T.J. hugs me hard, then lets go and walks out between Atlas and Kira. He turns once at the door to wave at me, and I wave back.
Back in my office, I sit down and open the email I was working on, but the school is too quiet. I type a few more lines, but the words start to blur, and my hands start shaking so badly I have to set them flat on my desk to make it stop.
But the shaking doesn’t stop.
Somehow, danger followed me to this small mountain town, where the people have been so kind, and where I’m working at a school I love.
But the town is no longer safe, and my students are in danger. My son is in danger.
A sob bursts out of me so suddenly, it hurts. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but there’s no one around to hear me break.
I reach for the box of tissues at the far corner of my desk and do something I don’t often do—let myself cry. The release brings little moments of relief, but then I think about what could happen, and what’s at stake, and the tears keep coming.
When there’s a knock at my office door, I’m crying so hard I can’t speak.
The door opens anyway, and Buck steps in. In one quick sweep, he takes in my face, my hands, the empty chairs, and the fact that I am obviously so far from fine I can’t even try to lie.
Instantly, his spine straightens, and his eyes get darker. “Elena.”
He says my name in a way no one’s said it in many years, and I shake my head, because I don’t know what that means.
Don’t touch me. Don’t say my name like that unless you intend to do something with it.
“I sent T.J. to Kira’s house,” I say, but it comes out broken. “I couldn’t—I just thought if something happens again?—”
Buck is in front of my desk before I finish. “Come here.”
I laugh helplessly through my tears. “I am here.”
“Youknow what I mean.”
He reaches for me slowly, like he’s giving me enough time to refuse.
I don’t.
He closes his hands around my arms and pulls me out of the chair, and I go willingly. It’s like I’ve barely been holding my own weight all day, and his body is the first solid thing I’ve found.
He folds me against his chest, with one hand spanning the back of my head and the other pressing between my shoulder blades, and it feels so good to be in his arms, I break all over again.
He holds me as I cry into the front of him like he’s shelter from everything dangerous in the world. He still smells faintly of smoke, but beneath it, there’s fresh air and clean soap.
When I finally draw in a deep breath, it’s shaky. “I brought this here.” The words ache from my raw throat. “I brought it to this school. To the town. To my son.”
“No.” His response is immediate. Iron under velvet. “You did not cause this.”
“It’s because of me. I brought it here.”
“It’s aimed at you. That’s not the same thing.”
I pull back enough to look up at his face. “What does it matter? What’s the difference?”
He slides his hand to my shoulder, pulling me tight against his solid chest. “I’m not letting you take the blame for a man choosing evil.”
“I’m so tired.” I mean more than just today, and I think he senses it.
“I know.”
His hand caresses my arm in a way that threatens to make me crumble again, but I keep the tears at bay. “I can’t keep watching every door and every window and every person who parks too long outside the building. I can’t keep thinking about what happens if T.J. is five feet away from me when something goes wrong.”
