Leaving the balcony, I headed down to the gym where I worked out until barely able to stand. My body exhausted, yet my mind raced with the logic I refused earlier. Why did I offer to train a damaged young woman? I hadn’t been myself since returning to the job a year ago. I’d really believed I was ready to retire from killing. I was wrong. The nightmares became unbearable and I stopped eating. Finally, I accepted I wasn’t ready to play Average Joe. Maybe I’d never be capable, but I still dreamed of giving up this life of death and lies.
A shower and sandwich later, I rested on the couch and watched a horror movie on regular cable. In my mind, I relished the cinematic suffering rather than the genuine pain awaiting me in my dreams. Years ago, a shrink I wasted a single session on claimed I suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Having someone point out the obvious wasn’t worth my time or money.
Harlow likely suffered from PTSD too and dealt with her share of nightmares. After our encounter earlier in the day, she knew once again how the world was dangerous in a way she wasn’t capable of defeating.
Dozing off into what proved to be brutal dreams, I knew Harlow needed my help. All her rage made her sloppy. Stupid even. With my training, she had a chance to survive not only a dangerous world, but her own demons. If she distracted me from my demons, we’d both come out winners.
Chapter Seven ~ Harlow
Up by five, I stood in the family room and waited for Saint. Dad sat on the couch, silently giving me pep talks. Don’t let him mistreat you. No matter who he is, you can say no. Don’t let him bully you. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Be careful. Come back to me safe.
My eleven-year-old brother Jace wandered into the room, half-asleep on a pee break, and hugged me.
“I’ll mourn you,” he said, eliciting a frown from our dad.
“You’re in charge of my eulogy. Be sure to cry a lot and do the crying snort thing too. Really make a show of it.”
Staring up at me through thick black hair, he smirked. “I’m too old to cry, but I promise to snort.”
He shuffled out of the room, leaving me alone with Dad.
“If you need help, call,” Dad said, running a hand through his still thick red hair.
“He won’t hurt me.”
“No one knows anything about him. He might be crazy.”
“I doubt it.”
Dad grunted before focusing on the morning news. Ignoring him because he was making me tense, I planned to play cool when Saint arrived. Instead of behaving like a badass though, I nearly jumped up and down when his SUV pulled up in front of our house.
Dad tugged me into a hug. “Don’t die.”
“Subtle.”
“The subtle stuff wasn’t working.”
Hugging him back, I smiled. “I better go before he honks and wakes up the neighborhood.”
Once Dad released me from the bear hug, I grabbed my bag and hurried outside. Saint wasn’t sitting with his hand hovering over the horn like I expected. I opened the door to find him with his head leaning back on the headrest.
His exhausted expression startled me. I’d pictured him as a machine rather than a man needing a solid night’s sleep to function.
“You look tired,” I said dumbly while climbing into the SUV.
“I am. You look wired.”
“I'm excited to learn something.”
Saint frowned at me. “I need coffee before I can tolerate such peppiness.”
Once he heard the click of my seatbelt, Saint hit the gas and headed for a local coffee house.
“Starbucks would be faster.”
“College kids live there. No way am I awake enough to deal with those punks.”
“Did you go to college?” I asked.
Saint gave me a grumpy side glance. “What do you think?”
“I think you did,” I said, messing with him. “I think you were on the rugby team and in a frat. Bet you had a nickname like The Budmeister.”
Grinning now, Saint nodded. “It’s eerie how well you read me.”
I shared his smile, feeling amazing to have teased Saint and survived. Maybe he didn’t seem so scary when he was tired or maybe I’d built him up too much in my head. Either way, he felt warmer now, approachable even. Okay, not approachable, but I could imagine patting him on the back without him snapping me in half.
When we arrived at the coffee shop, Saint held the door open for me. My father would definitely approve of his good manners.
“I need caffeine and sugar,” Saint mumbled, ordering a giant coffee and two enormous cinnamon buns.
Staring at the food, I said, “I think those are supposed to be shared.”
“If you want something, I’ll pay for it, but I’m not sharing my food.”
I laughed. “You growled like a bear when you said that.”
“I’m an only child. I never share. If you accept this fact now, we’ll avoid me stabbing you in the hand with a fork in the future.”
“I don’t think I should eat junk before working out.”
“Carbs are good,” he grunted, buying three.
We sat at a table away from the locals. No one gave Saint much attention which surprised me. The guy was big, exotic, and sexy as hell, yet people barely gave him a glance.
Saint held himself differently now. At Whiskey Kirk’s, he stood taller with his shoulders flexed out. He took up more space, demanding to be noticed in a room full of large, intimidating men. In the coffee shop, Saint was like any other guy. The change was unsettling.
When he yawned for the third time, I asked, “Late night?”