Page 13 of His to Protect

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“Ugh.” I flipped down the front visor and cringed at my reflection. A night of sleeping in the car, if you could call all the tossing and turning I did sleeping, left my eyes red and swollen.

It also could have been from the tears I shed off and on throughout the night.

After realizing that everything I needed to get to Canada was gone, I quickly threw the rest of my belongings in my bag, and took off from the hotel. I drove around the Detroit area for hours, alternating between tapping my thumb on the steering wheel and chewing the side of my thumbnail.

Eventually, I pulled into a park near Latham Hills and flicked the business card I removed from my back pocket.

Declan James.

Owner of The Fireside Grill.

One helluva decent cook.

And hopefully, the decent man I assumed him to be.

Although my ability to judge someone’s character was highly questionable, given who I had married.

It didn’t matter now, though.

With the sun beginning to rise, I was now parked outside the Fireside Grill, debating what to do for the next several hours until it opened.

I barely had enough cash to get breakfast, and there wasn’t enough change in my cup holder for a decent cup of coffee.

Without a shower, my hair was soon going to be a greasy, tangled mess, and no amount of dry shampoo, which was packed in my duffel bag, would tame it.

This was certainly not how I wanted to look when I took Declan up on his offer.

But I had to.

I had no other choice.

No other options.

Perhaps if he could give me a place to crash for a night or two, I’d be able to think clearly and figure out what I needed to do next.

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