Page 26 of Escorting the Bodyguard
“Obviously,” she says, and there’s a flash of hurt in her eyes that cuts right through me.
“But we used protection,” I say, still trying to process.
“That first condom looked pretty old,” she admits quietly. “And I was late refilling my birth control because of everything…hiding out, the stress.”
Everything clicks into place: the fatigue, the declined coffee, the weird mood. The knowledge that she’s carrying my childshould feel like joy. But instead, it detonates something deep and ugly inside me.
My brain short-circuits. I see her hands, her stomach, the quiet way she said it—and all I can think is: what if I fail them both?
Not in a firefight. Not with blood on the ground.
Just… in all the quiet, invisible ways you don’t see coming until it’s too late. The ones that sneak up when you’re not ready, when you think you’ve got it handled.
That’s how it happens. One moment of softness. One missed threat. One wrong call.
And someone doesn’t come home.
I held Mason’s life in my hands and still lost him. And now there’s her. And a baby. And all I can see is the moment I miss something and lose them too.
How do you protect something that small, that breakable, when you couldn’t even save a grown man at your side? You don’t. You walk away before you make it worse.
“I…can’t.” The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. “I’m not the guy for this.”
I watch her face fall. But only for a moment before she pulls herself together. She’s calm. Steady. Like she’s already figured out how to do this without me.
And maybe that’s what undoes me most.
“You don’t have to do anything right now,” she says, stepping closer. Her voice is soft, careful. “We don’t have to figure it all out. I just?—”
“I can’t do this.” I cut her off, not unkindly but with finality.
My hand twitches toward her before I yank it back. If I touch her, I won’t be able to let go.
“Ford.” Her tone is different now. Quieter, steadier. “I’m not asking for forever. Just... don’t disappear.”
That nearly breaks me. She doesn’t cry or beg or demand explanations. She just asks me not to vanish. She’s giving me a way out. No pressure. Just stay.
And I still can’t say yes.
I pull out my phone, calling for a car to take her home. My voice sounds mechanical, professional. Like I’m arranging transport for any other client.
“I’ll have your things sent to Victoria’s,” I tell her, not meeting her eyes.
I force the words out, even though it feels like betrayal. Like I’m severing something I already miss.
The silence stretches between us, filled with the distant sounds of traffic and sirens.
“Are you really walking away?” she asks finally, and the vulnerability in her voice nearly destroys me.
I force myself to look at her then. She’s got one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, waiting for me to change my mind. But I won’t. My pulse is rushing in my ears, and I’m on autopilot now. I need to get out of here before I break.
“Tim’s in custody,” I say, my voice flat. “The threat’s neutralized. You’re safe. You don’t need me anymore.”
She stares at me like I just hit her.
“You’re abandoning me,” she whispers. “And your baby. On a street corner. I do need you, Ford.Wedo.”
I don’t answer.
