Page 103 of Knox
His mouth pinched tight.
“I’m sorry, Knox. I…”
“Fine. I’m right behind you.”
“No, you’re not.” She reached up to touch his chest but made a fist and drew her hand back. “I’ve made up my mind…I’m taking the NBR-X gig, if Glo still wants it. I can’t…I can’t hide here with you. Clearly, I’m not safe anywhere. I need to keep moving. On the road, I’m in control. I know what I’m doing. Here—”
“You’ve gotten so used to living on the edge, it scares you to stop, to feel, to trust.”
She stilled, his words stinging.
No. She’d…she’d just been fooling herself. She’d never outrun Vince Russell, never outrun the random tragedies of life, and the longer she hung around Knox Marshall, the sooner he’d get hurt. Or killed.
Protecting her.
But he wouldn’t ever get that.
He stood there, his gaze fierce, shaking his head. “It’s easier to pretend, isn’t it?
“I don’t—”
“You can’t fake what we have between us, and that scares you more than whatever is out there, doesn’t it? It’s easier to be the performer onstage than the person who is scared and vulnerable and…who just wants to be loved.”
She drew in a breath, so many words—
He took a step forward. “You don’t need the bright lights and the cheering audience—”
Her voice pitched low and tight. “Are you seriously asking me to give up my career?”
That closed his mouth. Silence pulsed between them.
His voice softened. “I’m asking you to stop pretending that is enough.”
She looked away. “It’s what I’ve worked for, what I’ve always wanted.”
He touched her arm. “Please, Kelsey. Don’t let your fear keep you from us. From this.”
She stepped away, crossed her arms, steeled herself before she met his eyes. “I’m just trying to be honest, Knox. I love your ranch, your life. But…I have a different life. It can’t work. I’m sorry, I gotta go.”
He turned, his jaw hard, but didn’t follow her as she walked back to her room, collected her and Glo’s belongings into a couple donated backpacks, and headed down the stairs.
She did see him, however, standing at the balcony as she followed Tate, carrying Glo, out the door.
I’m sorry, Knox.
Glo needed to fire Tate Marshall.
Because she simply could not fall in love with her bodyguard. It was too painfully cliché, too romance-novel-ish, too pitiful.
He’d practically carried her all the way to the hospital in Helena, clutching her to his chest.
His body had started to shake when he picked her up on the mountainside. Never mind that he’d taken off his shirt to bandage her, held her to that wet, hair-roughened chest—yeah, the pain nearly went away just breathing in the smell of him—smoky, sweaty, and desperate.
Oh, she was a goner because really, he smelled like a boys’ locker room after a football game. And she would gladly bottle the smell and pay millions for it.
Her mother would be horrified.
Which was a point in his favor, actually.