Only then did I let myself breathe.
I leaned back against the house, sweat pouring down my face, head pounding with the echo of gunfire. My hands shook, but the skip was down, and no one was dead—at least not yet. As far as field days went, this was almost a win.
Except I could hear Alfie’s voice, shrill and bright and completely out of place in the post-bloodbath quiet. I turned, and saw him standing in the yard, still in his shorts, the wind ruffling his hair. He looked shell-shocked, his arms crossed tight over his chest, fingers clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
The lumberjack hovered beside him, glaring at me, but I honestly couldn't give one flying fuck about the strange asshole holdingmyAlfie's hand. I holstered my weapon and jogged down the steps, ignoring the pain shooting up my leg. I wanted to yell. I wanted to throw Alfie back in my truck and drag him as far away from here as I could.
Instead, I stopped in front of him, stooping down until we were eye-to-eye. He stared at me, wide-eyed.
“Are you okay?” he blurted, voice trembling just enough to make something deep inside me crack.
“I’m fine,” I said. Too gruff, too sharp. I softened my grip on his shoulders. “Why are you here, Alfie?” I tried to hide my excitement at seeing him.
The lumberjack cleared his throat. "The boy says you're his man," he said, his voice rough as sandpaper. "Says you ran out on him. That true?"
I didn't take my eyes off Alfie as I responded to the stranger. "It's complicated."
"It's not," Alfie said, his voice steadier now. "You're my... my...mine. You fucked me into next week. And then you left me in a shitty motel room without saying goodbye." His eyes flashed with hurt. "So I came to find you. Because that's what people who care about each other do."
Which only brought up the question... how the hell did he find me?
The lumberjack snorted. "Sounds pretty simple to me."
I wanted to grab Alfie and shake him. Or kiss him. Or both. "You could have been killed," I said instead. "This man is dangerous. I'm dangerous. You need to get away from me."
"I don't want to be away from you," Alfie whined.
Of course he didn’t. I scrubbed a hand down my face, already feeling this slipping out of my control.
“You don’t get it,” I said, quieter now, but no less firm. “This—” I gestured vaguely between us, at the house, at Milo bleeding out on the porch behind me “—this is my life. This is what happens. Guns. People trying to kill me. People trying to run. You don’t just… follow me into this like it’s some kind of road trip.”
Alfie’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. His eyes burned, bright and stubborn and a little too damn hurt for my liking.
“I didn’t follow you because I was looking for something fun to do,” he shot back. “I followed you because you left.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold his gaze even when everything in me wanted to look away. “And I left because it was the right thing to do.”
“For who?” Alfie demanded immediately. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t for me.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.
“It was for you,” I said finally, voice lower now, rougher. “You just don’t see it yet.”
Alfie laughed, but there was no humor in it. I disliked seeing the sorrow in his face more than I liked to admit. Alfie–myAlfie—wasn't supposed to look so dejected.
"If that's what you really think," he mumbled, for the first time since I met him, looking less than confident as he stared down at his feet. "Buck and I will get out of your hair then."
And he turned his back on me, once again taking the fucking fucker lumberjack's hand as they made their way to their truck.
Again. Who the fuck was this damnedBuck?
12
Chapter 11
Idid not cry.
Let the record reflect... Idid notcry.
