Page 47 of Run to Me

Her sad, watery eyes shred me when she says, “Aren’t I always?”

She’ll never admit she doesn’t want to be alone, and my skin prickles with the urge to scream loud enough to rattle her obstinate brain. Thanks to a lifetime of observation, and lots of trial and error, I’ve learned to choose my battles with her, and this isn’t a battle I’ll win.

“Call me if you need me for anything, no matter the time of night or day.”

She nods, and before I step away, she adds, “Promise me you won’t tell Tate what happened.”

Incredulous, my shoulders droop at her request. “What should I say when she blows up my phone, Maisy? I won’t lie.”

“Tell her I’ll explain everything when she’s back in Texas.”

Bending down, I bring us face to face and force her to meet my gaze. “Promise me you’ll be honest with her about what happened and how you feel. Lean on someone if you won’t lean on me.”

“I will. I promise,” she whispers, her soft breath touching my lips.

I press a lingering kiss to her forehead, squeezing my eyes shut when she chokes back a sob, then reluctantly walk away. To make her believe I’ve left, I open and close the front door with a loud thump. Sinking to the floor in the dark hallway, I rest my head against the wall and stretch out my legs. Then I wait and listen as she moves about the bathroom and bedroom, getting ready for bed.

I listen for the cracking sound of each new fissure when my heart breaks in sync with her quiet sobs. Maisy cried in secret when she was younger, but if I knew she was upset, I never let her cry alone. I’d wait a few feet away in case she ever needed someone. In case she needed me.

Her cries wane, and she succumbs to the exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep. Only then do I comply with her wishes and leave.

16

MAISY

Someone’s pounding on the front door so hard, the hinges might come loose. There’s only one person, besides Jensen, who would be angry enough and strong enough to bust through a door to get to me.

Two large, blurry masses appear through the beveled glass, which must be pretty thick to have not shattered. I swing the door open to discover the angriest pair of whiskey-colored eyes ever pinned on me.

“You have the code to unlock the door,” I say in greeting, annoyed that I had to abandon my comfy spot on the couch.

“Explain this.” Marcus wags the rigid finger aimed at my face.

This is the problem with sharing your cell phone location with so many people.

Judge punches him in the shoulder. He’s the more sympathetic of the two Ames cousins and has much better people skills even though he doesn’t speak.

The men served in the military before they became Tatum’s personal security team five years ago. Whatever happened during their final deployment caused Judge to stop talking. When Marcus isn’t speaking on his behalf, Judge types notes on his phone to communicate. But around our smaller group, he uses grunts and gestures, which we’ve learned to interpret after spending every minute of every day together.

Other than the matching eyes, shaved heads, and hulking size, the two giants couldn’t be more different. Marcus’s pristine russet complexion and crisp clothes reflect his personality. Poised and perfect, aside from the silver scar in his left eyebrow. Judge, on the other hand, has colorful tattoos covering most of his tawny skin. He also has tears clinging to his thick, curly lashes as he looks me over. Big crybaby.

“Let me through.” Tatum’s demand comes from behind the men blocking the doorway before her slender hand slips between them. I’m not a fan of the distraught expression on her face when Judge steps aside. “Maisy!” She yanks me into her arms and squeezes too tight.

“Ouch,” I murmur into her hoodie.

“Sorry.” Sniffling, she releases me. “What the heck happened?”

“Good question. Everyone, get inside,” Marcus barks.

“Sir, yes fucking sir,” Jake mumbles as he trails in behind Tatum, earning a deadly glare from Marcus. These two don’t get along. At all.

“Watch it, pretty boy. It’s not too late to⁠—”

“Can you two stop?” Tatum shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “Geez! You’ve been at it since we left California. You both need a time out.”

I leave them to their bickering and settle on the sectional where I was watching TV and replaying the words good girl in my head before they showed up. Of all the things Jensen said to me and did for me last night, I’m hung up on being called a good girl.

A feminist like me should balk and tell him to take that shit somewhere else, but I’m only human. And humans have flaws. Apparently, my flaws include being turned on by the prospect of becoming Jensen Holloway’s good girl. I’ll take that particular secret to my grave.