Singe (Guardian Protection Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

“And that you told me to go to the roof.”

  I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, desperate to scrub the memory away. “I know that, too.”

  “And that doesn’t make you a little mad?” Her voice got closer until I could feel her warmth at my side.

  “No! Because it was true!” I boomed, turning to face her.

  She didn’t flinch as she stared up at me, emotionless. “You risked your life and I paid you back by throwing you under the bus? Come on, Jude. Even you, all consumed by regret, have to see how fucked up that was.”

  “No, Rhion. It never crossed my mind to be pissed at you. The cops asked you questions, you gave them answers.”

  “Yeah. You told me that on Friday night, but I still struggle to believe it.” She slapped the book against my chest. “Because I spent the last four years regretting things too. Every day, I wanted to thank you. Every day, I wanted to say I was sorry. Every fucking day, I wanted to change the fact that you saved my life and I fed you to the wolves. So I did. Read it again, Jude. And, if you never want to see me again, fine. But, just so you know, I didn’t make you a different man. I made me a different woman. In those pages, I wasn’t weak and terrified, crying and broken, barely surviving.” Her face turned hard. “In those books, I was a beautiful fucking butterfly, and I refuse to allow you to make me feel bad about that.”

  The book fell to the ground at my feet as she turned and walked back into her apartment.

  I blinked as the door quietly closed behind her.

  Jesus. Christ.

  Weren’t we a fucking pair?

  That one night had ruined both of us. We’d been living worlds apart but still sharing a common guilt. Mine was for what I had deemed failing her. Hers was for what she had deemed failing me.

  The only difference was she’d done something about fixing it—even if it was fiction.

  I’d spent a lot of sleepless nights rewriting the fire in my head.

  In my version, I’d scaled that house like Spiderman, carrying her to safety, burn-free.

  Sometimes, the house still fell, but we watched it from across the street, breathing clean, fresh air, her secure in my arms.

  I’d never been drinking.

  We’d never been injured.

  And I’d always saved the day.

  Minus the part where we fell in love and rode off into the sunset, my version wasn’t all that different than hers.

  But there was an integral difference between our two stories.

  When I’d mentally rewritten mine, I had known the truth.

  With as much shit as I’d given her over the last few weeks for not being forthcoming, I’d been holding a secret for over four years.

  And it ate me away. As silly as it sounded, I’d spent my whole life dreaming of becoming a cop. Swooping in to save the day. Making the world a safer place. But, much to my surprise, wearing a badge hadn’t made me a hero. Nor did putting a uniform on change the man who wore it.

  It was time she knew who I really was—even if it meant losing her.

  Snagging her book off the ground, I turned and headed to her door. I scanned my card and pushed it wide only to come to a screeching halt when I found her standing not three feet away, hope filling her eyes as she nervously chewed on her lips and toyed with her necklace.

  She’d been waiting. Knowing I couldn’t leave. Not like that. And I’ll be damned if that didn’t stir something inside me—and make me regret everything that much more.

  “I was leaving you,” I announced, the confession singeing the tip of my tongue.

  She smiled weakly and took a step toward me. “But you came back.”

  “I’m not talking about tonight.” Emotion lodged the words in my throat. I gripped the back of my neck so hard that pain radiated down my back. “The night of the fire. The scars. I told the cops that, when you fell, it sent flames toward me and I turned away on instinct before rushing in after you. But it was a lie. I was leaving you. I didn’t run into the fire after you, Rhion. I was on fire and running away. You caught my ankle and I was struggling to pry your fingers off me, fighting you with every step, in order to escape the flames that had engulfed my back. I guess, in the process, I somehow managed to drag us both out.”

  I stopped talking and stared down at the floor, unwilling to meet her gaze. I couldn’t take seeing the revulsion that I was positive would be etched on her face. God knew it lived and breathed like a creature inside me on a daily basis.

  “I’ve never told anyone. And I’m so fucking sorry it took me so long for me to tell you.”

  “Okay,” she said. When her feet appeared in my line of sight, the book got pulled from my hand. “I’m going to say something. And I don’t think you’re going to like it, but I need to at least say it.”

  My stomach wrenched. I’d take anything she wanted to throw at me. Insults. Anger. Disdain. It would probably kill me coming from Rhion. But, if it made her feel the smallest fragment better, I’d take it.

  Using the back of my head, she pulled me down until her lips were at my ear and then whispered, “So. What.”

  My gaze jumped to her face, and I swear to God the woman was grinning.

  I blinked, but that fucking grin of hers never faltered.

  “So what?” I repeated in disbelief.

  “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but how you saved me still doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell it doesn’t,” I rumbled, stepping away to gain some space.

  But that fucking crazy woman wrapped both arms around my waist and pressed against me, front to front. “It really doesn’t, honey.”

  “Bullshit!” I continued my retreat but got no closer to an escape.

  I could have physically gotten her off me at any time, but deep down, a part of me didn’t want her to let go. The last few weeks with her had been an awakening, and not just from the years after the fire. But in my entire life. Consuming me positively and negatively, physically and mentally.

  As though she could read my thoughts, she pushed up onto her toes and brushed her lips with mine, the contact doing wonders to alleviate the stress brewing within me.

  “I’m sorry, Jude,” she whispered. “I hate more than anything else that you’ve lived with that alone for last four years. But you’re wrong. You have told someone else about that. You told me our first night together. And it changed exactly nothing. I’ve still been pursuing you for almost two months, knowing the truth. Because”—she paused, and a small smile hitched her lips—“it. Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.”

  My jaw slacked open as my eyebrows shot up. “No way I told you that.”

  “Oh, but you did.” Her smile widened. “You told me every gory detail about that night. Meanwhile, I was damn near delirious with happiness just to be in your arms.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned.

  “And I’m going to tell you the same thing I said to you right before you passed out. Fate’s a tricky beast. You made mistake after mistake that night, but no matter which way you spin it, you’re the only reason I’m standing here today.”

  The knife twisted in my gut, but her hands slipped under the back of my shirt, holding me tight.

  “That’s not fucking fate, Rhion. That’s a God’s honest miracle.”

  “Oh, even better. Divine intervention,” she smarted.

  Unable to take her touch anymore, I tore her arms away and then turned, pinning her against the wall. “That’s not what I meant!”

  Arching her back to keep our bodies connected, she kept talking. “You were the only man on the scene when that house came down. Drinking or not, if you hadn’t taken the call that night, I’d have still been on that ledge when it fell. You got us far enough away so all that happened was you ended up with a broken leg. If you weren’t there, that would have been my skull. There is no way I would have survived that without you.”

  I leaned down until our faces were inches apart and snarled, “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And, yo
u know it too. You’re a good man, with a good heart and a wicked conscience. But you’re smart. So you know I’m right.”

  I shook my head adamantly. “We live in two totally different worlds, Rhion.”

  “Maybe. But, in yours, you’re living in the dungeons of what you could have done differently had you been sober or more courageous. In my world, you saved me, you’re falling in love with me, and I’m refusing to let go. There comes a point where you have to stop beating yourself up for the mistakes you made and step into the reality of what actually happened. You don’t want to be a hero? Fine. I’ll never utter the word again. The verbiage doesn’t change the outcome though.”

  I wasn’t convinced, and the familiar pressure I’d been carrying for years inflated my chest all over again. “Those books…”

  “Are. Not. Real,” she implored, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I stopped writing about the two of us a year ago. I’m currently writing a book about Maleficent and Prince Philip. She’s terrible, but I’m making the reader believe he’s good. And he’s amazing, but I’m making the reader believe he’s bad before the big ending where it all comes to light.” She pressed her lips to mine. “You are not in there.” Kiss. “I am not in there.” Kiss. “There is no fire.” Deep and lingering kiss. “It’s just words.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was that.

  Closing my eyes, I confessed. “I want this with you, ya know. So fucking bad. Not because of the bullshit and guilt over the fire. But because you’re incredible—off-the-charts nutty, but that’s perfect because I can be really fucking dry sometimes.”

  “Mercurial,” she corrected.

  My lips twitched as I opened my eyes. “That too.” The pressure in my chest slowly ebbed away as she stared up at me. “After I read some of those books, it was the first time since we got together that I felt like maybe I wasn’t the right man for you.”

  Her eyebrows painfully pinched together, but it was a joke that escaped her lips. “Don’t be silly. It’s all part of the prophecy.”

  I laughed, moving my arms around her hips. Hugging her tight against my chest, I rested my chin on the top of her head. “I hate that we have this shit between us.”

  “I don’t. No one in the entire world understands what it was like for me that night except you. I’ve never been ashamed of my scars, but our first night together, you traced over them and told me they were yours. You made me feel like they were something beautiful.”

  I dropped my lips to her shoulder. “They’re part of you, Rhion. They’ll always be beautiful.”

  Her smile spread wide across her face. “You want to go to bed and I’ll tell you everything we talked about that night?”

  “Oh, now, you want to talk,” I said sarcastically.

  “Sure, because now, I’m not mortified anymore. Though, if I ever uncover the recipe for that memory eraser, tonight will be the first thing that goes.”

  I turned serious again. “Butterfly, you could have told me. And I know that’s hypocritical considering the shit I’ve been harboring. But, just so you know, there is nothing you can’t tell me. I’m in this with you. So fucking deep.”

  She plastered her small frame against my front in unspoken understanding.

  We stood there, silently holding each other, years of hurt and anguish melting away from the undeniable heat between us. I hated everything we’d had to endure both separately and together to get to that moment, but maybe Rhion was right.

  It wasn’t the how that mattered.

  We’d gotten there.

  And, as I guided her back to the bed, listened to her talk for over an hour, and then fell asleep with her nestled against my chest, I had every intention of staying—forever.

  Time sped up over the next three weeks as Rhion tunneled herself deeper under my skin until I wasn’t sure where I ended and she began. Yes, I worked for her. So most of our days were spent tooling around town, doing whatever errands she wanted or needed to do. But I could count on one hand how many nights I’d slept in my own bed, and slowly but surely, my belongings had begun reproducing at her apartment. My bag still sat in the corner of the room, not yet having graduated to the closet or the dresser, but just as many of my things as hers cluttered the bathroom counter. Rhion’s place had started to feel like home.

  Actually, everything about Rhion felt like home. The best thing that happened to us was my finding those books. It had springboarded our relationship to a level I hadn’t been sure we’d ever reach with the secrets of our past weighing us down. Rather than avoiding conversation about the fire any longer, we talked about it. A lot. We’d even taken a trip out to Park Hill Estate a few days after things had settled down again. She hadn’t been there since the fire, and just as I had the first time I’d visited, she’d struggled. While the house had been cleared away and never rebuilt, it still held more than enough memories to transport us back to that night.

  During the hours we sat there staring at the empty lot, she told me all about waking up in that burning house. Just her. Alone. Terrified with no way out. It was all I could do to listen to her without it shredding me. But, after I’d heard her talk, I felt like maybe my being there that night had done wonders for Rhion’s fight for survival.

  I still refused to take credit for saving her, but at least she hadn’t been alone.

  And, if I had anything to say about it, she never would be again.

  Over the last few weeks, I’d had the absolute honor of watching Rhion Park fall. Again.

  But, this time, she was falling for me.

  My Butterfly was beautiful. Still a little broken. Still a little scared. But weren’t we all?

  Just because the truth had come out didn’t mean my guilt from that night had magically evaporated. I still dealt with it each time I felt the scars on the back of my head, but it no longer burned when she touched them. And I was starting to believe that maybe I’d been right that drunken night in her apartment, because every day that passed, Rhion was healing me in unfathomable ways.

  While there had yet to be any professions of love on either side, it was an absolute fact we both knew. Love blazed in her eyes every morning when she woke up molded around me. And it blazed in my chest every minute of every day.

  It was now the week before Thanksgiving, and I was sitting on her couch, drinking a beer with Leo, Devon, Braydon, Alex, and, yes, Johnson at the unofficial-official Guardian Thanksgiving Feast. We were attempting to watch the football game while the mouthwatering fragrance of turkey cooking wafted through the air, but every ten seconds, Rhion would nervously flitter by, blocking our view.

  A company had been by early that morning to deliver giant tables and what had to be at least two-dozen chairs. I’d had no idea where the hell all of it was going to fit. Rhion’s apartment was big, but I’d had to climb over the back of the couch in order to get a cup of coffee while they had been setting up. When I’d attempted to voice my concern, she’d banished me to her room to get showered and dressed. Sure enough, half an hour later, I’d emerged to find a horseshoe of tables covered in tablecloths, lavish orange-and-brown-feather centerpieces, and enough place settings—including real silver—to seat the entire crew of Guardian Protection. It wasn’t until then that I’d realized overkill was a synonym for full-assing Thanksgiving.

  “You gotta stop pacing, babe,” I called out as all the guys leaned to the side to keep watching the game around her. “You’re making me anxious.”

  She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest, and glared at me. “Then perhaps you should get up and pace too, babe.”

  I chuckled and tipped the beer up to my lips.

  She’d been a mess all day. The chefs had been late, and when they’d gotten there, they’d brought the wrong size turkeys. This had resulted in Rhion shooting laser beams from her eyes and shrieking in a voice that was so high-pitched that it wasn’t even audible to the human ear. Just when I thought her head was going to explode, I wrapped her in my arms and got on
the phone to order a ham. She was grateful and hugged me tight around the hips just seconds before ordering me to call back and get two.

  Through all of this, I sent up thanks that Leo’s wife, Sarah, was responsible for the Christmas party. My girl did not take entertaining lightly.

  “Rhion, you gotta move or I’m going upstairs to watch the game,” Johnson said. “I’ve missed every first down since I got here.”

  Her glare sliced to him. “Aidan, you take one step toward that door and you’re out of this year’s secret Santa drawing.”

  Devon suddenly pushed to his feet. “Shit, that’s all I gotta do to get out of that?”

  Rhion’s expression turned murderous, and she used an extremely scary finger to motion for him to sit down.

  He wisely obeyed.

  “Okay,” I said, standing up and guiding her out of the way of the TV. “Can we have a word in private?”

  “No. She should be here any minute. I want to be the one to greet her when she arrives.”

  Ah, yes. Yet another reason Rhion was in a tailspin. The infamous stepsister was coming.

  I’d learned a lot about Katie Spencer, but I was no closer to figuring out how I felt about her. Rhion loved her—and hated her depending on the day of the week you asked. But, even when she was complaining about Katie, it had a sibling-rivalry feel to it. However, after a long talk with Johnson, I’d found out that he was not Katie’s biggest fan. He’d informed me that the only time she appeared in Rhion’s life was when it benefited Katie. That shit was not going to fly with me. So, when Rhion had told me this morning that Katie was coming, I’d had to admit that a part of me was eager to finally meet her.

  “Johnson can greet her,” I mocked. “You need a breather. You’re gonna give yourself high blood pressure if you keep this up.”

  “Ooooh, no. I’m going to be the one to greet Katie. She’s avoided my calls for months. And then I get a text saying she’s coming over today.” She laughed. “I don’t think so. And, just so there is no confusion, she will also not be allowed to participate in the secret Santa drawing.”

  “Lucky chick,” Devon grumbled.