Her voice turns almost robotic. “It happened. It’s over. I’m almost healed. Time to move on.”

“Time to move on?” I huff out. “Time for you to get out of bed, and we’ll march our asses right into the police station.”

“I’m not going to the police. The guy who did this …” She pauses to gesture to her chest, slight sniffles releasing from her, and I know her well enough to know she’s holding back her pain, her hurt, her tears. “He’s the reason I was arrested … the reason I got kicked out of college, out of my sorority, why I had community service. He’s already done enough to fuck up my life. I’m not trying to give him another reason to do more damage.”

“He won’t fuck anything up. I promise. I’ll be here every night. I’ll be your personal bodyguard—whatever you need for you to be safe. Whoever that guy is, I swear, you won’t have to worry about him any longer.”

She’s silent.

Another trait I’m learning about Cassidy is her stubbornness.

“Cass—”

Frantically, with shaking arms, she jumps out of bed, as if it were on fire, and her voice cracks. “Discussion over.”

I raise my voice. “Discussion not fucking over. I got your back, Cass. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Just stop!” she screams, stabbing her finger in my direction. “I am done talking about this. You will not tell anyone, do you hear me?” There’s a mix of panic, anger, and determination in her tone. “If you do, I swear to God, I’ll never speak to you again.” Her eyes finally meet mine, her gaze a mirror of her tone, and she claps her hands over her hips.

There is no changing her mind. She’s hell-bent on protecting this asshole.

I clear my throat, prepared to say either she goes to the police or I tell her family, but I stop myself.

What do I do?

Keep quiet, so I don’t lose her?

Go behind her back and tell someone, only to lose her?

Not to mention, no way in hell am I leaving her alone here.

Throwing one leg and then the other off the bed, I stand. She doesn’t say anything, only waits for my next move.

I hold her gaze, praying she’s the one who changes her mind.

Nothing.

Heat burns at her cheeks.

My eyes flash to her chest. The bruise is on full display now that the blanket isn’t there acting as a protector. My blood boils while endless thoughts of self-doubt and uneasiness flicker through my mind.

“Fine,” I finally say, defeated. “I won’t say anything.” I hate myself as the words climb out of my mouth—with force and pressure.

With regret.