Page 3 of Protected from Malice
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Even as I say it, a niggle of frustration worms its way in.
I wish I didn’t have to wait like this.
I wish I could be brave enough to go out on my own.
“After you,” Adam says as he opens the door, gesturing for me to walk out before him. Which is kind of the opposite of what I’d prefer, but in this case, beggars can’t be choosers.
As I walk outside, I adjust my cardigan, pulling the front closed against the crisp chill of the evening breeze. With it beingthe beginning of April, the Portland weather is really too cold to go without a coat at night. But after months of bundling up, all it took was the promise of a sunny day for me to bypass my coat for something more spring-like.
In the warmth of the morning sun, my new lavender cardigan seemed like a good idea. Now, with the cold air cutting through the cotton fabric, sending a rush of goosebumps across my body, I’m seriously regretting my choice of outfit.
Back to coats it is. At least for another month or so.
While we walk the short distance to my car, Adam rambles on about his upcoming LARP event, which is apparently supposed to be one of the biggest ones in the Portland area. “So, I’m going to be a dark wizard this time,” he tells me, his voice bright with enthusiasm. “And Wendy—my girlfriend—is going to be a mystic mage. Usually those two classes don’t work together, since a mystic mage is good-aligned, and…”
My phone chimes from my purse, so I slip it out and give the screen a quick glance while saying, “That sounds fun. It’s so great you and Wendy have so many things in common.”
Indy’s newest message lights up my screen.
I’m going to grab some dinner and watch some TV. I’ll call soon. Love you.
And darn it, there’s that prickly feeling in my nose again.
If only Indy would move out here instead of staying in DC. He doesn’t need to be there anymore, now that the majority of his rehab is over. He could find a doctor out here. A new physical therapist. He could stay with me, or I could help him find an apartment nearby.
But he won’t. I’ve asked.
All he says is some variation of the same thing.
I have my medical team out here. I already have an apartment. I don’t want to interfere with your life, Eden.And inhis lowest moments—I’m just not that great to be around right now.
I know he can’t go back to how he used to be. And I know I need to be patient with him.
But I miss my brother.
“Okay, you good from here?” Adam asks once we reach my car. He gives the interior of the hatchback a cursory glance. “Looks all clear.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I assure him. “Thanks for walking me out.” As I unlock the car door and get in, I add, “Enjoy the rest of your night. See you tomorrow.”
Sweet Adam stands there for a minute, watching me pull out of my spot before lifting his hand in a little wave. In response, I flash my headlights and give the horn a quick beep as I pull away.
Lucky Wendy, I can’t help thinking as I make my way through the parking lot and onto the road. Not because I’m interested in Adam—he’s nice, but definitely not my type—but because she has a boyfriend who clearly cares about her. Who talks about her like she’s the most amazing woman in the world and looks like he can’t believe how lucky he is to be with her.
I’ve given the whole dating thing a shot, but it hasn’t worked out. Setups by people at work, random meet-cutes in the library or gym, and during one particularly brave moment, even a foray into online dating. It’s not that all the guys were losers. They weren’t. Some were nice. Cute. Smart.
But.
None of them could match up to the one man I’ve had on a pedestal for years.
A man who has everything I want.
Not cute. Not conventionally attractive. But darkly handsome, with the most incredible eyes I’ve ever seen. One green and one brown; both of them intense and piercing.
Tall and muscular, but there’s a leanness to him. Like he’d be equally comfortable lifting heavy weights or sprinting undetected through enemy territory.
Intricate tattoos decorate his arms and chest, which I never found sexy until I met him.
