Page 52 of Crossing Lines

“Okay, let me shower first.”

He disappears into the bathroom for literally three minutes and reappears in another pair of black boxer briefs and wet hair. He walks to the bed and settles on the opposite side of it, ankles and arms crossed, a good three feet between us as I turn to face him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at me with a frown.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, I’m just not used to being asked that question.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most people don’t care how I am. They just want me to check in on them.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know,” I say.

He sighs, not seeming pleased about that for some reason. “Okay, fine.” Turning to his side, facing me, he says, “You want to know how I am? I’m exhausted, and this is the last thing I want to be dealing with. I’m frustrated because I think my past is coming back to bite me. But most of all?” He breaks off, breathing hard. “I’m enraged that you were put in danger because of me. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“But I wasn’t.” He’s so worked up and I have this desire to make him feel better and for him to stop blaming himself. So, I make a joke to distract him and say, “I guess there’s nothing like being on the verge of a menty b after experiencing something traumatic.”

“And what the hell is a menty b?”

“A mental breakdown.” I smirk. “Wow, you really are ancient.”

“Uh-huh, keep that up and I might have to start calling you baby.”

“Hmm, butpariltimsounds better than baby.”

“I think it does, too.” He gives me a soft look and asks, “But seriously, what about you? How are you holding up?”

“About the same as you.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just a pro at holding it all together.”

“And where did you learn that?” he asks.

“Where anyone learns coping mechanisms—in childhood. Had to pretend everything was okay at home, to not tip anyone off on what was going on with Mom.” Even if my mom wasn’t the best mom, she was all I had. I didn’t want to go into foster care.

He nods once, as if absorbing my story and storing it away for safekeeping. I like that he doesn’t give me meaningless platitudes after finding out about my past and instead offers me quiet understanding. It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, he might be able to handle anything I throw his way. That maybe he can deal with me and all my baggage without flinching.

He grabs my waist and pulls me into his body. My heart accelerates, as if pleased to be in his arms. He closes his eyes and I stare at him, trying to find something in his face that can explain why he’d risk his life to get to me. He could’ve saved himself after my text, my warning. But he came to the pool house for me. Wanted to getmeto safety. What the hell was he thinking? Because what’s worse is that he not only came but also comforted me and made me feel safe, something I’ve rarely felt in my life.

“Try to sleep,” he says, his eyes still closed.

I turn away from him, becoming the little spoon, andhe pulls me more fully against his body. It should be awkward since I hate sleeping with another person, especially a man…but it’s not.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night.” I wait two minutes, building up the nerve to say the next words. “And,” I whisper, “thanks for coming to get me. For protecting me.”

“Always.” He says it like a promise, and I hate that I want to believe it.

Chapter 13

Evren

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