Code Name: Ghost - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,27

maybe Cage is just a player who runs through women.

I have to admit that the thought of him playing Anna in any way doesn’t sit right with me. While I owe the man the world for being part of my rescue team, I actually think I would cheerfully kill him if he hurt Anna.

I know this deep-seated urge to protect her comes from my guilt over not protecting her husband, as if it’s my life’s duty now to watch over her. Maybe that will go away in time… and maybe it won’t. I just know that, in this moment, Anna’s health, safety, and happiness seem crucially important to me.

I glance into my bedroom to see Avery on her back, sound asleep with pillows bordered all around her. Anna sits on the edge of the bed, watching her daughter with a dreamy smile. It’s not something I’d ever want to interrupt, so I pull out two plates and start loading them, keeping the portions on hers substantially smaller than mine.

I nuke mine in the microwave for a minute, then Anna’s. By the time I’m pulling hers out, she comes out of the bedroom, casting one last look at her daughter.

“I wonder how many hours of your life you have spent watching her sleep since she was born,” I say with a smile as I carry the plates to the small dining table separating the kitchen and living area.

Anna laughs as she sits. I set a plate in front of her, putting mine at the adjacent space at the table. I head back into the kitchen, grabbing silverware and bottled waters from the fridge. At the last minute, I duck to nab an entire roll of paper towels, tucking it under my arm.

She regales me with tales about Thanksgiving holiday at her house as we eat—how her great-uncle Richard got too drunk on peppermint schnapps, her cousin Tim showed up stoned but no one knew it but her, and how her mom accidentally used a bowl to serve the corn in that had soap in it so everyone was practically gagging and blowing bubbles.

“They sound hilarious,” I observe, laughing at yet another story.

“They are,” she replies, her smile sliding a little. “But in a dysfunctional way.”

“Are you close to them?” I ask. “I mean, you clearly enjoy spending time with and love them—”

“But do I spill my life’s secrets to them?” she finishes. “Because we both know you can love someone in your family, but not actually be close to them.”

I nod.

Anna shrugs. “I used to be really close to my mom while growing up, particularly after my dad died. She and I really bonded after that.”

“But then…” I prompt, fully aware there’s more from the way she left her words hanging.

Anna shrugs. “But then life happened. When she remarried, she had to split her attention between me and my stepdad.”

“Is he nice?” I ask.

“Sure,” she replies, again with a shrug. “He loves my mom. Cares for me, too, no doubt. But maybe a part of me resents him because he took a part of my mom away from me.”

“I can understand that,” I commiserate.

“Yeah, but it’s not very mature of me to think that way, so I accepted the new boundaries in our relationship. To answer your question, I guess I’m tight with my mom, but we’re not as close as we once were. I haven’t really talked to her about Jimmy dying all that much, so that should tell you something.”

My head immediately starts to buzz at the mention of Jimmy. These days, it only takes his name to immediately transport me to the Syrian desert, seeing him lying dead on the hard-packed earth.

I take a sip of water, hoping it dispels the lump in my throat, then make myself ask, “What can’t you tell her?”

Anna’s eyebrows draw inward as she considers my question. “I can’t tell her that I don’t need her. I mean… not the way she wants me to. Like she doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t move back home after Jimmy died—why I got my own apartment instead. She doesn’t even understand what a strong, independent woman she raised. How when my stepdad came into the picture, I was forced to start fending for myself somewhat, so I learned how to take care of myself. And now, I just want to show Jimmy I can do this because he always knew I could take care of myself. It was one of the things he loved best about