Page 81 of My Fixation

Me.

And somehow that feels even more intimate than anything that happened last night.

Conor’s stomach gives a growl, and our combined laughter fills the space around us. Giving me a glimpse at what life could be, it warms me like nothing else ever has.

We make our way to the kitchen, where Conor insists on feeding both of us. I watch him move around the kitchen as he cooks. I enjoy cooking, always have. But watching Conor do something solely because it makes my life easier affects me more than it should.

I let myself enjoy it. The breakfast. The conversation. The easy comfort of simply being together. So painfully normal. It’s the kind of morning I’ve read about in books but never expected to experience myself.

The chime of a phone cuts through the moment. As I glance up, Conor is already reaching for it. Whatever amusement had been lingering on his face disappears as he reads the message. My stomach immediately drops. The happiness I’d been floating in evaporates.

Conor looks up from his phone, and our eyes meet. And just like that, I know.

I’m not going to like whatever comes next.

The fragile little bubble of happiness we’ve been living in shatters around us.

I set down my fork.

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out quieter than I intended.

Because part of me already knows.

The universe has finally remembered I exist and has come to collect its due.

“Just tell me whatever it is, Conor.” I try to act indifferent, but my voice cracks on his name.

“Duncan has scheduled a meeting with Manny tonight at eight. He’s requesting you be there.” The venom in his voice when he mentions Manny almost makes me smile. “I’m against it. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that asshole.”

“But,” I prompt.

“I’m being told that I should let it be your decision. Manny stated that you being present is the only way he will agree to the meeting.”

“It is my decision, Conor. But I also really appreciate the fact that you’re worried about me.” I give him a small smile. He doesn’t return it.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you. If he so much as breathes in your direction, I will not hesitate.” Conor lays his forehead to mine. “I will kill him or anyone else who tries to hurt you.”

I know he isn’t joking. I haven’t asked for specifics about Henry. Honestly, I don’t want them. Some things are better left unknown. But deep down, I already know the answer. Henry is dead.

I saw it in Duncan and Conor’s faces when they left that night. It was the kind of certainty that comes from a decision already made. A task already completed. Part of me should probably be horrified. Instead, I find myself strangely detached from it. Henry spent months profiting from my suffering. Making sure I stayed trapped. Making sure I kept fighting. If the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have lost a moment of sleep over what happened to me.

That realization doesn’t make his death right. But it does make it difficult to mourn him. I spent years in the military. I’ve seen what people are capable of doing to each other. I’ve watched good men die, and bad men walk away. The world stopped looking black and white a long time ago.

What unsettles me isn’t that Henry is dead. It’s how quickly I’ve accepted it.

I wait for guilt, but it’s not there. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I’ve simply run out of sympathy for men like Henry. Either way, I already know one thing. When the Murphys say they’re going to do something, they do it.

“I want this over with one way or the other, Conor.” My voice is steady. The same tone I used before missions, before stepping onto helicopters, before entering places where people were actively trying to kill me. Fear serves a purpose. Panic does not.

The truth is, I’m tired. Tired of looking over my shoulder. Tired of wondering when the next problem is going to appear. Tired of having my life dictated by decisions other people made. I thought those days ended when I left the Marines. I thought I’d already done my time living with the constant possibility of violence. Apparently not.

Life seems determined to prove me wrong. I meet Conor’s gaze. “If Manny wants to see me, then let’s get it over with.”

The words taste bitter. Not because I’m afraid. Because I know what this means to Conor. I know how much he doesn’t want me anywhere near this. How much he’d rather handle it himself. But this isn’t something he can do for me, not this time. There are some battles that belong to the person standing in the middle of them. This one’s mine.

“I’m going.”