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I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone.
I think of Charlotte and how badly I wish she was still a part of my life. I need her more than ever right now. But she’s gone, and I have no one to offload this weight onto.
Except I do.
I have Gracie.
And I think I need her more than I ever needed Charlotte.
I take a sharp turn. Gracie’s apartment complex is just around the corner, and I don’t care that it’s the middle of the night. If I go home alone, I won’t sleep. When Mom died, I paced my dorm in San Diego for hours every single night for weeks. I didn’t sleep again until I’d processed and dealt with the grief.
I park my car in the garage, then take the elevator to the fourth floor. There’s no guessing which apartment is hers anymore, and the closer I get to her, the more desperate I am to collapse into her arms. I run down the lobby to the corner apartment and pound on the door.
“Gracie?” I call weakly through the door. “Gracie, it’s me. It’s Weston.”
I press my forehead to the door, panting heavily as I choke up with tears again. What the fuck is wrong with me? All the other rookies seem to take traumatic scenes in their stride, or at least hold it together long enough to finish their shift. Maybe I’m not emotionally detached enough. IknewI couldn’t do this job. I knew it all along. I’m pathetic.
The sound of the chain lock sliding open jolts me back a step. The door cracks open and Gracie peers through the gap, eyes squinting into the sudden brightness of the hallway. I’ve woken her, of course. When she realizes it’s only me, she opens the door wider. She’s wearing gym shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back.
Her voice is raspy as she quietly asks, “Weston? What are you doing here?”
“Gracie,” I whisper, but I can’t hold myself up for a second longer.
I fall straight into her arms.
She’s much smaller than me, but she bears my weight. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around me and holds me close as I bury my face into the crook of her neck and cry against the softness of her skin. She smells like flowers in the spring, and fuck, I need her.
“Oh, Weston,” Gracie breathes. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Together we move further into the apartment and Gracie nudges the door shut with her foot. I cling to her like my life depends on it, my chest heaving.
“I can’t do this,” I choke out between sobs. “I can’t handle this fucking job, Gracie.”
“Hey, hey. You’re okay,” she says soothingly as she weaves her fingers through my hair. “You’re shaking.”
I slide my hand around the nape of her neck, my other on the small of her back. She may be small and dainty, but she feels so secure. My cries are so full of sorrow, they echo throughout the darkness of the apartment.
“Someone jumped,” are the only two words I can manage. A pained groan escapes me, leaving its trace on Gracie’s skin where my tears are embedded.
Gracie squeezes me so tight, it almost hurts more than this ache in my chest. I try to press closer to her, but I’m as near as I can get and, somehow, it’s still not enough. There’s not a single light on, but she pulls me across the apartment with her, guiding me carefully around the furniture. She strokes my hair in comforting gestures the entire time, her touch perfectly reassuring. The only thing I want more than to never let go of her is for her to never let go of me.
We move into another room and the backs of my legs hit the edge of a bed.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” she whispers, and I nod against her shoulder.
Gracie pushes me back until I’m seated on the bed, but it takes every ounce of strength within me to break apart from her. As she stands in front of me, I reach out for both her hands and try to focus on her silhouette in the dark. I blink hard and slow, fighting off the burn in my eyes. She’s here. With me. And as long as I’m not alone, I might just be okay.
Gracie steps forward into the small space between my legs. She presses the palm of her hand to my forehead, moving it slowly down the side of my face and cupping my jaw. I close my eyes and concentrate on the softness of her skin and nothing else. Only Gracie and her warmth.
“I’m sorry you had to see whatever it was you saw tonight,” she says, and I press my jaw harder into her palm. “But you’re safe here. It’s only me.”
“Only you,” I whisper. But Gracie is never justonly.
She drops her hand to my shirt and slowly undoes every button in the dark. Takes off my bulletproof vest. My undershirt. She kneels to the floor and unties the laces of my boots. She pulls them off, then sits up a little and reaches for my belt. The click of the buckle reverberates around the room.
As she rises from the floor, she grasps my wrist. “Can you stand up for me, Weston?”
I try. Still trembling, I push off the bed and straighten up in front of her. My breath hitches as she slips off my belt. When she reaches for the zipper of my pants, I grab her hand. The only thing I hear is the sound of her soft, calculated breathing.
