Chapter 23
Sabrina
Forty-eight whole hours, and Theo has been MIA for most of them.
Which, fine. Whatever.
I don’t need a broody, jacked-up, infuriatingly sexy bodyguard hovering over me like I’m glass. I don’t need him to hold my hand while the doctors run their tests or pat my hair and tell me I’ll be okay.
Except, maybe I do.
Maybe I want that.
When the doctor came in yesterday and told me I had a mild concussion—either from the Russian prick’s backhand or from being jostled around like a rag doll in the back of my idiot brother’s stolen car—I saw the look on Theo’s face.
Just for a second. Like he wanted to commit murder all over again.
Like if Marco had been in arm’s reach, he’d have taken him down too.
But Marco is still my brother.
Even if I’m pretty damn mad at him.
Even if I don’t know how to forgive him yet.
Oh, I saw him briefly before the Feds came and took him away.
“Sabrina, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad your sorry, Marco. And I hope you find some peace with what you did.”
“Do you forgive me?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll light a candle for you on Sunday,” I told him and he nodded and left.
Noel Kane, the man in charge of the operation responsible for my protection briefly spoke to me about what was going to happen with Marco.
I listened, nodded, thanked him.
Said all the proper things.
But none of it explained where the heck Theo went.
He didn’t even send a message. No text or note.
Last time I saw him he grunted “I’ll handle it” to Kai before disappearing out the door like some kind of brooding superhero who only saves the damsel but doesn’t bother sticking around after.
Screw that.
Screw him.
I’m tired.
I’m sore.
I’m sick of fluorescent lights and terrible hospital pudding.
And I’ve just about had enough of feeling like a discarded side quest in someone else’s action movie.
So when the doctor tells me I’m just about clear for discharge, I don’t hesitate.
I nod, say thank you, and make my plan.
A nurse leaves the room to get my paperwork ready, and that’s my window.
I snag a pair of navy blue sweatpants from the laundry bin, pull on the clinic’s no-slip socks, a pair of rubber clogs someone left in the cubby, and I steal a white doctor’s coat hanging on the back of a supply closet door.
I sweep my hair into a messy ponytail and grab one of the used lunch trays stacked outside the room like I’m just doing rounds.
For a team of internationally trained bodyguards with elite military backgrounds, nobody bats an eye as I shuffle right past them with a tray of empty pudding cups.
I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed.
Probably both.
Outside, the wind bites at my cheeks. I flag a cab and sink into the backseat, heart pounding like I’m breaking out of prison.
And maybe I am.
A stupid, sexy, emotionally confusing prison with muscle and scars and dark eyes that see right through me.
My eyes burn.
I blink hard.
No. I’m not doing this.
I’m not going to cry over a man who couldn’t even stick around long enough to say goodbye.
Or check on me.
Or anything.
I’m fine.
I’m still me. Sabrina Rosetto. Kindergarten teacher.
I teach circle time and phonics and how to use your words when you’re mad.
I live in a safe, boring townhouse.
I drink mint tea and read romance novels at night and I go to church on Sundays.
I’d never been shot at before.
Never been kidnapped.
Never had to make a run for it in the middle of a wintry mix hell storm.
And honestly?
That’s the life I want to go back to.
Not this mess.
Not bodyguards and underground hit squads and dark-eyed men who make me feel like the center of the universe one minute and vanish the next.
This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t sexy. This wasn’t some fantasy.
It was terrifying.
I was terrified.
I still am.
And maybe I’ve been fooling myself this whole time, thinking I could handle it.
Thinking I could handle him.
Because the truth is, I’m pretty sure I love him.
Yeah. That’s the worst part.
Somewhere between the stalking, the pizza dates, the accidental orgasms, and him storming through a warehouse to rescue me like some avenging god—I fell for him.
Theo Montego.
But he’s gone. MIA. AWOL. What-fucking-ever.
And what kind of man in love stays away from the woman he just saved?
What kind of man disappears after she’s hurt, after he saw the blood on her hands?
The answer?
One who doesn’t love her back.
And I’m not going to sit around waiting for a man like that.
So I’m going home.
Back to my safe, boring little life.
Even if my heart doesn’t feel quite as safe anymore.
I have to go back. because I can’t waste another minute waiting for a man who isn’t coming for me.
I deserve better than that.