Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders seems to ease. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
I nod, my hand lingering on her knee for a moment longer before I pull away. “If you want, we can try calling again in a little while.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “That’s a good idea.”
I lean back against the couch, watching her as she sets her phone aside and picks up her book again. She doesn’t start reading, though—her fingers just trace the edge of the pages absentmindedly.
I don’t know what’s coming, but I know one thing for sure: no matter what happens, I’ll keep Tory safe. Even if it means putting myself in the line of fire to do it.
Chapter 20
Tory
I sit on the couch, my book open in my lap, but the words blur together, meaningless. My phone rests beside me, mocking me with its silence. I’ve tried calling my dad at least a dozen times today, and each time it’s gone straight to voicemail. I know he’s probably busy, that these Summits are hectic and demanding, but knowing doesn’t stop the worry twisting in my stomach.
I just need to hear his voice, to know he’s okay.
The sound of pots clinking in the kitchen pulls me out of my thoughts, and I glance toward the open doorway. Ranger’s there, moving with an ease and focus that seems second nature to him. He’s chopping vegetables now, the rhythmic sound of the knife on the cutting board oddly soothing.
He’s been so steady through all of this, always knowing the right thing to say, the right thing to do. I don’t know how he manages to stay so calm when everything feels so uncertain.
“Smells good,” I call softly, trying to distract myself from the ache in my chest.
Ranger glances over his shoulder, his lips curving into a small smile. “It’ll taste even better.”
I can’t help but smile back, though it feels faint. His presence is a comfort, even when my thoughts threaten to spiral.
“Come on,” he says, motioning me over. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
I set my book aside and make my way into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he tosses a handful of diced vegetables into a sizzling pan. The aroma of garlic and herbs fills the air, and for the first time today, I feel a hint of my appetite returning.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say softly.
He shrugs, his focus on the stove. “Figured you could use something to take your mind off things.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.
He turns to face me then, his dark eyes steady and reassuring. “I talked to Dean,” he says, and my breath catches. “He assured me everything is running smoothly at the Summit. Your dad’s fine, Tory. He’s surrounded by top-level security, and Dean’s got his team keeping a close eye on everything.”
The tension in my chest eases slightly at his words, though not completely. “Are you sure?”
Ranger nods, his voice firm. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Dean’s on top of it, and your dad is one of the most important people there. No one’s taking any chances.”
I take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. He wouldn’t lie to me. I know that much.
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling some of the weight lift from my shoulders. “Thank you.”
He smiles faintly, turning back to the stove to finish plating the food. A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the small kitchen table, a steaming plate of chicken and vegetable stir-fry in front of me.
“It looks amazing,” I say, and I mean it. The colors are vibrant, and the aroma is enough to make my stomach growl.
“Dig in,” Ranger says, nodding toward my plate.
I take a bite, and the flavors burst in my mouth—savory and perfectly seasoned. “This is really good,” I say, looking up at him.
He smirks, a hint of pride in his expression. “Glad you think so. I wasn’t sure if it’d measure up to your fancy science meals.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Science meals? You mean takeout and microwavable pasta?”
“Exactly,” he says, his smirk widening.
We fall into an easy rhythm as we eat, the earlier tension slowly fading. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—our favorite movies, favorite foods, even a debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. (He’s firmly against it; I’m a staunch defender.)
By the time we finish dinner, I feel lighter, calmer. The worry is still there, but it’s not as suffocating.
“Thanks for this,” I say as I set my fork down.
Ranger leans back in his chair, his dark eyes watching me carefully. “Anytime.”
I help clear the table.
“You don’t have to help. I can take care of this,” Ranger says, taking the plate from my hands.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.”
He deposits the plates into the sink and takes hold of my hands. “Tory, I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I don’t want this to end.”