“No. Ayla.” Ryland looks up sharply, shaking his head. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks like he’s at a loss for words—not just choosing to withhold them. He tugs his chair a little closer to the bed, dropping his chin to meet my gaze. “It wasn’t for me. It was for you.” “For me?” He nods. “It was always for you. That’s the only reason I tried to convince Marcus to back off. I… I thought about you all the fucking time. I still do. But I thought you would be safer, that you’d have a better life, if we weren’t in it.”
