Page 41 of Trust

Not funny. He almost broke my arm on the way here. I change the topic once more. “So, why did you quit? The Navy, I mean?”

His jaw tightens, a small shift, but it signals I’ve hit a sore spot. “I didn’t quit,” he says after a beat, his words deliberate. “They disagreed with... my methods.”

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. A story is hidden behind that façade, one I don’t really want to hear. My curiosity shrivels.

Silence swallows the space between us until he’s the one to break it.

“How are your feet? Wanna take a break?” His concern reads genuine enough to disarm me.

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? This is your chance for a piggyback ride.” The easy charm returns like a switch flipped.

I snort, a laugh escaping without me willing it. “No,” I say, smiling. “Thanks, though.”

“Anytime.”

He abruptly comes to a halt and goes rigid. I tense, scanning the area for threats. “Is something wrong?”

He puts a finger to his lips and points to a squirrel on a low branch. It’s frozen mid-nibble, staring us down like we’ve trespassed on sacred land. “That thing is definitely judging me.”

I smirk, despite myself. “You probably deserve it.”

His hand flies to his chest, right over his heart, as if I’ve hurled the worst insult imaginable.

Rolling my eyes, laughing, I keep walking.

When we get back, the smell of food floods my nostrils. Good food. Chris has set the table: three plates, steaming omelets with cheese and herbs, and fried veggies. The aroma hits us both at once, and our stomachs rumble in unison. We chuckle. This might be Hotel Chris after all.

The walk did me good. Cash, aka Carter, turned out to be better company than I expected. I don’t like how easy it was to talk to him. How little effort it took to forget, if only for a little while, that none of this is normal. I’ve landed in a life that doesn’t belong to me. One where breakfast is warm and shared, with the same people who, not long ago, kidnapped me, chased me through the woods, locked me in a shed, and chained me to furniture.

Furniture such as the chair whose legs scrape across the floor as Cash pulls it out for me now, gesturing with mock courtesy.

And what do I do?

I sit.

REVEAL

Chris

Sara’s laughter fills the space after the front door creaks open.

Cash’s work. That’s his thing, his charm. He could sweet-talk himself out of a minefield. Not a bad skill in our trade. It gets you into locked rooms as well as into people’s heads.

Sara enters the kitchen first, cheeks tinged pink from the cold. She glances at me, then down at the food. Cash trails after, smug in that untroubled way of his. He pulls out a chair for her, smooth as ever.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Carter Lexington III,” she teases as she sits.

The smile drains from my face instantly. Why would he give her his real name? Is that his idea of bonding? Idiot.

Sara’s back is turned when I speak. “You’re right on time,” I say, shaking my head, palms up in a silent question as I fix Cash with a glare.

He lifts one shoulder, mirrors the headshake, mouths What? as he drops into a chair and digs in.

I let it go for now.

"You know, one day you might actually learn to cook." The man could survive on protein bars and canned chili, but when real food appears in front of him, he eats like it’s his last meal.