She let her arms drop even as her eyes remained on him. “Since you don’t have a door to lock, will you use brute strength and sheer stubbornness to keep the bad guys away?”
“Pretty much.” He turned to face her. “But don’t worry, I’ve survived worse.”
“Like my vicious attack?”
A smile twitched his lips. “Exactly. It’ll take me days to recover.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Well, I guess I should be grateful you’re willing to make the sacrifice.”
He had his hand on the doorknob when he paused to give her one last, unreadable look. “Just try not to throw anything else at me.”
Laurel grinned, her earlier irritation all but forgotten. “No promises.”
He opened the door and twisted the lock into place with a click. “Goodnight, Laurel.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, and as he stepped out, she added, “Thank you, Bennett.”
The faintest hint of a smile graced his lips before he nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.
With Bennett staying next door, Laurel had the feeling that life just got a lot more complicated.
Chapter Eight
If his spine ever forgave him, he’d be surprised.
Bennett rolled his shoulders, the protesting ache a harsh reminder of why normal people didn’t sleep on unfinished wooden floors. His makeshift sleeping bag had done little to cushion him from the unforgiving boards, but it wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept. Not even close.
Didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the ass, though.
He sat up with a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck. Muscles stiff, joints creaky—like he’d aged about twenty years overnight. Great. If he was going to play watchdog for Annie’s niece, maybe he should’ve demanded a damn mattress as part of the arrangement.
Not that he would’ve slept much anyway, which was the whole point.
He’d spent most of the night straining his ears for the slightest sound, keeping an eye on the shadowy gaps between the unfinished walls.
No one had tried to break in. No shadowy figures had lurked around the building. Nothing but his own restless thoughts and the occasional creaking of old wood settling.
Well, that and Laurel’s movements from next door. It had taken him way too long to identify the faint, muffled sounds of her pacing. Or shifting. Or whatever the hell she’d been doing instead of sleeping like a normal person.
The woman was going to drive him insane.
He pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders again to loosen the knots. The early morning light crept through thecracks in the plywood covering the windows, taunting him with its brightness.
His phone buzzed with a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, expecting to see Matthew’s name on the screen.
It wasn’t him.
Bennett’s stomach knotted. Same unknown number. No name attached, no contact saved. But he didn’t need one. It was from his only living relative. His no-good cousin. Bennett had no idea how the guy had even gotten his phone number.
The first text had arrived weeks ago.
“You’re not going to block me without hearing me out, are you?”
Just like Theo—no hello, no acknowledgment of the past. Just straight to guilt. Bennett hadn’t responded then, but he hadn’t blocked the number either. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was waiting for something. An explanation. A confession. Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit how much damage the guy had done.
Whatever the reason, the texts kept coming. Short. Infrequent. Unanswered. But every time the number flashed across his screen, it stirred up the same sharp, unwelcome reminder—some ghosts didn’t stay buried.
This text said:“Need to talk.”
