ten times they go back. The reasons are endless, and often seem just as minor and illogical to those on the outside as they seem life-and-death major and completely logical to those on the inside.” I’m tempted to expound on this. I really, really want him to understand why the inside looks so different, but I don’t. Because I don’t want him to ask me why I know what the inside looks like. “What I would like to do is work directly with women’s shelters. Bring in dogs that have gone through the shelter system and have been to the death chamber’s door and back and connect them with women who are just as desperate to stay alive as they are. So that if they go back, orwhenthey go back... they don’t go back alone. They go back with a friend. The most loyal friend they’ll ever have. A friend who will fight for them when no one else is around to hear them cry for help.”

Riker’s not smiling anymore. His expression moves back and forth somewhere between sadness and anger, and his voice is a new kind of low when he asks, “Like Harley did for you?”

It’s not really a question. We both already know the answer is yes.

“He saved my life that day. Not just because he went after the man who was attacking me, but because he gave me the courage to fight back. He gave me something, someone, to fight for. Because I couldn’t do it for myself.” I move my plate out of my lap and stack it on top of his on the counter. Now that I’ve heard myself say it all out loud, I’m wondering if it’s kind of silly. Maybe the whole thing is a stupid idea and I just want it to be more so Harley’s sacrifice counts for more. I don’t know.

“Hey.” Riker’s hand slips under my chin, gently directing me to face him again. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

I start to roll my eyes, but he catches me and shoots me a threatening glare. “Take a compliment, Quinn. Especially one that comes from me. I don’t hand that shit out to just anyone.”

“I just don’t feel all that amazing.” I pull my knees up to my chest, then rest my cheek on them. “But I think I might if I saw myself through your eyes,” I whisper. Because the way he looks at me, sometimes I think he’s face-to-face with something utterly remarkable. Like maybe he’s remembering something spectacular he saw once upon a time. Until I look again, and I notice how his eyes are locked directly on mine and I feel how they pull me in and pry me open, and I realize I’m the spectacular thing he’s seeing.

“Come here.” He takes my hands and helps me down from the counter. Then, without letting go, he leads the way out of the kitchen and through the small studio until we’re both standing in the bathroom facing the mirror. He’s behind me, his arms wrapped around my chest, his hands folded right in the center of it.

“See this, right here?” He’s putting pressure on my skin, right below my collarbone. “The first time I saw you interacting with Nox, I knew whatever was under here was exceptional, that you were special, because Nox doesn’t stand for ordinary. Then I watched you with your niece, and even though you were nervous and visibly uncomfortable trying to manage all those kids, you put your own feelings aside and focused only on hers. And I knew you were selfless.” He lowers his head down to mine, touching my cheek with his and brushing my skin with his soft stubble, and still staring straight ahead at the mirror. “Then I met Harley. And I saw how you view him. Not as broken. Or damaged. Or less. You look at Harley and you don’t see what he lacks physically. You see his strength and his courage. His unwavering fight for life. He’s your hero. You look at him and you see more dog than you’ll ever see looking at one with all of his limbs perfectly intact. And because you see him that way, you make other people see it too.”

His words are making tears sting my eyes. I’m not even sure why. Because most of the things he just listed, while important to me, should mean nothing to him or anyone else. And yet they do.

Riker’s hands move down to my waist, and he brings me around to face him. “I saw the way you looked at Harley, and I knew you were different. And that’s just what I knew after one day with you. I knew you could see light where others see nothing but darkness. Only you can’t seem to see it in yourself. It’s a gift you only give to others.” He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes as he continues, “You know what the irony is, Quinn? Hearing you say you wish you could see yourself through my eyes, when all this time all I’ve wanted was to be the man you see through yours.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RIKER

I’m lying with my head in her lap staring blankly at the ceiling. I don’t see the water damage from where the washer was leaking in the laundry room directly above the bed. I don’t notice the cobwebs in the corner over my recliner where I never bother to reach up and dust. I can’t even tell that the fan blades, which are currently still, are entirely covered in a thick layer of dust, and now thanks to Harley’s frequent visits, dog hair.

I know they are. Same as I know about the cobwebs and water damage. Because I’ve spent countless hours lying here without her, staring up at those very things, unable to see anything else and unwilling to pick my ass up and do anything about it.

Tonight is different. Tonight, no matter where I direct my attention it keeps coming back to her. I’m completely devoid of the ability to focus on anything outside of her. She consumes me, like a riddle I am desperate to solve but no matter how I approach it, I just can’t. And for every clue I unveil along the way to cracking her code, I find myself only more and more confused. Somehow figuring her out was easiest when I knew nothing about her. Now, the more I know, the more I discover how much Idon’tknow. And it’s driving me out of my fucking mind. Not because she isn’t entitled to her secrets. We all are. But because I have a feeling not knowing hers will wind up costing me what I want. What I’m starting to need.Her.

She’s ruined me. She’s destroyed the man who didn’t give two shits about his life and left behind a pile of rubble determined to rebuild itself into something better, a man more worthy than I’ve been these last few years.

Her hand is gently stroking my hair as she tips her head to smile down at me. “Comfortable?” Her smile turns almost childlike as she reveals her silly side by stealing the covers and leaving my naked ass bare on the cold hardwood floor. We’d started on the bed. We just hadn’t finished there.

“Hey! It’s cold over here. I’m not the one with a human heater lying in my lap.”

She giggles. “Oh, so you’re a hothead. That’s good to know.” But she returns the blanket and covers the both of us again.

“Only when dealing with assholes. Never with you.” I’m not necessarily looking to turn this into some sort of a moment, but I need her to know it. To believe it without a doubt. Because her trust in me depends on it. And moving forward with her will be impossible without that trust.

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