“Him.”
Despite everything, a laugh slips out of me, small and incredulous. His eyes flicker toward my mouth as if the sound matters more than it should. That only makes my chest hurt worse.
I fold the umbrella and step under the awning beside him because it really is useless. “I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m relieved nobody died. I’m glad Ron is scared. I’m furious you got arrested. I’m terrified he’ll retaliate. I’m grateful you cared enough to do something, and I hate that caring about me put you in a cell.”
His hands curl at his sides. “Caring about you is not the danger.”
My breath catches.
He looks away immediately, as if the words escaped formation without authorization.
I should let it pass. That would be kinder. Safer. More sensible.
I have never been as sensible as people keep hoping.
“What is the danger?” I ask.
He stares into the rain. “That I care badly.”
Oh.
The anger in me softens so abruptly it almost hurts. I look at his profile, the hard line of his jaw, the scars cut through scale, the exhaustion he wears like weather. This man dismantled a gang hideout tonight, apparently with restraint by his standards, and yet the thing that frightens him is not violence. It is the possibility that his protection could harm the person he wants to keep safe.
“You care like someone who was trained to solve every problem with force,” I say.
His mouth tightens. “Yes.”
“That’s not the same as caring badly.”
“It may end the same.”
“Maybe.” I hate admitting it, but lies are not kindness. “But you listened when I asked you not to kill anyone. That matters.”
“It did not prevent this.”
“No. It prevented funerals.”
His eyes close briefly.
I touch his sleeve, not his hand, not yet. The fabric is wet and rough beneath my fingertips. “Come back to the bakery.”
He looks at me sharply. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Evie.”
“Don’t start with me. I just paid display-case money to retrieve you from police jail. I have earned at least temporary bossiness.”
“I should stay away.”
“You keep saying that, and yet trouble keeps finding me whether you are there or not.”
“My presence escalates it.”
“Your absence didn’t save the bakery.”
He flinches. I regret the words instantly, but not because they are false. Because they are true in a way that cuts.
