Page 253 of Mangled Memory
His lips purse as his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “I did. I still am, actually, but as far as crime scenes go, if it was one, it was ruined by the multiple hikers that day, the EMTs, the evacuation helicopter blowing leaves, dirt, and debris everywhere.”
“Will you take me there?”
His foot hits the brake and the jolt startles me. “Sorry.” He ignores the honks and one-fingered waves from the cars around us. “Sure. You want to go today?”
I stare down at the outfit I should never have thrown on yesterday morning, the one still haunting me with poor choices more than twenty-four hours later. “I need a shower first, and more appropriate clothing, but yeah.”
He turns onto our street and presses the garage door opener. “I could use the same. I’ll get some work done while you get ready.”
I grab my purse and the bag of sweets into the house, dumping his now-empty coffee cup in the trash as I go.
An hour later, I’ve showered and shaved, have my hair in a high ponytail and am rocking sunscreen and mascara when I find Christian chatting with Fitz in his office. They go silent when I approach. “Shower’s all yours.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder as I turn on my boot to head upstairs to my studio.
I grab one camera before zoning out with a stare at the blue sofa where Christian fucked me with abandon a few nights ago. I pause and make eye contact with the moose as I turn to leave.What are you trying to tell me?
It’s all I think about as I return to the bottom floor to find my husband standing in front of Georgio, coffee drawer open wide, placing syrups onto the counter while putting powders away. “I know you’re there.”
I won’t ask how mostly because I’m distracted by how easy he still makes the process look. Also, because today I don’t care.Let him hear me coming.
“I’m here,” I offer as I reach the bottom step of the huge staircase.
He turns and extends a mug as he places an espresso cup in the sink. “Are you ready?”
I nod once and wonder how long I gazed at the sofa getting lost in my memories. “Sure.” I walk ahead of him to the garage and jump into the passenger seat of the Mercedes.
Once he’s backed out and heading for 470, I follow the thread that’s been weaving in my head. “If I didn’t trip, you think there was foul play.” It’s a statement, not a question.
He takes the onramp onto the highway and bites his lip.
“You’re never reticent.”
“The last time we discussed this, you shut down on me.”
“In all fairness, you’d casually mentioned someone nearly murdered me.”
“Where’s this calm demeanor coming from?”
“I want to be taken seriously. And I want all the facts. I’m tired of being protected from myself.” My temper is rising and the hornets are swarming again. I take a deep breath and try to center myself.
He hands me a Nalgene and nods for me to drink.
“You don’t need protection from yourself. You aren’t a danger.” Very quietly, he adds, “Except perhaps to me.”
I twist in my seat as we cruise north to stare at his profile. “Why am I a danger to you?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “A thousand reasons, Ayla.” He extends a palm in invitation, and I place a hand in his. He lifts it quickly to his lips, kissing my knuckles, before setting our joined hands on the center console. “Because you’re my weakness. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Because anyone who wants to get to me only has to look at you to know that you’re my Achilles’ heel. I’m not protecting you from yourself, but fuck if I won’t protect you from anything—no, everything—that threatens you.”
Hmm. “The people who want to get to you… Could one of them have something to do with my fall?”
He pauses longer than I’m comfortable with. I fight with everything in me not to shift in my seat simply to break the tension. He clears traffic and changes lanes to merge onto I-70. “Yes and yes. Fitz and I have been sorting through any existing and all potential threats for months now. The idea that my business or I could have put you in danger—” He pauses his thought, but his hand squeezes mine. “It keeps me up at night. I promise you, Princess, and hear me on this, no one will ever hurt you again.”
I hear what he doesn’t say. No one will get close enough to. I sigh. “So we’re back to control. Again.”
“Not control. Protection. And if you’re annoyed by it, I’m afraid you’ll live in a perpetual state of exasperation because I’mnot going to allow you to be vulnerable by being any less protective.”
“Great.” The sarcasm is evident in my tone. I slip my hand from his and reach for the coffee he was making when I came back from the studio. I pop the top, but say before taking a sip, “Please park where my car was on the day of the accident. I want to recreate as much as I can to trigger my brain into remembering.” Then I pull deeply on what turns out to be a delicious peppermint mocha.
We wind up the mountain away from Denver until he finds the turnoff and heads for the trailhead.
