Page 82 of No Good Fight

My hand stills on the handle.

There’s the line I’ve been walking close to this whole time. I haven’t crossed it. Not yet, and now all the way, but it’s visible now. Josh sees it. I see him seeing it, and I know that I’m about to pick a side. One I can’t walk back from.

“She’s safe,” I say again, and this time even I hate how little that gives him.

His eyes narrow. “At your house?”

I don’t answer.

Josh’s face changes in a way I’ve known since we were kids. Hurt first, then anger rushing in to cover it. “You better have a damn good reason for keeping me out of whatever is happening.”

“I do.”

“Then say it.”

“Look, Josh. I love you. You’re my best friend and I would do anything for you. But I’m not going to betray her by saying shit to you that she isn’t ready for you to hear yet.”

That stops him, but it does not calm him down. If anything, it makes him angrier because he knows exactly what I’m implying. Alex asked for time. Alex chose not to tell him yet. Alex is the only reason I’m still standing here instead of getting shoved into the side of my own truck while he punches the shit out of me.

And I’d deserve it too.

Josh points at me. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“No,” I agree, opening the door. “It isn’t.”

Alex doesn’t meet me at the door when I get home, but I don’t expect her to.

The alarm is set and the porch is empty. The driveway feed only shows my truck pulling in behind her car, and I haven’t gotten a single alert for it since she was dropped off. I still check every angle from my phone before I unlock the door, because knowing she is inside does nothing to quiet the part of me that has spent all day imagining how fast safe can turn into her being taken from me.

The living room lamp is on. Alex is asleep on the couch with one hand under her cheek, her bare feet tucked beneath the throw blanket she’s hijacked to nest in, and her laptop is open on the cushion beside her. One of my hoodies is draped over the armrest within reach but not laying over her, like she wanted it close and got stubborn about needing it.

I stand in the entry for a second longer than I should, letting the sight of her pull my heart rate down back to a normal range,

Then I see the words on her laptop screen as I take a step closer.

Electrical fires in older apartment buildings.

Signs of accelerant use.

How arson investigators determine point of origin.

My hand tightens around my keys.

Alex stirs before I move again. Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharper when she sees me standing there in uniform with half the rain from the parking lot still on my shoulders.

“You’re home,” she says, voice rough from sleep.

“Yeah.”

She pushes upright and follows my gaze to the laptop. “I was researching.”

“I see that. I wasn’t trying to snoop, for the record.” I wouldn’t believe me, but I hope she knows I’m telling the truth.

“Don’t say it like you’re about to confiscate my internet.” She stretches out and grabs the blanket, pulling it around her while she makes no attempt to close the laptop. “I have work to do still, even through the crazy.

“I’m not.” I don’t tell her that I’d never do that. She’ll learn in time.

“You look like you’re in a confiscatory mood.”