The heavy metal door groans on its hinges as I swing it open. I reach in and feel along the wall with my left hand. My right hand is still grasping onto hers, a physical reminder that she's here and safe. And that need to protect her is the only thing that is stronger right now than my desire to murder Wyatt Montgomery.

My fingers brush across the cold plastic of the light switch. The room is flooded with harsh fluorescents. The second we clear the threshold, I kick the door shut and pull her against my chest.

She's still sobbing, although the tears have dried up and have been replaced by inconsistent, erratic breaths.

"Breathe, Blaise."

She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

"I'm fine."

We both loosen our grip and laugh a little at the absurdity of her statement. She's not fine. Nothing about this entire situation is fine. I look her over, and while her face is surprisingly calm, the red marks across her neck are already starting to turn purple.

"I still think you need to go to an emergency room. Get checked out."

"It's just superficial bruising. It'll heal. Besides, the hospital will report the assault. I don't want the police involved."

Even now, even after everything he put her through, she's still trying to protect him. It's infuriating.

"Blaise, he attacked you." I try to rationalize with her as calmly as possible.

"And I attacked him. I broke his nose."

"You were defending yourself."

"Says who? You think they'll believe us over him? If I go to the cops, I'll be the one that ends up in jail."

I'm relieved that her loyalty lies with herself and not Wyatt, but hate that she's right. She won't get the justice she deserves. I contemplate serving justice myself, but that's a dark path to wander down, so I focus on something I can control. I have a feeling that was supposed to be her dinner. She's going to crash soon from her adrenaline high. She doesn't need a blood sugar crisis, too.

I start pulling containers from one of the large industrial-sized refrigerators lining the wall. I feel her eyes on me as I set them on the butcher block island and round the corner to pull a plate from a metal shelf.

"What are you doing?" she finally asks.

I pull random ingredients from the containers, grapes, cherries, a handful of walnuts, and a wedge of brie, and arrange them artfully on the plate. I don't look up from his task as I answer.

"Feeding you."

On cue, her stomach rumbles loudly, the sound amplified by the silent, empty room.

"See?" I look up at her and raise an eyebrow. Despite our circumstances, I can't help but smile when she laughs.

"On that note, are there any chicken salad sandwiches left? Those are my favorite." I grin again as I store that piece of information. I find a few sandwiches wrapped in cellophane and throw one on the plate.

"Follow me." I grab her hand and pull her through another doorway.

She turns and leans against the counter, and I can't help but stare at her. She's always beautiful, but in that dress? My God, she's magic.

"Can I help you?" she asks when she catches me staring.

My eyes scroll up and down her figure. "Have I mentioned I really like that dress?"

She smiles, and a blush creeps up her neck. "I'm vaguely aware."

I turn my back to her to stop myself from flirting any more. I try to focus on the complicated contraption before me instead of the cacophony of thoughts stampeding through my mind, half of them center on Blaise in that dress, the other half on all the ways I could murder Montgomery.

"You're too quiet. What are you thinking about over there?" She asks.

"Homicide, mostly."

"Homicide?"

"Yep. Cold-blooded murder." I turn toward her.

"Well now that you've gone and said that out loud, the word premeditated is gonna get thrown around the courtroom."

"Smartass." We both laugh as I remember saying the very same thing to her. Our front yard mud wrestling match was only six months ago. That doesn't feel right; it feels like I've known her forever.

"What about you? What's going on in that head?"

Sometimes it takes her a minute to put her thoughts into words, so I wait while she bites at her cuticle and stares vacantly.

"Did you -" She stops and shakes her head. "Why do you have a key to Roasters?" she finally asks. Of all the things going on right now, that's her question? I chuckle.

"Martha gave me one in case of an emergency. I think this counts. And I couldn't think of a safer place to take you where we can be alone." Her eyebrows shoot up. "To talk," I add. She nods. "I hate that you're in the middle of this. I need you to know the whole truth. And God only knows what he told you."

"Very little, actually. Only that he arrested you for stalking your wife. That the details were confidential."

That coward. He didn't tell her at all. He's going to make me do it. Make me be the one to watch it break her heart.

She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "What am I missing, James? What do I still not know?"

A car drives by and a streak of light moves through the otherwise dark dining room. I sit on the floor and rest my head against the bar below the cash register. I tug on her hand.

"Sit. Somebody's going to see us."

She sits on the floor next to me and I hand her a cup of coffee. I'd make her a cinnamon latte, but I don't know how. I place the plate on the floor between us. She takes a sip from her mug, then grimaces.

"What is this?"

"Decaf. It's late."

"It's an abomination is what it is." She sets the mug aside and turns to face me. "What do I still not know about your arrest?"

"Before all that. Back to the beginning. The whole catalyst for this mess was my wife's affair."

"Okay."

"With a student. A criminal justice student. A scholarship athlete."

I watch her face as she works through the details. I know it the moment she figures it out. I can see it on her face. Her eyes round, and she throws her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my God. It was Wyatt."

"Yes." She puts her head in her hands and bends forward. I rub slow circles on her back. 

"Are you okay?"

She looks up at me in shock. "Am I okay? Are you? That was your wife. I was fooled, but you? You were betrayed."

I nod. "I've had a while to get over it." And it genuinely feels like I am over it.. Maybe not quite over it, but through it. The realization both surprises and comforts me.

"I don't think I could ever get over that. And then to go from grieving your marriage to grieving your son? All while you sat in a jail cell? Even the legal system screwed you over."

Her eyes go wide and she throws her hand over her mouth again, as if she's had a second revelation.

"Wyatt's dad was the police chief. His godfather is the Judge. The restraining order, the arrest, they were behind all of it, weren't they?"

I sigh and nod. "Two days after the fight, I got served with an emergency protective order. I had to stay away from Carrie, no contact, until our court date. I went to court for the hearing, without an attorney because at that point I didn't think there was anything to worry about, that this was just a big misunderstanding.

"But when I got to court, they had this file on me. Carrie claimed I was verbally and physically abusive. There were photos of bruises. Wyatt signed an affidavit saying that over the year he worked with Carrie as her research assistant, he saw bruises. She told him about the abuse. That he personally overheard me yell at her and call her names."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"Because it wasn't me. I swear to God, Blaise. I worshiped that woman. Sure, we had arguments, but I never raised my voice at her. Never called her any names. Certainly never laid a hand on her."

"They were lying? They made the whole thing up?"

I nod. "My involvement was fabricated, but I'm not sure the abuse was. There were photos of bruises. A handprint around her wrist. A busted lip. They could have been accidents. Or they could have been Wyatt."

Her fingers lightly graze over the tender flesh at the curve of her neck, evidence that Wyatt is entirely capable of hurting a woman.

"Why, though? He was the one sleeping with your wife. Why would they all go through all the trouble to frame you, too."

"The fight. He couldn't see out of his eye. He broke his hand. It was baseball season."

She nods and her eyes widen. "He missed the conference tournament. There were scouts there. It wasn't an accident. You were the reason he didn't get drafted."

I'm sure that's what Montgomery thought, he always overestimated his talents, not that I blame him. This whole town did. They were giddy with idea of their hometown kid making it to the majors.

"He was the best pitcher this town ever saw, but he was still the best pitcher on a mediocre, division three team. That's why he didn't get drafted. But yeah, I blew his season." I sigh and lean my head back against the counter.

"I feel so stupid. It's not like Wyatt even really hid who he was. There were so many signs. It was all right in front of me this whole time and I was too stupid to see it."

How could she possibly think that she's stupid? She is one of the smartest, strongest people I have ever met. She's a damn dragon. I hate Montgomery even more for making her doubt herself. I tighten my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my side. 

"You're not stupid. You trusted a man who wasn't worthy of you. That he violated that trust is on him, not you."

She nods, but she's still tense beside me. The energy between us isn't right. Something still seems off.

"Did you know?" She asks, so softly I almost don't hear her. 

"Did I know what?"

"That I was dating Wyatt. Did you hire me because-" she pauses. "All those heart-to-hearts. Tonight? Did you kiss me back because -" She pauses and looks down at her feet. "Was it all just to get back at him?" 

The pain in her voice guts and inflames me at the same time. She's so doubtful, so insecure, and the hatred I feel toward Montgomery rages again. I hate that he's interjected himself into her memories with me. Permeated them. Infected them. And even worse, that she feels like any of her achievements or my attention was undeserved.

"Blaise, no." She still won't look at me. I gently slip my forefinger and thumb under her chin and tilt her face up toward mine. She wears a broken expression I haven't seen since the first morning I met her. "I promise, I had no idea. You work for me because you are brilliant. I opened up to you because you're warm and kind. I kissed you tonight because - my God, look at you. How could I not? Everything I've said and done has been because you are extraordinary and I am weak."

She smiles at me, and it's almost worse than her frown. It's a look of adoration I don't deserve. Because what I said is true, I have been weak and reckless with her. Not just her scholarship, her degree, and her future, but her literal, physical safety. My hand leaves her chin and trails down her neck, across puffy and bruised flesh.

I've also been reckless with myself. With my career. With my very peace. Every moment I've had with Blaise has been magic. She makes me feel alive in ways I didn't think I'd feel again. But the jealousy I felt when he kissed her? The emptiness when she left with him? The rage when he hurt her? I don't ever want to feel any of that ever again.

"I've been weak." I brush my thumb down the column of her throat one more time before I drop my hand. "And look what it cost you. What it will continue to cost you."

She jerks back, and scowls at me, the tips of her ears turning red. "Unbelievable."

Her anger surprises me. "Blaise, please -"

"No. Don't Blaise, please me. You're pushing me away again. Come here Blaise. Stay away Blaise. You're extraordinary Blaise. We can't risk it Blaise," she mocks. "Why did you tell me to choose you if you didn't mean it?"

I don't know what she's talking about. I never told her to choose me. "I didn't tell you to choose me. I -"

"Yes you did," she interrupts.

"I didn't. I told you not to choose him. He's not worthy of you, and you're clearly not safe with him. But I'm not good for you either."

"I get to decide what's good for me. And the feelings I have for you? I'm willing to take the risks."

She says that now, at an emotional, impulsive nineteen after an extremely emotional, impulsive night. But I know better.

I break eye contact and stare at the shelf of mismatched, ceramic coffee mugs in front of me. I can't look her in the eye while I continue to break her heart. I guess Montgomery isn't the only coward.

"I'm not willing to take those same risks."

I hear her sharp intake of air and make the mistake of looking down at her. Her eyes are wide and round, brimming with tears. 

"Because you don't have feelings for me." She presses her hand to her chest as she whispers the words.

I shake my head. It's not that at all.

"Not the same way you have feelings for me. And it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact I don't feel. That, honestly, I don't even want to. But I meant it when I said you were extraordinary. If the circumstances were different - If I were different - Blaise, if I could fall for someone it would be you. If I could, I would choose you."