Page 63 of Her Remarkable Protector

Can I forgive him?

“I’m okay,” I mumble as I look away.

The silence between us stretches, and I feel him watching me, waiting for something I’m not sure I can give.

“I’ll…leave you to it,” Chase finally says. He stands, glancing toward the small desk in the corner. “If you need anything, that phone there connects straight to the house. Either my mother or I will handle it.”

Wait.He’s not staying?

“Okay,” I respond, lacking any real conviction.

Why am I disappointed? The way I’m looking at him now feels achingly familiar—like the way I once stared at Junior, crouched beside my mother’s body, silently pleading for something I couldn’t name. A miracle, maybe. Or just hope. My intuition whispered then, as it does now:That man will help you.

Chase pauses mid-step, turning back. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He strides toward me, kneeling to meet my eyes.

“Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing,” he says.

“It’s nothing, Chase,” I insist.

What do eleven-year-old girls know about men? But my gut was right back then, and it’s right now. Not that Chase would make everything okay, but that he wouldn’t let me hurt—not if he could help it. That part of him hasn’t changed, and, if I’m being honest, neither has my intuition.

“I’ll… call if I need anything.” The sentence comes out awkwardly, stumbling over itself like a clumsy goodbye.

“Okay.” He rises, lingering for a second. “I’ll, uh, knock when dinner’s ready.”

He turns toward the door, and something inside me snaps. My guard—my carefully built walls—they crumble under the weight of everything he’s done. Since the moment he barged into that motel room, found me in labor, and refused to leave my side, Chase has been here. Protecting me in ways I didn’t even know I needed.

“Chase,” I call, my voice breaking slightly.

He stops, startled, and turns back just as I reach out and grab his hand. My fingers curl around his, holding tight. His warmth steadies me as I lift my gaze to meet his.

It’s more than a stormy sky—there are fronts colliding beneath. Struggle rippling through, and the undertow of unspoken hope pressing down.

“Honor?” he says, sending my way a tenderness I’ve never known in any man.

And just like that, my emotions rise, unrelenting. Gratitude. Connection. A desperate need to let someone in, even if it scares me. Even if it breaks me.

Gradually, I lean up, my lips touching his in a featherlight kiss. He presses back, firmer, though it still feels like the touch of dawn.

I don’t know how I restrain myself from tearing him apart, but right now, I just want him to feel it. To know I see him.

He freezes for a second, his breath catching. Then he exhales, his lips moving against mine with a reverence that makes my heart ache. I follow his lead, matching the slow build.

When I finally pull back, his eyes cast on me, baring it all.

“Wow,” he pushes out a breath, his voice trembling. “I must’ve done something right.”

“Stay here with me,” I whisper.

“There’s nothing else I’d rather do.” His hand comes up to cradle my cheek.

My God, how can a man be so soothing?

“Why are you so good to me?” My voice dips even lower.

His thumb brushes against my cheek, and his honesty cuts through me like a blade. “Because I want to take care of you. Keep you safe. That’s what a man does.”

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