The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Thirty-Six

T he lost look on her face wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen a hundred times over in the Marines, but on her?

I shook my head and threw our clothes in her dryer.

I was an idiot for not immediately noticing all the shit missing from her place. I’d been so damn worried that she wasn’t answering the door, that when she finally did, all I had was anger. Misplaced anger.

I walked into her bedroom and went for the closet. It was half empty like last time I’d seen it, but today I noticed it was all monochromatic. Blacks, whites, grays—all the pinks, yellows and greens she’d worn when she’d stayed with me were gone. I got angrier with myself. Yanking a gray shirt off a hanger, I found a pair of black leggings in a drawer and strode back to the bathroom.

She was exactly where I’d left her, except she was staring at herself in the mirror.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

Her voice, the look on her face—she crushed me. “I know.” I took the towel from her again and dried her hair as best I could before slipping the shirt over her head. “We’ll make a quick run to grab supplies to fix your door and some food, then you can sleep.” I dropped to a squat and held her pants for her to step into.

“I can’t go into a store.” She stepped into one leg.

“Why not?”

She stepped into the other. “No bra.”

Shit. “You can wait in the car if you want.” I pulled her pants up for her.

Her gaze fixed on the mirror, she didn’t comment about the car. “My hair’s a mess.”

I picked up her brush. Grasping her long locks in one land, I started at the bottom and worked my way up, brushing out the tangles.

“You’ve done this before.”

“For my sister, when we were kids.” Holding the top of her head, I worked through the section I’d had in my hand.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“She wouldn’t agree.”

“Why?”

Thankful to have her talking, I answered even though discussing my family was my least favorite subject. “I left her with the burden of taking over my father’s business when I enlisted.”

“Having money is a burden?”

She had no idea. “It’s not a simple life.”

“Neither is going hungry.”

Impotent anger at her past circumstances made my muscles stiffen, but I forced my voice to remain even. “Did you go hungry often?”

“Not once I was old enough to work.”

I drew the brush through the entire length of her hair. “What was your first job?”

She exhaled as if releasing some tension. “Sweeping floors in a bakery. I was fourteen. At the end of the day, whatever didn’t sell, I was supposed to bag and take to a nearby homeless shelter, but….” She trailed off.

“You kept it.”

“I did. Until I got fired.”

I did one more pass with the brush. “What happened?”

“I got sick, but I couldn’t call in because my foster parents wouldn’t let any of the kids use the house phone. So when I showed up the next day, barely well enough to stand up, let alone leave the house, they fired me for being a no-show.”

I put her brush down and looked at her in the mirror. “I’m sorry.”

Her gaze drifted. “One of the owners, Rusty, taught me how to decorate cakes. He never knew it, but I credit him for sparking my interest in parties.”

Nothing animated about her voice or story, she looked more sad than when I’d walked through the door. I wanted to pull her into my arms, but I didn’t. “I’m glad you had that experience then.” I took her hand. “Come on.”

She didn’t protest as I led her to her kitchen. She didn’t ask what I was doing when I sat her on a stool. She didn’t look at her front door, and she didn’t comment when I made her a cup of tea.

She watched my movements like she was both studying me and not seeing me as I set the mug in front of her. “Drink.”

Lifting her hands from her lap, she wrapped them around the mug, but she didn’t drink. She stared at the tea.

“I’ll check the dryer.” I made it two strides.

“You thought that made you like him? Like your father?”

I paused.

“Because of… what we did in the shower?”

I turned. “Yes.” I didn’t lie.

She picked the mug up. “I signed the papers.”

I stared at her profile.

She took a sip. “That night. I signed them.”

I wanted to ask if it was because of me. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. “I’m sorry your marriage dissolved.”

Anger bled into her tone. “Stop apologizing to me.”

“Stop blaming yourself for those gang members’ deaths.”

Her hands tightened on the mug. “We’re not supposed to talk about that. Ever ,” she bit out.

“You can always talk to me. Anytime.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

That’s what worried me. “None of us had any reservations about pulling the trigger.”

“I’m not you or one of your friends.”

No, she wasn’t. “That’s what I like about you.”

“You don’t like me,” she argued, holding the mug in front of her like a shield as she stared straight ahead. “I’m not stupid. You’re angry around me.”

“I’m angry with myself.”

The mug paused halfway to her mouth then she put it back down, but she didn’t say anything.

“Every step with you, I mishandled,” I admitted.

She looked up at me, and her amber-green doe eyes took me in like the hero I wasn’t. “I’m alive because of you.”

“You were in danger because of me,” I corrected.

Her full lips parted as if she were going to say something.

Like a fool, I waited, hoping for her forgiveness.

But she closed her mouth and dropped her gaze.

I went to get my clothes.