Page 46 of Trust

“I always thought you were crazy,” I answer, finishing my beer. “Doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

The Board.

There’s truth under the madness. Enough to matter.

PROMISES

Chris

She’s barely left her room in days.

Every now and then, her light steps crossed the hall, followed by the slight click of the bathroom door. The footsteps retreated just as quickly. She never lingered. Never gave me a chance to speak.

Any interaction is now stripped down to necessity. She hasn’t asked for favors or made requests, just took her food and disappeared again, ate alone in her room.

I let her, gave her space, figured she needed it. Silence and privacy were the endgame, right? So why does it feel like I lost?

The house is quiet when I stand outside her door for a full minute before I knock.

Nothing.

I open it to find her curled up in bed, clinging to the blanket as if it’s the only thing holding her together. I pause at the threshold, take in the rise and fall of her breath. She appears even more vulnerable when she’s asleep. As though a single touch could break her. Should I give her one more night? No. I pull the chair away from the little table, sit, elbows on my knees, and I wait.

It takes a while before her breathing shifts. Her lashes flutter and her eyes open. The second they land on me, she jerks upright. Her body slams back against the wall, blanket clutched to her chest, one hand raised as if expecting me to lunge.

“What the hell?” She inhales sharply.

“We need to talk,” I say, low, trying not to spook her more than she already is.

She swallows but doesn’t speak. Her knuckles are white around the blanket.

“I know what you think I am,” I say. “And you’re not wrong. I’ve done things. So has Cash.

The people we work for? They’re rich. Powerful. The kind of people you don’t want knowing your name. But even we have rules. I don’t go after wives or daughters, and sure as hell not after you.”

Her face doesn’t change, but there’s a flash in her eyes that isn’t pure fear.

“I know I hurt you, Sara, but that’s not who I want to be. Not with you. Not ever again. I swear.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then finally she holds my gaze. “Promise.”

“I just swore—” I begin, knitting my eyebrows together in confusion.

“That’s not the same,” she insists. “Promise.”

I exhale slowly. “Okay. I promise. I won’t hurt you. Cash won’t either.”

A long silence hangs between us. She pulls up the blanket, shielding herself.

“I don’t know what to believe.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “Let it settle.”

I rise slowly. Her eyes track every movement as if searching for a lie. She won’t find one.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

I step out. The door stays open behind me, an unspoken invitation.