“I …” She was still staring at him, apparently dumbfounded by the novel notion that she should care about her own safety. As always, she was the worst. “I didn’t think, really. I just reacted.”
Not good enough. “Well, figure out how to react differently, and do it now. Otherwise, I’m requesting a different minder. I will not let you throw your life away for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” Her eyebrows beetled further. “I don’t—”
“Don’t change the subject,” he snarled. “This is about you, not me, and the way you—”
She interrupted him without apology, and if he weren’t so fucking pissed, he’d be pleased by the effrontery of it. “My instincts aren’t going to change overnight. I worked over a decade in that emergency room, and I can’t simply—”
“You worked in an emergency room?” Goddammit, why didn’t he know this? Why hadn’t he asked? “I thought you were in some dead-end job and desperate, and that’s why you were willing to take work from your asshole cousin.”
And maybe he hadn’t wanted to hear about her dead-end job, because it would make him feel even guiltier for everything he had, especially once she left his side and went back to that job or its equivalent.
Fuck, he was a self-absorbed piece of shit when it came to the important women in his life.
“Yes,” she said and didn’t elaborate further.
Too bad. He was asking anyway.
“What did you do there?” He took a breath, the worst of his rage extinguished by guilt. “Are you a doctor? A nurse?”
He could see her as either. In fact, he could picture her excelling in any of a million jobs, each of them more important than watching over him, of all people.
“I was an emergency services clinician. Basically, a therapist at an ER.” Apparently spotting his blank look of incomprehension, she clarified further. “I saw people experiencing mental health crises who either walked into the ER or were brought there by the police or an ambulance. I evaluated their mental status. Some, I sent home with various supports. Others, I sent to an inpatient unit—voluntarily or involuntarily—or substance abuse treatment. Whatever best protected them from harm and served their needs.”
Her soft jaw worked. “Although—never mind.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter right now.” Her shoulders slumped. “Anyway, people would get agitated sometimes. I learned how to react quickly to potentially dangerous situations.”
Agitated wasn’t hard to decode.
Enraged. Hurting. Violent.
She lifted a shoulder and fell silent, and that, it appeared, was that. Now he knew why her instincts for trouble were so honed. He also knew all his anger—at her, at himself—was justified.
Lauren Clegg was a good, good person.
Lauren Clegg was who he’d longed to be for over a decade now. A helper. A protector. Someone who noticed trouble and reacted quickly.
Which meant there was no fucking way she should have risked herself for him. But given those protector instincts, given how little she seemed to value her own comfort and safety, there was also no fucking way she wouldn’t risk herself for him.
“I talked to my lawyer while you were with the medic. I’m seeking an emergency restraining order against the asswipe who took you down tonight.” He leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “According to her, he’ll probably be charged with assault and battery, plead no contest, and end up with community service and mandatory counseling.”
It wasn’t enough. Not when the sight of that motherfucker slamming into her was still playing on repeat behind his eyelids, and she kept absently rubbing her ribs. But at least they wouldn’t have to deal with statements or forms until tomorrow, because she’d already been through too much tonight.
She pursed her lips. “Does he have a history—”
“I’m not done.” The hem of her dress was lying crooked, bunched to one side, and he straightened it. “Lauren, listen to me. I’m touched by what you did. Genuinely. Thank you for protecting me.”
One corner of that generous mouth indented. “I suspect I’m about to hear a but.”
No, he would not make a pegging joke about hearing butts. Dammit.
“But unless the threat is down by my ankles, like it was tonight, you can’t protect me,” he told her. “You’re literally half my height, and—”
“That is not true. Literally.”