“Em—”
“I need to make a call.” She’s already standing, grabbing her phone and heading toward the deck. “Vendor emergency.”
The door slides shut behind her, and through the window I watch her pace, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesturing as she talks.
This isn’t a vendor call. I can tell by her body language—the way her shoulders square and her rigid back, the way she keeps glancing back at the house like she’s afraid I’m watching.
Which I am.
She’s outside for twenty minutes. When she comes back in, her eyes are red-rimmed, her hands trembling.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Fine.” She won’t meet my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She disappears upstairs, and I hear the bathroom door lock. The shower runs for a long time. And when she emerges, her eyes are puffy, she’s been crying.
“Hey,” I catch her hand as she tries to slip past me into the bedroom. “Please, talk to me.”
She gives me a watery smile. “It’s been a long day.”
“Em—”
“Can we not do this right now?” Her voice cracks. “Please?”
I want to push. Want to demand answers. Want to know what’s making her cry in my shower when she thinks I can’t hear.
But the exhaustion in her eyes stops me.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “But you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “I need to get through the fundraiser. Then everything will calm down.”
It’s a lie. We both know it’s a lie. But I let her have it because I don’t know what else to do.
That night, she curls up against me in bed like usual. But there’s a tension in her body that wasn’t there before.
“Ryan?” Her voice is small in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being you.”
My chest tightens. “Always, Firecracker.”
She’s asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out, tension rolling away from her body. But I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the distance growing between us even as she sleeps in my arms.
The breaking pointcomes two days later.
I’m at the station when Blake appears in my office doorway, his expression grim. “We need to talk. About Marcus Gimbleton.”
My jaw clenches. “What about him?”
“I did some digging.” He closes the door behind him. “Guy’s got a history, Ry. Three former employees filed restraining orders over the years. All dropped eventually, but the pattern’s there—harassment, intimidation, threats to destroy their careers if they didn’t comply with his demands.”
My blood runs cold. “Active restraining orders?”
“All expired, except the one Ember has against him.”
