Page 2 of Protecting Love

To be home more.

To actually see what was happening in his own house since it’d felt as if his wife was barely talking to him, let alone doing more than fight when she did.

“Go to your room,” Lorraine snapped, pointing. “Now.”

Ian glanced at Fletcher. “Do I have to?”

“Don’t test me,” she shouted, her finger still pointed at the doorway.

“Lower your voice,” he said evenly. “The whole floor doesn’t need to hear us.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “That’s what happens when you force us into a high-rise because you have to live ten minutes from work.”

As if they could even afford a house around here let alone the time for him to get in and out of the office.

He raised his hands. “Ian, go finish your homework in your room, please. I’ll come get you in a minute.”

The book slammed shut. Ian grabbed it and stormed out. Twelve years old, and he was already tired of playing referee.

“See?” Lorraine said, crossing her arms. “That’s all I deal with. But you wouldn’t know because you’re never here.”

Which was a massive exaggeration like she’d been prone to do.

“You’ve always known what my job meant,” he said. “Two years. That’s all I have left.”

Even if it felt like cutting off a limb.

Even if he was damn good at what he did.

Even if it was what he’d wanted his whole damn life.

But sometimes you had to put other people first and he knew that.

And he was doing it. He wouldn’t break that promise.

“Do you mean it?” she asked quietly. “Because I’m alone in this.”

“You’re not alone,” he said. There she was, exaggerating again. “You never have been.”

It didn’t feel true to her though, not with the way she threw the words at him nonstop.

“I’m just tired of it all,” she mumbled.

He pulled her close again, and this time she let him. “This is a good thing. It’s only two more years. You’ve done it for eighteen.”

Too late. Wrong thing to say.

Her eyes narrowed. Cool and distant. Not the woman he remembered, but the one he’d been witness to for a few years now.

“We’ll see,” she said, kissing his cheek without warmth before walking away.

He blew out a breath and turned to the other side of the apartment to talk to his son.

When he got to the door, he knocked before opening it and announced himself.

“I knew it was you,” Ian said.

“Why’s that?”