Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

Johnson’s voice rumbled behind me at the same time his large palm landed on my back. “That she is,” he told the bartender.

I clutched his forearm, digging my nails into his flesh as I tamped a relieved sob down. My shoulders fell and the massive weight on my chest disappeared, allowing the glorious, stale bar air to fill my lungs.

“Sorry I’m late. ” He kissed my forehead.

I turned my head and brushed away a tear of relief that had managed to escape.

“You did good,” he whispered.

I cut my gaze to him. “Were you watching me?”

He grinned and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Since you got off the elevator.”

I blew a ragged breath out and equal parts laughed and cried, “You’re an asshole!”

“Maybe. But you did good,” he semi-repeated before settling his large body onto the barstool beside me. “I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he said to the bartender.

The bartender remained frozen, flashing a surprised gaze between us. It was the typical reaction to meeting Johnson. He was a tad scary at first glance.

He finally walked away, mumbling, “Coming right up.”

I sucked in a deep breath and did my best to swallow the lingering anxiety. I opted for a joke, but it still came out shaky. “I ordered a cosmo.”

Johnson knowingly twisted his lips. “Bullshit.”

I giggled, which did wonders to help my heart return to a non-marathon pace. So much so that, when Johnson grinned at me, I was able to genuinely return it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Devon heading our way.

“Nice hair,” he said when he got close.

My teal tips from this morning had been transformed to red thanks to a much-needed visit from my stylist.

“Thanks, Devon.” I reached up over my shoulder and patted his chest.

He whistled across the bar and then snapped his mouth shut when the bartender turned to face him. “Shit. You’re new.”

“So I’ve been told,” the bartender retorted.

“Well, as long as you know,” Devon quipped, settling onto the barstool on my other side. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

I kept my face unreadable as I lied, “I ordered an Appletini.”

“Yeah. Right.” He pulled a bowl of peanuts in front of him and peered up at the TV. “Any games on tonight?”

I shrugged and turned in time to see Lark and Alex laughing as they strolled in.

“Red. I like it,” Alex said quietly, tugging at the ends of my hair.

“Thanks,” I laughed, swatting his hands away.

Lark shrugged his coat off and then slung it over a barstool before calling out, “We’ll have two more of whatever she’s having. But bring mine with a shot of tequila on the side.”

I rolled my eyes. “I ordered a Sex on the Beach. With two pink umbrellas.”

Alex grunted something that obviously translated to bullshit.

Lark ignored me altogether.

“One day, I’m going to do it. And then I’m taking pictures of you guys drinking them and passing them around the office.”

It was a lie. I’d never order that fruity shit. I was a beer girl through and through. It was my favorite thing about Murphy’s—well, that and the fact that it was literally across the street from my apartment. Every week, they offered a new craft beer. Some of them were amazing. Some were absolute shit. But I adored trying them all.

The bartender appeared with our beers, and I slid them down until everyone had one.

I was turning to clank mine with Johnson when Devon stopped me.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. I have a toast.” He smiled wide and lifted his beer in the air. “To Johnson’s cranky ass being sent to Indy for two weeks!”

“Hear, hear,” came from the guys.

But my mouth dried as I slung my head in his direction. “You’re leaving? For two weeks?”

Devon kept talking, but Johnson shot him a murderous glare that snapped him to silence.

When his gaze returned to mine, his face had softened, and his voice came out as a gentle whisper. “Not a full two weeks—”

“Why? I thought…” I trailed off, anxiety crawling up my throat.

I hated it when he left. He was out of town almost every weekend, working down in Indy for some championship boxer. I’d adapted to that by spending my weekends locked in the apartment. But two full weeks? I felt the color drain from my face.

“Breathe,” he urged. “It’s only a couple of days. I’ll come back on Wednesday.”

My stomach ached as I held his dark stare with pleading eyes. “A couple of days?”

He flinched but quickly locked it down. “Back on Wednesday.”

It was a promise. And I knew he’d follow through, but that didn’t change the guilt that pooled in my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I’m trying…”

He shook his head and clanked his beer with mine. “I know. And you did good. Let’s just drink our beers and worry about the rest later.”

It should be said, for as moody and grumpy and short-tempered as Johnson was, beneath it all, he was also a great guy.

I smiled weakly and held his gaze as we both lifted our drinks to our lips.

And then I burst into laughter as he spit it across the bar.

“What the fuck!” he growled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Is that grape-flavored?”

I laughed so hard that I nearly fell off my stool.

It was safe to say the craft beer that night was absolute shit.

Yet, as I watched the guys laughing and Johnson banging his fist on the bar and barking at the bartender for a round of Buds, I decided that it was exactly what I needed.

I sucked in a huge breath and filled my lungs with the brief moments of my life that didn’t overwhelm me. Johnson was right. I could deal with the rest later.

Only, as I turned to the side in order to steal one of Devon’s peanuts, I realized that later wasn’t actually a measurement of time. It was nothing more than a word tossed around to lull you into a false sense of security. The past always had a way of working its way into the present.

And, as I met his blazing, green gaze, I knew that later had found me.

“Butterfly?” he whispered.





Time slowed the moment our gazes met.

She didn’t move. Not even an inch.

But neither did I.

Blink.

A million words hung in the air around us, but not a single syllable fell from either of our mouths.

She was different than I remembered.

And not because, when I’d first walked in, her head was thrown back in laughter instead of hanging down while tears streamed from her chin.

Blink.

And not because she was sitting on a barstool, drinking a beer, rather than perched on the narrow ledge of a burning house.

Blink.

And not because her hair was blond with red accents, not a hint of black soot staining it.

Blink.

And not because her arms weren’t spread out to her sides in a hospital bed, raw with third-degree burns, but rather covered in full sleeves of brightly colored tattoos.

Blink.

No. She looked different because, for the first time since I’d met her that night four years earlier, she was alive and not struggling to survive.

Her lips thinned uncomfortably as she rose from her stool and took a step toward me.

I believe words were spoken around us. However, as I focused on her mouth, I heard nothing but the ease in which she breathed.