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“I’m a little worried I won’t be hysterical enough with having time to come to terms with it,” I admitted, picking a setting, then lifting the camera up, turning to Alaric, looking through the viewfinder, then snapping a picture. Then another one when he turned and shot me a smile. “I needed to try it out on someone,” I told him. “And Frida’s not here.”
“I’ll try not to be offended that I take second fiddle to your dog. She is much prettier than I am,” he admitted.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said as I clicked back through the images, finding myself glad that I had pictures of him. For when I was back to my life, and he was back to his, and I never got to see him anymore.
That thought was so sad that I found myself having to force it away when I felt my eyes get all glassy.
Was it crazy that I was emotional about a guy I barely knew? One I hadn’t even had sex with yet?
Yeah, probably.
But this little connection I had with Alaric was the most intimate I’d been emotionally—and physically—with another human being in years.
I guess I could give myself some slack for getting attached quickly. So what if I was upset and lonely when he was gone? No one would know I was mourning save for me. And Frida.
It would be okay.
Nerves jangled as I made my way up toward the door of my building.
Either sensing it, or simply being a sort of hands-on guy, Alaric moved in at my side, pressing a hand to my lower back. Itstayed there. As we rode the elevator, then made our way to my door, then inside.
He’d explained in explicit detail what had been done, but I don’t think my mind had conjured up a very good mental image of it. Because it felt like someone had sucker-punched me as I looked at the disaster all around me.
So many hours spent planning, pinning ideas to interest boards, shopping for just the right thing, painting, building furniture, and, yes, even reading the books, then lovingly arranging them onto my shelves.
Someone had taken all that time, all that attention, all that care… and just… destroyed it.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I reached for my phone, finding the number on the card in my wallet, and walking away from Alaric who had stooped to inspect one of my books.
I was surprised how quickly the detective had shown up, taking in the damage with a sigh and a head shake.
“I’m glad you weren’t home for this,” he said, toeing some glass out of his way, so he could step further inside.
“Me too,” I agreed, sniffling. “It had been a last-minute decision to spend the night with my… friend,” I said, gesturing toward Alaric.
He’d chosen to shrug out of his biker cut in the SUV, and I guess it was because he didn’t want the detective to immediately place him as an outlaw biker. Then maybe assume that these guys were targeting me because of him.
“Alright, hon, I’m gonna level with you,” the detective said. “I could bring a whole team in here, have them dust for prints. But I imagine they will all be the same as the ones we got from your neighbor’s apartment.”
“It’s up to you,” Alaric said when my gaze went to him. “But I know you wouldn’t love the idea of even more people in your space.”
He got me.
“I don’t think that’s necessary then,” I said, shrugging.
“I will file a report for you,” he said. “If you have insurance, they might want proof of that.”
We talked for a few more minutes before the detective left, leaving us alone.
“Do you want to try to clean some of this,” Alaric started, “or do you want to get away from it?” he finished.
“Away,” I admitted.
It was too depressing to face yet.
“Though maybe I should clean up the glass, so when I bring Frida back lat—“
“I’d really prefer it if you stay with me a little bit longer,” Alaric cut me off, making my gaze shoot to his. “These guys know where you live. They are clearly able to break in. I just… don’t like it. Not until maybe Kylo wakes up, and he can point some fingers that lead to some arrests.”
