Page 26 of The Bodyguard Situation

As I watch her rest, every protective instinct I have blazes to life. Her face softens in sleep, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her so vulnerable.

How the hell did we end up here?

I’ve kept Harper at arm’s length for so long, knowing I had no right to complicate her life or mine. Eden’s memory always served as a reminder that loving someone puts them in danger. But Harper … Harper makes me forget all the reasons I should stay away.

She’s been hurt, betrayed by someone she trusted, and somehow, I’ve become her only safe haven. My chest tightens painfully, as I’m caught between fear of something terrible happening to her and the need to fuck up Micah Rhodes.

I lean back in the chair near the bed, unwilling to sleep, too vigilant to relax.

Tomorrow will come with its own complications, but for tonight, she’s safe. And for the first time in years, I feel a sense of clarity.

Whatever comes next, I’ll handle it. Because protecting Harper Alexander isn’t just my job; it’s something deeper, something I’m finally ready to admit, even if only to myself.

7

HARPER

My eyes flutter open. The harsh sunlight streams through unfamiliar thin curtains and stabs painfully into my temples. A sharp ache pulses behind my eyes, making me groan as I turn my head. I glance over and see Brody asleep in the chair, his body cramped, his lips slightly parted. He looks peaceful, like we did when we were kids.

My mouth is dry, and my limbs are heavy with fatigue, like I barely have control. For a second, panic tightens in my chest as I glance around the motel room. My memory is fractured, and I try to piece together how I ended up here.

Then it all floods back—Micah, the pregnancy test, Brody climbing onto the balcony, his arms wrapped protectively around me, whispering reassurances into my ear as he carried me away. I press my palms into my eyes, battling nausea that’s as emotional as it is physical.

How did I let it come to this? How did I fail to see the truth that was right in front of me?

I sit up, swallowing hard against the bile rising in my throat. My stomach turns, and I barely make it to the cramped bathroom before I collapse over the toilet to empty my stomach. The cold porcelain grounds me, even as shame washes over me in dizzying waves.

“Harper?” Brody’s deep voice filters in from the doorway. “You okay?”

“Having the time of my life,” I croak out sarcastically, my voice hoarse and strained. But another violent wave of nausea hits, and I lean forward again, my body trembling uncontrollably.

“At least you have your humor.”

He enters, and while I don’t want him to see me at my worst, I don’t have a choice. Brody kneels beside me, gathering my tangled hair away from my face, holding it back. His touch is tender, and his warm hands steadies me more than I’d like to admit.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, puking again.

“You’re not,” he says. His voice calms me, and I turn to glance at him, only to see the tension in his jaw. “Let me help you.”

I sit back against the cold wall in the tiny bathroom with my eyes squeezed shut in humiliation. Brody doesn’t say another word as he wets a washcloth and presses it against my forehead. He swipes over my cheeks and my lips. His gentleness contrasts so starkly with the harsh reality of my situation that tears well in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The weight of everything—Micah, the pregnancy, the betrayal—feels suffocating. “I should’ve listened to you, to Billie, to Zane, everyone. I?—”

“Stop. You owe no one an apology.” He kneels lower, his gaze meeting mine, unwavering and intense. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for Micah’s lies.”

His words cut through my fog of self-blame, and for a quick, fragile moment, I actually believe him. I let out a shaky breath as he stands up and turns on the shower, checking the temperature before glancing back at me.

“Would you like a bath? You’ll feel better,” he says.

I nod, suddenly realizing how weak I am. He helps me stand, his strong arms steadying me as my legs wobble. When I stumble some, Brody wraps his arm securely around my waist. His touch sends a confusing warmth through me that I can’t deal with right now.

He helps me out of my clothes, keeping his gaze averted as he guides me toward the steaming tub. I don’t have the strength to be shy.

The water is hot, but I sink into it gratefully, wanting to feel anything other than guilt and disgust. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.

“Just call if you need me,” Brody says. He slips out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked.

I scrub my skin raw, wanting to wash away every trace of Micah—his touch, his scent, his possessive grip. The water swooshes around me, and steam rises in the small space. My hands tremble as I wash my hair, memories of Micah’s smile and his manipulative whispers creeping back into my thoughts. He’s haunting me, and it’s too much.

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