Page 42 of No Good Fight

Last night, I sat in my truck until her bedroom light went out, then went home and memorized a photograph of the man who hurt her and the words he wrote on the back.

“No,” I say.

Her voice is quieter when she asks, “Because of me?”

I look at her then, and whatever she sees on my face makes her fingers tighten in my jacket.

“Yes.” That’s one small truth I can give her.

She goes still, but she’s not afraid of me. I’ve always been able to tell why she moves the way she does. Ever since we were children.

“Why?” she asks.

The word is soft enough that I could pretend not to hear it.

I don’t, because Alex deserves so much more than that. She deserves everything.

My answer presses against my teeth, too old and too hungry to be safe. I could blame Josh. I could blame the break-in, the photo, the SUV. All of that would be true, and none of it would be honest enough.

Her laptop chimes from the stoop.

I glance over because I need the mercy of interruption and hate myself for taking it. “You have some work to get back to, I think.”

“You’re dodging my question.”

“Yes.”

The answer comes out rough.

She goes quiet again.

I grab the bag from the grass and head toward the front entrance before I can say another word. Alex follows me into the first-floor hall, still wearing my jacket. The old fixture above her door buzzes and flickers, washing the cracked paint in weak yellow. Her apartment number hangs slightly crooked, and the deadbolt I checked yesterday looks too new against everything else around us.

The motion light takes ten minutes to install, and she’s there for the entire thing. Alex leans against the wall near her door and watches my hands instead of her laptop. Every time I glance over, she looks away too late.

Just having her attention on me is enough to make my dick sit at half mast the entire time I’m working.

When the sensor catches me and throws bright white across the walls and lights everything up like a spotlight, she squints. “That is extremely hostile and borderline psychotic lighting.”

“That is useful.” I point out to her. “You don’t want to be in the dark.”

“Mrs. Vance is going to think she’s being interrogated every time she walks by.” Alex shakes her head, staring at me like I’m crazy.

With an idle shrug, I start to drop my tools back into the bag, ready for the next job. “She steals your coupons.”

Alex’s eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”

“You complained about it at Josh’s cookout once.”

She scoffs, and I want to smooth the crease it creates on her forehead as she raises her eyebrows. “That was three years ago.”

“Coupon theft is serious.” I joke with her. “Even hearing about it leaves scars.”

She laughs under her breath, and the sound gets under my ribs before I can stop it.

I pack up slower than necessary. The hallway is brighter now. Her power is back. The panel still needs a lock, her window needs replacing, and I want to walk through every room before I leave. Want is the problem. Just because I want to keep her safe doesn’t mean she’ll let me. I need to remember that.

Alex stands in her doorway with my jacket still around her shoulders.