Page 38 of Protected from Torment

“You looked stiff. Uncomfortable. Like you have to tell me something I’m not going to like. Plus, you called me Melissa—” My mouth snaps shut.

“But it’s your name,” he says, his face clouding with confusion. “Why would you think—” Abruptly, he stops. Confusion makes way for understanding. “I pulled the classic parent move, didn’t I?”

Now I’m the one who’s confused. “The parent move?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid, my parents always called me Ty. But when I was in trouble—really in trouble, like when I took apart my dad’s brand new computer—they would call me by my full name.” His voice deepens. “Tyler James McNamara. Get in here right now.”

I can’t help laughing. “My parents used to do that, too.” Imitating my mother’s voice, I say, “Melissa Grace Robertson. What on earth were you thinking?”

Tyler laughs with me. “Yup, that sounds about right.” After a beat, he says, “Melissa Grace Robertson, huh? That’s a nice name.”

Nodding, I reply, “Yeah, it’s not too bad. Not like some of the names I’ve heard. I actually thought about keeping my maiden name when I got married—I’m the last on my dad’s side of the family—but I knew it meant a lot to Vince that I took his name. So…” I shrug. “Now I’m Silver, instead.”

Except I’m not really a Silver anymore, I almost say. Not with Vince gone.

But as soon as that thought flashes through my mind, another one replaces it.

What if I took another last name one day?

Tyler studies me for a long moment before responding thoughtfully, “Yeah, I can see that. When I was younger, I felt the same way. Now… I’m not sure it would matter as much to me. Not as long as she’s happy…” His cheeks go pink. “Anyway. You’re not in trouble, Mel. And I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Just my overactive imagination taking off again.”

But the silence that follows makes me wonder if I wasn’t wrong, after all. “Did you find out something?” I ask. “News about my attacker? Or one of the incidents at work?”

Tyler shakes his head. “Still nothing, unfortunately. I hacked into the security system at your office building to check the archived footage. But the existing cameras only covered the entrances and the lobby. So there’s not a lot to go on.” His jaw tightens. “And still no luck on the man who attacked you. I’m sorry. I’m searching the traffic cameras in the area, but your neighbors don’t have doorbell cameras⁠—”

“I should have gotten one. I just never imagined something like this…”

He covers my hand with his. “It’s not your fault.”

“But you wouldn’t have to spend so much time searching if I had.”

“That’s not necessarily true. There are ways to get around them. He could have destroyed it, or hacked into it, or… Anyway. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is finding that asshole and punishing him for what he did. Plus figuring out who’s behind the other incidents. Which means—” He grimaces. “I think it’s time to talk about the people who might have motive to do this.”

My stomach knots. I knew this was coming. I even offered to talk about it the day I got home. But Tyler pushed it off, insisting I needed to focus on my health. He said it would be too stressful on top of my injuries, and it wouldn’t hurt to wait a few days.

Honestly, I was glad for the reprieve, so I didn’t push it. Instead, I’ve been following doctor’s orders for the last two days, mostly resting except for short walks around the backyard with one of the Blade and Arrow guys close by for protection.

But I shouldn’t be surprised, given the lack of progress on my case, that Tyler would want to dive into my background. I’m sure he’s done his research, but it’s not the same as hearing it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Which means I’m going to have to tell him about all the people who might want to torment me. And the list isn’t going to be short.

Sighing, I say, “Okay. Do you want to do it now?”

Tyler’s thumb strokes across the back of my hand. “Not if you aren’t feeling up to it. If you’d rather wait until tomorrow, that’s okay. I think we should discuss it soon, yes, but your health comes first.”

I’m tempted to push the conversation off. So far, today has been relatively pleasant, lingering concussion and broken wrist withstanding. I woke up to a fresh-cooked breakfast from Tyler—who’s a surprisingly good cook, I’m discovering—followed by a lazy afternoon spent watching bits of Parks and Rec, cuddling with Oscar, and working on a jigsaw puzzle with Tyler and Indy. Dinner was delivery from my favorite Italian restaurant in town, and I’ve been secretly hoping that Tyler might watch some TV in here with me before bed, like he has the two nights before.

Should I look forward to spending time with Tyler as much as I am? Maybe not. Maybe it’s only a recipe for disappointment. He’s going to leave eventually, after all, and what kind of friendship can we have when he’s on the other side of the country?

But spending time with Tyler makes me happy. And I’m not willing to give that up.

“We can wait,” Tyler offers in the absence of my response. “It’s okay. Let’s just see how you feel tomorrow, instead.”

I’m so tempted to take him up on his offer.

But it wouldn’t be right. I know I’m more than capable of answering Tyler’s questions. Yes, I still have a dull headache and slight light sensitivity. I’m still sore thanks to all my bruises, and my wrist throbs whenever I move. But all things considering, I’m not doing too badly. And it’s not fair to let this case drag on any longer than it needs to just because I don’t want to talk about all the people who don’t like me.

With that in mind, I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just do it now.” Glancing at the bedroom doorway, I ask, “Where do you want to go? The dining room, so we can sit at the table? Will it be just you, or everyone?”