Page 23 of Pulse
“Did you decide what you’re doing next?”
“Nope.”
I hum. “I’m still leaning toward vacation.”
“You and Travis. He tried to talk me into it last night.”
“I knew I liked your brother.”
“I do, too. Most of the time.”
We exchange a quick grin.
“He came over last night,” Troy says, hesitating. “Asked about you, actually.”
“Why?”
He takes a long, deep breath. “We watched the news, and they did a piece on your father.”
Oh. My shoulders stiffen. “I see. That wasn’t where I thought you were going with that, but okay.”
“Where’d you think I was going with it?”
I don’t know where I thought he was going, but the turn to my father’s legal issues gave me whiplash.
“Doll, if you don’t want to talk about this, we won’t.”
“It’s … fine,” I say, forcing a swallow down my throat. “It’s just awkward going from not having a father at all to having one. And then not being able to talk about him openly. Then with the few people you can talk to about it, things like money laundering and fraud come up. Kinda hard to make those adjustments on the fly, you know?”
Troy shifts in his seat. “I don’t give a fuck about your father, to be honest. I only wondered howyouwere doing.”
His genuine concern slays me. It hits me smack dab in the middle of my heart.
“It’s too much to process in one car ride, that’s for sure,” I say, widening my eyes to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks.
We sit quietly while I drive through the beautiful streets of Savannah. Troy doesn’t push me to talk, and I’m grateful for that—just like I’m grateful he asked. It’s such a weird position to be in. On the one hand, knowing someone sees you and cares about you is wonderful. On the other hand, being seen pricks a person’s vulnerability. And if there’s one thing that makes me antsy these days, it’s being vulnerable.
I turn onto the road leading to Landry Security when a text cuts through the air. Freddy’s name is printed across my dash for everyone,for Troy, to see.
“You’re popular today,” he says, unamused.
I swiftly swipe the notification away.
Another one pops up.
Troy stares holes into the side of my face.
I swipe Freddy’s second and third texts off the screen. “He thinks he left his sunglasses at my house.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I know it.”
We pull into the parking lot, and I back the car into my spot. The engine stops, but we don’t move. We sit together in the comfortable silence.
The safety of the space—of the car, parked next to Ford, and sitting next to Troy—allows me to let my guard down and breathe.
Troy didn’t have to ask how I was doing, but he did. He could’ve talked shop or sat in silence, but he chose to inquire on a personal level. That matters to me. There’s a sweetness under those heavy brows and that mass of muscle. I wish I could see it more.
