Lane hugged the walls of the hallway, keeping her eyes on the doors in front of her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. A blast of heat met her when she pushed through the tinted glass doors of the courthouse. Her cheeks grew hot as she took the steps down two at a time. She moved her feet faster to get away from the monolithic building.

Reporters were still lingering outside and her father’s words loomed around her, making her feel conspicuous. He was right. Lane didn’t have a television or need one to know the level to which people would stoop to win an election, and the last thing she wanted was for Noah to be drawn into that ugly world. It was bad enough she’d had to deal with it—and that was before opinions flew in every direction on social media. Noah was old enough to listen and understand. She needed to protect him.

Eyes on the ground, Lane missed the uniformed man stopped in front of her until she smacked into him and stumbled back. She squinted against the sun. Charlie.

“Lane, are you alright?” Charlie’s gentle hand reached around hers and steadied her. “What’s wrong?”

Lane swallowed the emotion that was ready to spill in Charlie’s presence. Why was he always around when she was at her worst? And why—even at her worst and after everything her father had said—did she want to be wrapped in his arms?

“Talk to me, Lane.” Charlie searched the area like he was looking for whoever was responsible for her state. With a firm and gentle grip, he pulled her next to him and assumed a protective position over her. “What’s happened?”

Lane’s chest constricted, forcing her to drag in a long, steady breath. She averted her eyes and pulled away from his touch. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Charlie studied her face. “You don’t look fine—I mean, you look good but . . . just upset. Like something’s wrong.”

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath and couldn’t meet his gaze. His ability to read her, to know . . . “I’m just, uh, running late.”

She could tell by the way his eyebrows pinched together that he didn’t believe her, but the corner of his lip turned up and a sparkle filled his blue eyes. “I guess it’s good you ran into me. I wanted to ask—”

A man with a camera anchored over his shoulder brushed past them and Lane remembered . . . this couldn’t happen. Whatever Charlie was going to ask, she couldn’t do it.