Page 54 of No Good Fight

“Yes, I was.”

“No.” Her voice shakes, but it holds. “You were one of the few people I could be around without feeling like I had to make myself smaller.” She sniffles. “You were the person I thought of when I needed to feel safe.”

I turn back to her.

Her eyes are wet. Mine probably are too. I don’t check because I’m not about to look away from her even for a second.

“He knew that,” she says. “Preston. He knew I felt safe around you. That’s why he hated you.”

“I hope he did.” My hands clench. “I hope he hates me until the day he dies, so that we both live rent-free in that bastard’s mind.”

That earns me a startled sound, half laugh, half sob.

“I mean it,” I tell her. “I hope every time I walked into a room, it ruined his whole goddamn day. And if I have anything to say about it, his every single day moving forward will be just as bad.”

She stares at me, and for the first time since Lucy’s, the fear in her face loosens. Not gone. Nothing that big leaves in one night. But the tightest part of her eases, and she breathes in like the air has finally made room.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she says.

Relief hits so hard it feels like pain. “You won’t be.”

“I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I can handle going to your place either.”

“We can figure it out. Whatever you want to do.”

She nods, then looks down at her wrist. The marks are darker now, ugly against her skin. “I hate that he touched me after you did.”

I go very still.

Her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean⁠—”

“I know what you meant.”

“No, you really don’t.”

I let the silence sit long enough for her to decide whether she wants to take that any further, but she doesn’t.

“I hate it too.” I give her the admission, because she deserves the truth.

Her eyes come back to mine, and the cab gets small fast.

The kiss is still between us. So is Preston. So is every year I spent not touching her while wanting exactly that. I reach for the bottle of water in the cup holder and hand it over because if I put my hands anywhere else, I’m not sure I’ll behave.

Alex takes the water with a faint, embarrassed smile. “Hydration. Very sexy.”

“I have layers.”

“Mostly flannel and unresolved issues.”

“Accurate.”

This time when she laughs, it almost sounds real.

We sit until the storm starts hitting harder, rain snapping against the windshield in silver streaks. Alex drinks half the water. Her breathing evens out. Mine doesn’t, but I keep that to myself.