Page 77 of You, Only You

He stopped pacing. "Doing what?"

"Managing me." I kept my voice steady, though my heart was pounding. "You decided we'd take separate cars without asking. You told Bates to assign extra security without discussing it with me. You're making decisions about my life, my movements, my safety?—"

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

"You're making decisions for me." I set down my water glass harder than intended. "We talked about this, Will. We had this exact conversation. You promised to ask, not decide."

"The circumstances are different now." He turned to face me, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Reeves is right there, Lindsey. Twenty feet away. I watched him look at you like you were nothing. Like you were?—"

"I was there. I saw how he looked at me."

"Then you understand why I can't just—" He ran his hands through his hair, the gesture agitated. "I know I'm falling back. Don't you think I see it? But it's not the same. This isn't about control, it's about the fact that someone tried to kill you and now we're in a room with him every day."

"Then tell me that." I stepped closer, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Tell me you're scared. Tell me you're imagining worst-case scenarios. Ask for what you need instead of just—" I stopped, frustration tightening my throat. "When you decide for me, it makes me feel like a child. Or an asset. Not a partner."

The silence stretched. I watched the war play out on his face, the old instinct to control battling against everything we'd built in the past week.

"I'm not trying to control you," he said finally.

"Intent doesn't matter if the impact is the same."

He flinched. Direct hit.

"Every time you walk into that courtroom—" He stopped. Started again. "Every time you take the stand and say his name, my brain just... goes somewhere dark. A bribed bailiff. Acontaminated water glass. A car bomb in the parking garage." His voice cracked slightly. "I can't stop imagining it. And when I can't control my thoughts, I try to control everything else."

The admission landed somewhere soft, somewhere I'd been armoring against exactly this kind of vulnerability.

"I'm scared too," I said quietly. "Every time I look at Reeves, I think about the SUV swerving into my lane. About waking up in the hospital, not knowing if I'd walk again. About the men in your penthouse." I took his hand. His fingers were cold. "But you pushing me away to protect me just means I'm facing it alone. And that's worse."

He looked down at our joined hands for a long moment.

"Together," he said, finally, the word rough. "I know. I know that's what we said."

"Knowing it and doing it are different things."

"Yeah." He exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders by degrees. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." I squeezed his hand. "Start asking."

He was quiet for a beat. Then, carefully: "Can we... discuss the security detail? I have a need. Probably irrational. Definitely over-the-top. But I need to feel like there's something between you and him when you're in that building."

This was it. The ask instead of the demand.

"I won't accept a new full-time shadow," I said. "It's conspicuous. Makes me look like I need special handling, which undermines my credibility with the jury."

"Lindsey—"

"But." I held up my hand. "I'll accept Bates's existing detail having standing orders to maintain visual contact in all public areas. And I'll carry the panic button he offered. The one that alerts you directly."

I watched him process it. Saw the flicker of his old instinct, to push for more, to insist, to control the outcome. Then he mastered it.

"That's not everything I want," he said slowly.

"No. It's a compromise."

"And if something happens? If the detail isn't enough?"

"Then we deal with it. Together." I held his gaze. "That's the deal, Will. We face things together, or we don't face them at all."