Chapter Four #3
“You never call unless something’s wrong.”
Some things never change. I let the silence agree for me.
“I need a favor.”
A pause. I can practically hear her sit up straighter. “That sounds serious. What kind of favor?”
I start moving again, a slow circuit of the room. “Do you still have space at the shelter?”
“At Haven House? Yes. Why?” The warmth thins from her tone. “Who is this for?”
I stop behind the couch and grip the back of it. “A girl.”
The pause stretches longer this time.
“A girl,” she repeats slowly. “You’re calling me about a girl.”
“It’s not like that.” My jaw tightens.
“Wilder.” Her voice turns dry. “You haven’t called me in almost a year, and now you want a place in a women’s shelter for a girl. It is absolutely like that.”
I close my eyes and squeeze the back of the couch until the leather creaks. “Can you help or not?”
“I can. But you’re going to tell me what’s going on first.”
I should’ve expected this. Samantha has never been the type to just nod and move on. Even back when she worked at the prison, she asked questions. Pushed. Refused to accept half-answers. It’s part of why I respected her. Part of why I listened when she told me I could be more than what I was.
I rake a hand through my hair and stay on my feet. Easier to think that way.
“She needs to get out of LA.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s in danger.”
“What kind of danger?”
I glance down the hall. The water’s still running. “The kind connected to my past.”
Silence.
When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “Your old gang?”
“Yes.”
“And this girl is…what? A witness? A client? Someone from Wilder House?”
“No.”
Another beat. “Then who is she, Wilder?”
I sink onto the arm of the couch and stare at the floor. “She’s…staying with me.”
The silence on the other end stretches long enough that I check the screen to be sure the call’s still connected.
“With you,” Samantha repeats.
“Yes.”
“In your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
A laugh scrapes out of me despite everything. “Yes, Sam. Voluntarily.”
“Wow.” She lets out a low whistle. “Okay. I did not see that coming.”
I stand again, restless, and start another lap.
“Neither did I.”
“How long?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“And you’re already trying to send her across the country?”
“She almost got hurt today.”
That wipes the humor from her voice. “What happened?”
I tell her. Not every detail—not the knife—but enough. By the time I finish, I’ve crossed the room twice over and ended up at the window, watching nothing move on the street below.
“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly. “You, the man who couldn’t tolerate a roommate for more than forty-eight hours, are living with a woman…and now you’re terrified someone is going to hurt her.”
I don’t answer. My reflection stares back at me in the dark glass, mocking me, and I turn from it.
“Wilder,” she says softly, “are you in love with her?”
The question hits harder than it should. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
She exhales. “You always did jump from zero to a hundred when it mattered.”
“She needs protection.”
“She needs a choice,” Samantha corrects. “Does she even know you’re planning this?”
My silence is answer enough.
“Oh, Wilder,” she mutters. “You can’t just make decisions like that for someone.”
I drag a hand over the back of my neck.
“I’m not asking for relationship advice. I’m asking if you can keep her safe in Chicago.”
“I can,” she says immediately. “We have security. Staff. Confidentiality. If she comes here, your old contacts won’t find her.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. I brace both hands on the back of the couch and let my head drop.
“But,” she adds, “you need to talk to her first. You don’t get to play savior without her consent.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I straighten. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then her tone softens. “You know, I always wondered when this would happen.”
“When what would happen?”
“You’d meet someone who makes you care enough to be afraid.”
My thumb finds the bracelet again, running over the beads. I don’t like how accurate that is.
“When you were in prison,” she continues, “you said you didn’t want attachments because they could be used against you. Looks like that strategy didn’t last.”
“She’s different.”
“They always are.”
Despite everything, a small smile pulls at my mouth.
I don’t tell Samantha the rest of it—that the moment Millie’s settled and safe, I’ll put this building on the market and follow her east. That I already know I won’t last a week in this city without her.
Some decisions you don’t agonize over. You just know.
“Send me her details when you’re ready,” Samantha says. “I’ll make arrangements. And Wilder?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you called.”
Something tightens in my throat. “Me too.”
I end the call and lower the phone slowly. The apartment is quiet again. The shower has stopped.
I turn—
And my stomach drops.
Millie is standing at the end of the hallway, hair damp, wearing one of my shirts. Her eyes are blazing with a fire I’ve never quite seen before.