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Piece by piece, we’re putting her life back together.

It should make me happy, yet there’s this little part of me that recognizes that she’ll soon go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine. And that hurts more than I care to admit.

As I guide my truck into the parking lot of a large, commercial gym, I spare a quick glance at her. She’s staring out the window, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. The bruising on the side of her face and neck brings me a fresh bit of rage, especially since, from here, I can clearly see they are not the result of a car accident.

Someone hurt Dahlia, and that doctor just brushed it off.

Something I intend to look into. Because either he lied, or he’s just that incompetent.

Sawyer even sent her medical records to Lani Hunt, a doctor out of Pine Creek, Texas. Then he called me this morning to let me know that she’d confirmed our thoughts and that there was no way that bruising was consistent with a car accident.

I climb out of the truck and walk around to Dahlia’s side to open it for her. “I feel like we’re going to go in there and they will have forgotten who I am.” She laughs nervously. “I mean, I wasn’t the greatest—” She miscalculates the distance and falls forward—right into my arms. “Oh! Sorry!”

But my mind is only on the way she feels pressed against me.

So right.

“Sorry,” she says again. Her voice rips me from thoughts that I never should have allowed into my head anyway, so I settle her on her feet and step back.

“It’s fine.”

“A lot different from my little Kia, I’ll tell you that much.” She pushes her glasses up further onto her nose.

Why is that so adorable?

“Yeah.” I clear my throat and close the door, then lock my truck. As we start walking toward the gym, I monitor two guys who just stepped out, both of them wearing gym clothes and carrying small duffel bags.

They both look toward Dahlia and grin, which only fuels a jealousy in me that I never would have expected.

I move in closer to her and glare at them. When they see me looking, both men go eyes forward and pick up the pace.

Smart.

Meanwhile, Dahlia is completely unaware of her effect on men. Her earlier words pop into my mind. “So there’s my honesty. I’m alone, sad, and probably never going to find someone.”

Is she truly that naïve? How can she not see how she radiates strength and kindness? Or the fact that she’s absolutely gorgeous?

We step through the automatic doors and into the large gym. I was never a fan of commercialized gyms. Sure, you can get fit in one—but you can also get fit in your garage if you know the right movements.

Places like this have just always screamed, “Look at me.” Not that I’m hating on them. They definitely serve a purpose, and there are people here who use them for all the right reasons. But in a place that advertises one free tan a month, you tend to find people far more focused on their looks than health.

I follow Dahlia up to the front desk, where a petite blonde turns around and looks at her. “Dahlia!” she exclaims, eyes widening. “You look so bad!” She winces. “Sorry, that was rude.” Her gaze drifts over to me, and both brows arch as she looks me up and down.

“I was in a car accident. This is my friend, Ryker,” she replies.

“Hi, friend Ryker,” she greets. “I’m Parker.”

Parker. “The same Parker who works at Pine Meadow?”

She nods. “I tend to do the night shift there and work mornings to afternoons here. I was never good at just sitting still.” She grins at me like I’m supposed to catch some double meaning there.

Not interested.

“Do you have time to talk for a minute? I can’t remember the last two weeks, and we’re trying to piece things together.”

“Absolutely. Hey, Jerry, I’m taking fifteen,” she tells the early-twenties man sitting just behind her.

“Sure, girl. You go, I’ve got this.”