Page 127 of Under His Guard

Clara is staring up at me, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

“Do you?” I ask, my voice raspy.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, one of those tears finally slipping free and trickling down her face before she swipes it away. “We pushed each other away pretty damn hard, Luke.”

She’s not wrong. As much as I wanted her, I was subconsciously keeping her at arm’s length by not telling her what was going on with me.

Every time I had a nightmare, I could have said something. Whenever Clara asked, I should have told her.

But I didn’t out of some bullshit attachment to my pride.

“I don’t know if we’re good together. I have my career to think about, and you…”

She sighs, dropping my hands to rake her own through her hair and then scrub them over her face.

“Look, I’m not trying to be callous or rude, but you have some things you need to work out. You know that, right?”

All I can do is nod. “Yeah. I do.”

Clara nods back. “I mean, the drinking is a problem. I’m sure you have a reason behind it, but Luke, that has to be dealt with.”

I rub across the stubble around my mouth, a dull nausea swimming in the background.

It’s been a few hours since I’ve had one of those drinks that I need to give up, and I know I’ll have to deal with that soon.

Adjusting in place, Clara scoots back from me some, and my heart damn near cracks in two.

I don’t want her moving away from me. Dammit, this hurts.

“We were barely together when all this happened. Do we really want to add a child into the mix? Do we really want to…be together? Can you handle that? Can I?”

Nothing Clara is saying is wrong or untrue. It’s logical, and there’s a lot of evidence and factors working against us.

Not the least of which is that I have to do something about my drinking.

And I know that’s going to be a hell of a process—one I’ll likely need her help with if she decides to stick around.

But she’s not going to do that unless I give her a damn good reason.

This is it, Luke. What do you want?

Getting up, I take a step away from the ambulance. I see Clara’s shoulders droop as she barely makes eye contact with me.

She doesn’t hide the sorrow in her expression.

You know what you want.

And then I get down on my knee.

“Oh my God! What are you doing? Is it your leg?”

Clara’s brows hit her hairline, and the pain zinging through my thigh is nearly enough to have me passing out.

But not yet. There’s something I need to do.

She’s about to get up, reaching for my arms to pull me up, so I take her hands again and lock my eyes on hers.

“Luke, you can’t bend like that. You’re going to?—”

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