Page 94 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
The house is tooquiet without Bailey. Too still. The kids are gone, Sean’s gone, even Bailey herself is gone. That leaves me, Huck, and the echo of every bad decision that’s brought us here.
I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop open, screen glowing against the late afternoon shadows. I’ve been staring at the same folder for the better part of an hour, the cursor hovering over a stack of images that never should have existed.
The photos.
Bailey’s injuries, catalogued in raw, ugly detail. Bruises black and yellow around her eye, a split lip, handprints burned purple into her throat. Each picture is a punch to the gut, proof of everything David is and everything he’ll deny.
The temptation gnaws at me. If I leak them, just one or two, the world erupts. The tabloids will run them. The public will rage. The industry will whisper but louder this time, and David will be backed into a corner. And when he’s cornered, he’ll lash out. That’s what men like him do. He’ll make his move, and then we’ll have our excuse to end him.
Clean. Simple. No ambiguity.
Except it’s not.
Bailey would put it together in a heartbeat that I was the one behind it, that I used the tools she trusts me to use for her protection to ruin her. Not an option. I shut the folder, push the laptop away, drag my hands down my face.
The house creaks with the sound of Huck moving through it. Heavy boots across tile, the muted thump of him testing the perimeter again, restless. He passes through the kitchen, eyeing me, the bandage on his arm tugged tight, fresh spots of red seeping through. He doesn’t comment on what I’m doing. Huck doesn’t need to. He reads me better than most people ever will.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says finally.
“That obvious?”
“Always is with you.”
I tap the laptop. “What if we leaked them? The photos. Push him into a corner. Force his hand to make him respond…give us the excuse we need to finish this.”
Huck leans against the counter, crossing his good arm over his chest. His expression doesn’t change. “Would she forgive you?”
“No.” I don’t even pause. The word burns on my tongue. “She’d hate me for it.”
“Then you already know the answer.”
I glare at him, frustration sharp. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
He pushes off the counter, his size filling the room like a threat aimed at a man who’s not here. “David’s a cancer. We cross him off the census, problem solved.”
The bluntness of it lands hard. Huck says it like it’s simple, because to him it is. Violence is clean. Direct. A problem that gets solved with finality.
And part of me wants it. Part of me wants to nod, grab a rifle, and make it real.
“I agree,” I say finally, voice low. “He should be gone. But her wishes come first.”
He spins on his heel, stalking back toward the far wall. “It’s what should happen. He hurt her. He hurt the kids. That’s all the reason I need.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, pushing my glasses higher. “You don’t think Bailey’s voice matters in this?”
“Of course it matters,” he says. “But she’s wrong.”
The bluntness of it makes me bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You really just said that out loud.”
He shrugs his massive shoulders. “I love her. I’ll bleed for her. I’ll follow her lead on most things. But this? This is bigger. She’s too close to see it clear. David’s poison. You don’t let poison sit in the water because someone asks you to.”
His words hit harder than I want to admit. My chest tightens because I know he’s not wrong. But Bailey’s face, Bailey’s voice, Bailey’s trust—those things carry more weight for me than the clean simplicity of violence.
“You think killing him fixes everything,” I say, forcing my tone flat. “But it doesn’t. It’s not the SEALs anymore, Huck. We don’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner. Not here. Not with her watching.”
He stops pacing long enough to look at me, his eyes dark. “So we wait until he causes permanent damage?”
The words lodge in my throat. I don’t have a good answer.
