Page 37 of Meant for Mayhem

I held up a hand. “No, Mikko. I get that what you did was thoughtful, even if it was a little stupid. But I cannot put myself in a place ever again where I feel trapped because I owe someone something I can never repay.”

Get in the truck, Shannon.

The words rang in my head the way they so often did, the image of Mikko standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting to take me away from the only home I’d ever known. If I thought about it hard enough, I could still hear my father’s voice shouting, too.

Get in the truck.

The car slowed, and I looked up to see Mikko taking the next exit. When we came to a stop, he got out, then came to the back door and opened it again.

Knowing how this would go, I turned toward him before he could manhandle me, staring up into his eyes. Shit, he was tall.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hands resting on the roof above me and making his arms flex, the thin fabric of his button-down stretching across broad muscles. “You’re right.”

Whatever fight I had left in me dwindled out, surprised by his reaction. “Of course, I am.”

“You can leave, I swear it. The car is paid off and in your name, so no matter what happens, it’s yours.”

“What?” I recoiled, confused once more. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “You deserve it.”

The words hit me so hard, I forgot to breathe.

Because I deserved it?

I’d worked for everything I’d ever had. Picked up extra shifts. Learned to make do with less because less was all I’d ever known.

But deserved it?

That was completely different.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Then thank you, I guess.”

“Anything else? Or are you going to keep hiding in the backseat?”

His smile faded enough that all I could see were those blue eyes studying me. Close up, he smelled like cedar and clean laundry, and I was quickly realizing that being married to someone I was attracted to was a terrible idea.

This time it was my turn to avoid his gaze, hating that he called me out like this. With an indignant huff, I pushed him out of the way and circled the back of the car, pulling open the passenger’s door and climbing in.

The moment I settled, Mikko got back in the driver’s seat, staring over at me. But I crossed my arms, looking out the windshield instead.

No part of me was used to rational discussions, having grown up in a house that was more shouting than conversational.

We rode in silence as we made our way down the mountain until the Denver skyline appeared in front of us. I about jumped out of my skin when Mikko’s big hand touched my thigh. Immediately, he lifted it back up, holding it in the air.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shook my head, trying to calm my racing heart. “You’re fine.”

“Touching,” Mikko said. “What is and isn’t allowed? Where are your boundaries?”

Every time I thought I had this man figured out, he proved to me he was anything but simple. In fact, I think there were far more thoughts rattling around in that big brain of his than I ever realized. “That’s awfully progressive of you.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll never ask you to lie for me. No part of our story needs to be a lie, I mean. I’m already private—no one will be surprised if I leave out details of a story, so follow my lead. We met last winter through Beckett. Now we’re married.”

“That’s it?”

Mikko looked over at me, then back at the road. “That’s it.”