Page 51 of The Bodyguard Situation

I move closer to the door, pressing my palm against the worn wood, drawing strength from knowing Brody stands on the other side. “Stay close?” I whisper, my voice timid but full of trust.

“Always,” he promises without hesitation.

In the heavy silence that follows, I finally unwrap both tests and do what needs to be done, hands still trembling. I set them down on the counter, forcing myself to breathe evenly, counting slowly as I wait.

I glance toward the door, knowing he’s still there, patiently guarding my peace, and for the first time since Micah turned my world upside down, I allow myself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m stronger now because this time, I’m not alone in the storm. Brody is thunder and lightning, and after the rainstorm, he brings flowers and rainbows. Brody is proof that clouds pass and there is life afterward—at least that’s what he’s shown me since being here.

The low hum of the cabin seems loud now, each passing second stretching until I can barely breathe. I stand motionless in front of the sink, my pulse racing, nerves fraying like a rope that’s unraveling.

A soft knock echoes, and Brody’s careful voice drifts through the door again. “Still doing okay, Harp?”

Something about his gentle persistence makes my throat ache. He’s not demanding answers, not rushing me—just checking in. It’s a type of support I’ve never known and a care I’ve never felt. I move toward the door, slowly opening it just a crack, feeling oddly fragile as our eyes meet through that small space.

Brody stands in the narrow hallway, leaning casually against the wooden wall, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed to hide any tension. But his dark blue eyes are filled with a concern that wraps around my heart.

“Hey,” I say, my voice barely audible.

He smiles faintly, his eyes warm and reassuring. “Hi.”

I look down, suddenly unsure of myself, fingers gripping the edge of the door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long. I just …” My voice trails off, as I’m unable to express the tangled emotions inside of me.

Brody shifts closer, careful but deliberate, closing some of the distance without pressuring me. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Harper. Take all the time you need. I can stand here all night.”

His simple kindness and unwavering patience are felt behind every word, and it cracks something open inside me.

I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. “I keep remembering the last time. With Micah.” My voice breaks slightly on his name, bitterness mingling with pain. “He made me feel so … helpless.”

Brody’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening protectively. His voice is an anchor in my choppy emotions. “You’re not helpless, Harper. You’re stronger than he ever knew. He manipulated you. He probably kept a positive test to continue his sick narrative. I know about men like him. They find weaknesses to destroy women.” His hand reaches forward, and his thumb brushes across my cheek. “You’re an Alexander. You’re indestructible.”

I glance up, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice and the ferocity in his eyes. I don’t realize I’m moving until my hand reaches out instinctively, my fingertips brushing against his wrist, seeking comfort and connection.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I could face this alone.”

His gaze softens even more, the last traces of his carefully held distance fading. Slowly, gently, he takes my hand, threading his strong fingers securely through mine, the warmth of his touch sending comfort rushing through me.

“You don’t have to face anything alone,” he says, his voice powerful but sincere. “Not anymore. Not ever again, if I can help it.”

My throat tightens as emotions tumble through me—relief, gratitude, and something deeper, something more profound that I’m almost too scared to name. I step a little closer, leaning lightly against the doorframe, drawing strength from the silent certainty in his presence.

“Will you stay right here?” I ask, looking up into his eyes, trusting he’ll understand exactly what I mean and how desperately I need him close.

He squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. “Always.”

I nod, swallowing back tears, feeling his response sink deeply into my heart, rooting itself in the place Micah’s cruelty once occupied. Brody is everything Micah never was—steady instead of controlling, patient instead of demanding, comforting instead of manipulative. And for the first time, that doesn’t terrify me.

With one last squeeze of my hand, Brody leans back against the wall again, giving me space. His presence remains solid under the shaky ground beneath my feet. As I step back into the bathroom, letting the door remain slightly cracked, I breathe deeply, drawing strength from the gentle promise Brody made me years ago—that he would always tell me the truth. It’s one he’s never broken. And right now, the truth is that I’m not alone, not anymore.

My stomach twists, and anxiety builds relentlessly. I know logically that it’s just a test, a simple result—positive or negative. But logic isn’t what’s strangling me right now. Instead, I’m trapped by memories sharper than glass, vivid enough to leave emotional scars I’ve tried to forget. But it’s been less than a week since I escaped Micah, and it’s clear that mental and emotional damage has been done.

The last time I stood like this, in a brightly lit bathroom, Micah watched my every move, impatient with bubbling anger. His voice was sharp as a knife, each word cutting deep as he ripped the test from my grasp.

I shudder, hugging my arms around myself, desperately trying to push the echo of his voice away. It’s too easy to fall back into that moment. I remember his eyes, cold and accusing, stripping away every ounce of dignity I tried to hold onto when he forced me to believe I was pregnant.

I beg the memories to fade, but they cling on to me, whispering doubt and self-blame into every silent second. My chest feels tight, my breathing shallow and uneven.

Then, just outside the bathroom door, I hear the creak of the old wooden floorboards where Brody is waiting. He doesn’t pace impatiently or demand an answer. He’s just there, giving me space while staying close enough to be a lifeline. That’s the way it’s always been with him. He’s always close but still so far away.

I focus on the rhythm of his breathing—calm, unhurried. It grounds me, pulling me back from the cliff edge of anxiety. The memories of Micah’s hostility slowly fade, replaced by the comforting awareness of Brody’s presence. The difference feels both terrifying and healing.

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