Safety was subjective. What one might deem safe could be another’s idea of hazardous. And as I sat curled up in the corner of Alex’s sectional couch, a warm mug of hot apple cider in my hands—he’d said it was too late for coffee and that it wouldn’t be any good for settling my nerves, but I call bullshit—I felt safe. In my mind, the walls of his apartment were made of armor, impenetrable and unbreakable, keeping us in our cocoon of comfort, and the dangers out.

But feeling safe and truly being safe were two very different things. The reality was that the walls of his apartment were merely wooden boards, fluffy insulation, and sheets of drywall. And with Creighton Banks in the mix, those same walls may as well have been tissue paper, easily ripped to shreds and torn down in seconds.

I wasn’t safe. But being here, with Alex, gave me the illusion that I was, and for now, that was enough.

He poured himself a mug of cider, ran his fingers over the deadbolt and door locks, and then came around the couch to sit beside me, sinking into the plush cushions with an undeniable sigh. So much had happened in such little time; I wasn’t the only one feeling the effects.

“I need you to tell me,” he stated simply. “Everything.” It wasn’t a demand so much as a fact, spoken with a weary softness that meant it couldn’t be helped.

“I don’t even know where to start.” I stared down into the mug. “You could’ve at least offered me something a little stronger than apple cider.”

His gaze burned into mine, and though he hesitated, Alex set his mug down on the table and disappeared back into the kitchen. When he returned, he held an uncapped bottle of Glenfiddich whisky, and he tilted the bottle just enough to let a dollop of it splash into my mug. “Will that do?”

But he was already pulling the bottle away. “I guess it’ll have to.”

“Now,” he said louder, putting an end to anymore talk about spiking my drink. “You’re not Hailey Spencer.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re Hailey Banks.”

“Once upon a time.” I nodded, cringing at the sound of it. “I go by my mother’s maiden name now.”

“Not on paper. Hailey Banks disappeared according to the paper trail, or lack of it, when she was released from foster care.” He didn’t look away. “But Hailey Spencer doesn’t exist, and never has.”

“You looked into me,” I said through clenched teeth. “You ran me through the system.”

“I’m a cop, Hailey.” Like that was the only explanation needed.

“When?” I managed to ask. “Before or after you spent the night in the hospital with me?”

His throat moved as he swallowed. “Trent and I ran you through the system while you slept. I knew there was more going on. There had to be. That attack was more than a random mugging.”

“I should tell you to go to hell again.”

He just shrugged. “I told you before it wouldn’t be the last time you did.” He leaned forward, lifting his mug from the table again. “I know you saw Creighton shoot your mother,” he said evenly, a haze of sympathy marring his face. “You were shot, too.”

I nodded. “I shouldn’t be alive.”

“But you are,” Alex affirmed. “Because you’re stronger than your father gave you credit for.”

“What else do you think you know?” It came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t try to mask it with something gentler.

“Trent gave me a brief rundown over the phone, and read me part of the report given by the medics who found you. A 911 call came from the house, and the phone was found upstairs, still connected to the dispatcher. Gunshots were heard, and the call was traced. You made that call, didn’t you?”

It was my turn to shrug.

“That call saved your life, Hailey.”

I met his gaze firmly. “But it didn’t save my mother.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were twelve.”

Something that sounded like a scoff came from my throat.

“It makes sense now,” Alex continued. “The little things. Not being allowed to watch TV, never being taught to skate. You said you just weren’t that kind of family, but I’d say that was putting it mildly. Between your childhood and years in foster care, I don’t think you had a chance to be a kid.”

“I don’t need your sympathy, Alex.”

“No, but you have it, nonetheless.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” I stood up, slamming my mug down on the coffee table, untouched. “This isn’t going to help, bringing it all up again. My father is Creighton Banks; that’s the long and short of it. And he always gets what he wants in the end.”

Alex was on his feet, but wisely kept his distance. “That didn’t stop you from running from him.”

“I wouldn’t have to run if your goddamn justice system had kept him behind bars the way you were supposed to!” My outburst was unfair toward Alex—after all, it wasn’t like it’d been him that released him for, good Lord, what was the reason again? I couldn’t even remember the official terms he’d been released on, mostly because it didn’t matter. All it equated to was that he’d had enough money, enough lawyers, and enough balls to appeal the court’s decision, and he’d won. Some kind of ridiculous technicality.

It’d taken almost nine years, but he’d managed it.

Six years in foster care, two and a half on my own, and as soon as I’d heard that he was free, I’d ran. I wasn’t naïve enough to think my father hadn’t been keeping tabs on me while he was in prison—God knew he had enough cronies to do his dirty work for him.

But I knew Creighton Banks. And if it was revenge he wanted, he’d get it. Himself. With his own bare hands.

I had no doubts that he would find me, and kill me, but I also knew he wasn’t going to let anyone else have the pleasure of doing it for him.

Alex’s jaw muscles twitched. “It’s not my justice system, Hailey. And, while I do believe in justice, I’m not blind to the flaws of the system.”

“My father being set free after blasting a ragged hole in my mother’s chest is not due to a flawed system. It’s a goddamn failed system.”

I’d held this all in for too long, kept it all to myself. I’d avoided people, and most social interaction in general, and now my thoughts and feelings and sharp, painful emotions were bubbling to the surface…and careening straight toward Alex.

“And now you’re involved,” I added, though the words weren’t directed at him. My hands ran through my hair, and I sucked in a breath when my fingers grazed the stitches in my scalp, cursing under my breath. I was surprised I could even feel the pain over the tsunami of hopelessness washing over me. “And my father knows it.”

“That was my choice to make, Hailey, not yours.”

I side-stepped around the coffee table, anything to keep a distance between us. I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to come to me. But after our argument at the arena—and our kiss, for that matter—I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to let him. “You didn’t know, Alex. Didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. I should’ve done more to ward you off, to keep you away. To keep you safe. But you were so damn persistent…”

Faint amusement lighted his eyes. “You know I’m going to take that as a compliment, right?” Now wasn’t the time for jokes, though, and the shadow crept back across his face. “If you’ve got to blame anyone, Hailey, then you go ahead and blame me. If it’ll make you feel better, blame it all on me…me and my failed justice system. But, don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault.”

“If I’d spoken up against him earlier—”

“You couldn’t stop him.”

“I never tried.”

Alex rounded the table slowly, as though dealing with a skittish feral kitten. “You testified, Hailey. That’s something no one else ever did.”

“Only because I accidentally lived through it.” I was rooted in place, my feet cemented to the floor by the weight of my sins, and the truth of my past.

“It wasn’t an accident. You were meant to live through it.” He spoke in a hushed voice, hands up between us as though to indicate he meant me no harm, creeping closer to me with each step.

“I ask myself why every day,” I admitted. “Why me?”

Alex’s hand grazed my arm, apprehensive. When I didn’t flinch or pull away, he set both hands on my arms, stepping closer to close the gap between us. This close, I inhaled the faint hint of the cologne I’d uncapped in his bathroom earlier. Guilty.

“Maybe the answer is right here, Hailey.” His whisper held so much conviction, and I raised my head, trapped under his intense gaze. “Right here, right now. Maybe everything happened so that we could meet. So you’d know what it’s like to not have to be alone.”

I sucked in a breath, biting down hard on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “You should hate me. For what I did. Or what I didn’t do. For what I’ve involved you in.”

“Hate is the farthest thing from what I feel for you, Hailey.”

“But you should.”

“Well, I don’t,” he replied firmly. “And you shouldn’t, either. None of this is your fault.”

I shook my head weakly. “I don’t agree with you.”

“What a shock.” A hint of a grin played on his lips. His thumb came up to trail across the bottom of my jaw, and I shivered. “Now, do me favor. Take a gulp of that spiked cider of yours, and I’ll help set you up in the bedroom to rest. It’s late, and we can pick up where we left off in the morning.”

For a sliver of a moment, I hoped, wished, and prayed that he meant he would pick up where he left off with touching and holding and kissing me, but my rational brain poked itself into the thought and reminded me that he was a cop, and he wanted the truth. And he meant to get it. Our conversation would continue in the morning.

I nodded in response, but it must have seemed hesitant. “I’m right here with you, Hailey. It’s safe for you to get a good night’s sleep.” He tilted a head toward the door. “There are two cops stationed at the building entrance, and an unmarked cruiser patrolling the block. You were with me when I entered the building earlier; you know you need a passcode to get inside, and there’s staff in the lobby. They’re aware to advise me if anyone seems even remotely suspicious. You’re safe, I promise.”

The air had retreated from my lungs, but I gave a shaky nod. “I believe you.”

* * *

Being swept away by Alex’s kiss was hard enough to handle, but hearing his whispered promises and feeling his touch, innuendo of what could be between us, while knowing how rough I must appear each time he looked at me—it was hard to swallow.

I’d just stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, silently fortifying myself, chanting that this wasn’t a mistake, that Alex was right, that being here and being involved was his decision to make. But taking in the bruises that blackened one of my eyes, now dark purple and vicious, and the slightly puffy cut at the edge of my bottom lip, I wondered why in the hell he would want to. Not only because he couldn’t possibly be attracted to me in my present state, but also because he knew the odds. He, and the rest of the police department, were perhaps the only other people I could say knew without a doubt what the outcome of going up against my father would be.

I didn’t expect to win against him. I never had. Growing up in a household with a man like him instilled more fear in me than I thought possible.

And if he hadn’t killed my mother before my eyes, I might not have survived that night. But, after he turned the gun on me and fired, the only thing I honestly remember from that point on was thinking, You might get away with this, but not without a fight.

And so I’d fought. And that fighting brought me here, now, in Officer Alex Brett’s apartment, wearing one of my t-shirts and his jogging pants—I hadn’t been able to turn them down for a second time.

I padded out of the bathroom in my socks, following the path of incandescent light that streaked across the floor from the spare bedroom. Alex had set my apple cider on the nightstand beside the bed, along with the bottle of Advil and a glass of water. The sentiment made me smile.

He glanced up just as he’d pulled back the blankets on the double bed. “You look like you’re about two seconds away from passing out on your feet.” A thin smile appeared. “I shouldn’t have taken you skating tonight. Too much, too soon. Sorry.”

I shook my head, leaning against the doorframe. “No, what I look like is someone who lost a fight against a professional boxer. I’m fine, Alex, but damn it, that henchman really did a number on my face.”

“He did,” he replied solemnly, tossing another pillow onto the bed.

I was trying to make a joke out of it. “The guy sucker-punched me. Next time, I’ll mess him up just as bad.”

“There won’t be a next time.” He fixed his gaze on mine, solid and alert. “I can promise you that.”

“I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

My nonchalance deflated immediately. “Well, you’re right, I guess. There won’t be a next time; not with Jackson Ellis, anyway.” My hands clenched. “I don’t think we have to worry about him again.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. “Creighton said that on the phone?”

“He said you wouldn’t find him, so I can take an educated guess at what that means.” As though it was beckoning to me, I pushed away from the doorway and found my hand on the glass of cider, letting an exaggerated gulp slide down my throat. By the time I put it down again, Alex was beside me, and he leaned in to turn on the bedside lamp before reaching out to turn the overhead fixture off.

“You should get some rest.” Weariness had settled in his eyes.

“Where will you be?”

“My bedroom’s just on the other side of the living room.” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, out the doorway. “You can yell if you need me.”

“I’m not much for yelling, but would it be wrong to say I need you?” I’d thought the words first, hearing them in my head as the wry bit of humor it was intended to be. But, even to my own ears, it sounded incredibly cheesy…but serious. “Will you stay?”

If he interpreted it as a joke, his expression didn’t show it. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Me neither,” I answered honestly. “But I swear, I only had a mouthful of alcohol so I’m not drunk, and I won’t try to take advantage of you.”

This time, Alex’s crooked grin shone through his hesitation. “I can’t say that was what I was worried about, but duly noted.”

“So, you’ll sleep in here…with me?” I don’t know why I wanted him to so badly. The idea of being alone again with the recent memories of my father’s voice and his sordid promises—I just didn’t want to have to spend the night alone with only those thoughts to keep me company.

Alex’s throat moved again, swallowing. “If that’s what you want,” he replied carefully. Then, with a faint twist of his mouth, added, “But you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Gee, I don’t know how I’ll ever contain myself.” I rolled my eyes, but the sense of relief that flooded through me was palpable. I’d spent so much time alone over the past eleven months, I thought I’d grown accustomed to it. Now, though, I couldn’t bear the thought. And as Alex climbed in beside me, pulling the covers up over us both, I wondered if I would ever recover from finding out what it’s like to have him within arm’s reach. I wasn’t sure I could bear that thought, either.