Chapter 2
CAILIN
“I want to get some ice on that.”
Memphis glares at my wrist as if it personally offended him. “You’re definitely going to have bruises,” he observes, “but if we get some ice on them now, they shouldn’t be as bad.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure him. With a teasing smile, I add, “A few bruises, I can handle.”
After everything I suffered at the hands of Dario is the part I don’t mention.
I was fortunate not to be given one of the doomed roles in one of his plays, so I escaped the worst of the injuries I’d seen.
But Dario didn’t hesitate to punish us if we displeased him, either by defying one of his commands or simply not playing our role to his satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t have to,” he retorts. His forehead creases and his brows draw down. “Ever. And especially not at your workplace. It’s supposed to be safe there.”
As we arrive at my front door, he takes my key and unlocks it. Then he nudges me behind him before opening the door and looking inside. After a brief survey of my living room, he leads me into the apartment and closes the door behind us.
While he’s locking the deadbolt, I ask, “How do you know the restaurant is safe?”
Memphis turns to me. His cheeks are the faintest pink. “I checked the security there.”
“You checked the security? How?”
His gaze moves to the couch. “Why don’t you sit? And I’ll go get you some ice?”
“Memphis.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “How did you check the security at the restaurant?”
Even as I’m asking, I have a sneaking suspicion, given how protective Memphis is, and his close connection with Blade and Arrow Security, the company that Noelle’s now-husband, Webb, works for, that what he did isn’t technically legal.
Memphis loops his arm around my waist and leads me to the couch.
I follow along because it’s easier than resisting.
And honestly, I like it when he touches me.
I like the feel of his big hand splayed over my hip.
Whenever he visits, I try to absorb everything about him, from his scent to his reassuring strength to that appealing dimple that comes out whenever he smiles.
“I asked Tyler,” he admits, naming the tech wizard who works for Blade and Arrow’s Oregon branch. “Nothing too intrusive. I just wanted to make sure there was adequate security. Interior and exterior cameras, lighting in the parking lot, no employees with criminal records—”
He stops. The red spots on his cheeks darken.
And darn it, he’s cute when he blushes.
I know cute isn’t word most people would use to describe Memphis.
With his often-stony features and intense gaze, intimidating might be more apt.
Or someone might look at his wavy salt-and-pepper hair and striking green eyes and call him handsome.
They might notice his shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders and muscled arms and consider him sexy.
They wouldn’t be wrong. Memphis is all of those things. But what I really like about him are the things most people wouldn’t see unless he allows them to—like his dimple and the way he blushes when he’s been caught out doing something he knows he shouldn’t.
And I especially love the soft, sensitive side he keeps hidden from nearly everyone.
I’m not sure Memphis even realizes I notice. But I do. And every time I see it, I tuck it away for safekeeping, so I have it to look back on when he eventually decides I don’t need him anymore and moves on.
It wouldn’t be true. Maybe my life is better than it was a year ago, but I don’t think there’ll ever be a time I don’t need him.
My heart aches at the thought of not having Memphis in my life anymore. And it’s not just because I’ve grown to rely on his constant presence—the weekly texts and monthly visits and the gifts that arrive without warning—but because I truly enjoy being with him.
Enough to tell him how you feel? a silent voice asks. Enough to risk the crushing disappointment if he doesn’t feel the same?
I don’t know, I tell it. Sometimes I think I’m brave enough. But other times… what if I tell him I want more, and it ruins everything?
Memphis frowns. “Are you angry? I just wanted to make sure you’d be safe.”
Pushing my conflicted thoughts aside, I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad. But… did you really have Tyler run background checks on my coworkers?”
“How else could I know if it was safe? And especially with you working nights…”
I can’t deny the bloom of happiness that comes with knowing Memphis has been looking out for me, even from afar. “I get it.”
He stares at me for a long moment before giving his head an almost imperceptible shake. Rising from the couch, he says, “I’m going to grab some ice. Do you want something to eat? Did you have anything before your shift started?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one offering to get you something?” I tease. “Since you’re my guest and all that?”
His hands come to my shoulders, gently holding me still. “You’ve been on your feet all night. I haven’t.” A corner of his mouth quirks. “I might be old, but I can still get around okay.”
“You’re not old. Not even close.”
He’s already heading towards the kitchen. “Older than you.”
I frown at his back.
It’s not the first time he’s brought up our age difference, and it’s not like I can debate it.
I’ll be thirty next month, and Memphis is forty-nine.
Twenty years isn’t a small thing, and before meeting him, before really getting to know him, I would never have dreamed I’d feel this way about a man so much older than me.
But when I’m with him, I don’t think about his age. He’s just Memphis. My protector. My friend. The man I can talk to about anything.
Well, except the question that’s been niggling at me for months. But everything else.
“Did you eat?” Memphis calls from the kitchen.
“I tasted the specials,” I reply, raising my voice so he can hear me. “The meatloaf and the spin-art dip appetizer.”
“That’s not enough,” he replies. “I’ll throw together some sandwiches—” He stops. “Cailin. When’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”
“Um. Not that long ago.” At least, if two weeks counts as not that long ago. I meant to go last weekend, got as far as parking lot, even. But then I saw a guy who reminded me of Dario headed into the store, and next thing I knew, I was driving home empty handed.
I knew it wasn’t Dario, of course. Dario is in prison, serving consecutive life sentences. And even if he somehow escaped, it’s unlikely he’d ever find me here. Not in Bakersfield, a two-hour drive from L.A. and all the opportunities an aspiring actress would want.
No, Bakersfield is the opposite of that. Which is why I chose it.
“I can still drive into L.A. for castings,” I claimed when I first settled on Bakersfield as my future home.
Back then, I was still torn between wanting to get away from L.A.
and everything it represented and clinging to the career I’d dreamed of since I was little.
Deep down, I knew my acting days were over. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.
But I haven’t been back once. And I don’t miss it at all.
Not that Bakersfield is my dream, either.
Living alone in a tiny end-unit apartment, waiting tables in the evenings and working three days a week at a clothing store downtown, no real friends to speak of aside from Memphis, who I only see once a month…
It’s not what I imagined my life to be as I neared thirty.
But I’m alive. I’m still in good health. I didn’t have to struggle through months of surgeries, like Paul and Hector. And I didn’t end up in an unmarked grave on Dario’s property, like fourteen other actors did.
And I have Memphis. The best part of all of it.
“Okay, I made some cheese and pepperoni sandwiches,” Memphis announces as he comes back into the living room.
“The package of ham in the fridge was out of code.” From his expression, it’s clear he’s not thrilled with the sad state of my refrigerator.
“And I found some fruit salad in the cabinet. For a little boost of natural sugars.”
As he sets a plate on the coffee table along with two glasses of water, I say, "I'll go to the store soon. During the day, so I
Shoot. I don’t want to mention my brush with not-Dario. Then Memphis will get all worried and he’ll think I’m not doing as well as I claim to be. Which I am, normally. Just not when I happen upon artsy-looking older men with white hair.
“Anyway.” I hurry to cover my slip. “How’s Gus doing? I hope he’s not missing you too much.”
Memphis arches a brow. “So you what?”
I take a bite of sandwich to stall. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” It’s skeptical.
Would it be so bad to tell him you got scared? that little voice in my head asks. Maybe he’d even stay longer, instead of leaving tomorrow.
But then he’ll think I’m still weak, broken Cailin from a year ago, I explain silently. He won’t see me as the strong—okay, sort of strong—woman I’ve become. And he’ll never, ever consider anything more than friendship.
My argument makes sense until I see the worry in his eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. I went to the grocery store on Sunday and I saw this guy—”
“A guy?” Memphis sits up straight. “Did he bother you?”
“No.” I put my hand over his. “He didn’t even look at me. It was all in my head. I just saw him, and he reminded me a little of Dario. So I panicked and left.”
Understanding softens his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“It was stupid. I knew it wasn’t him.”
“It wasn’t stupid.” He wraps his fingers around mine. “Not at all.”
“I knew it wasn’t him, though.”
“That doesn’t matter. PTSD can trick your brain into seeing danger where there isn’t. That doesn’t make you stupid.”
“I’ve been doing really well, though,” I insist. “I’ve been going to my weekly counseling sessions, and my jobs, and I even looked into joining a gym. I’m not just sitting at home, hiding from imaginary enemies.”
Memphis shifts on the couch so he’s partially facing me. “You’re doing amazing, Cailin. Don’t ever feel like you have to explain yourself to me. How far you’ve come in only a year… I’m so damn proud of you.”