Page 56 of Forced Proximity

I nod, but don’t respond and keep marching to the elevator.

In the SUV, we drive in near silence, as I don’t want Doc to exert any additional energy by pretending she’s fine. We don’t get home until a little after nine. Doc slugs in the house with barely a word to perform her sweep. I open my mouth to beg her to let me do the sweep myself but close it. She’d be livid if I asked.

When she steps back into the entry way, I scan her face. Again. ‘Hungry?’ I ask for no less than the fifth time today. I need to chill about the food thing before she takes my head off, but I can’t help it.

She does a terrible job of pretending she isn’t yawning. ‘Nah, I’m good.’

‘You up for a movie?’ I point the remote at the TV. ‘I say let’s go old school. Either Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or The Breakfast Club.’

‘Solid choices,’ she says with a soft smile. ‘The Breakfast Club.’

Whew. Jack isn’t due for another three hours. Until then, she can rest, we can resume our movie night routine, and by tomorrow, everything will be back to normal. ‘You know Molly Ringwald was my first crush,’ I say as I flip through the streaming service. ‘Once I watched Sixteen Candles, I went back and watched every single one of her movies.’

‘Interesting. She was my first crush, too. Well, her and Keanu Reeves, ’cause of course.’ She scoots to the corner of the couch. ‘With Molly Ringwald though, it was an odd combination of wanting to be like her and wanting to make out with her.’

I chuckle as she rubs her knuckle in the corner of her eye. What I would give for her to go up to the guest bedroom and rest. Food. Food needs to be in every room, on hand and within reach from here on out. ‘Be right back.’ I leave the room and return with a few water bottles, crackers and a fruit basket. A fruit basket. Subtle, I know.

If she notices the snack, she doesn’t say anything. She stifles a yawn, props an elbow on the couch and rests her head into her palm.

***

‘I love this part—’ I snap my mouth shut. Doc’s cheeks are rosy and glowing, her skin like powdered silk, the lashes from her closed eyes fan above her cheekbones. God, she’s beautiful. There’s something almost angelic about her parted mouth as she breathes in slow and heavy. This typically fierce, strong woman seems so vulnerable with every gentle rise and fall of her chest. I shift my gaze back to the TV and stay silent.

The movie finishes and she hasn’t moved. ‘Doc?’ I touch her arm, and her head moves further into the cushions.

Even though it’s concealed, I know she still has her gun, and hell if I’m going to try and disarm her. But, also … she probably shouldn’t sleep with it, right? I tap my fingers on the back of my neck. Hmmm. Jack will be here in an hour and will know what to do. I flip to a docuseries and press play.

The time passes quickly, and a vehicle pulls up on the driveway. I slink off the couch and tiptoe to the door. ‘Hey, Jack,’ I whisper and nod my head to the couch. ‘Doc just fell asleep and she’s out pretty cold.’

Jack narrows his eyes and looks around my shoulder. ‘Interesting.’

The tone is unreadable. Not unkind or unconcerned, but definitely not cheery. ‘She wasn’t feeling well,’ I say, maybe too quickly. ‘She’s a stubborn one, huh?’

He pulls his lips between his teeth. ‘Very true.’

Is he pissed? He and I are not close by any stretch. But this is the most aloof he’s been so far, which says a lot. ‘We can let her sleep here tonight. She has her gun on her, and I didn’t want to grab it.’

He pushes an exhale through his nose. ‘Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get it.’

He thuds over to the couch, and I nearly pop a muscle in my jaw. For Christ’s sake, quiet your steps.

‘Hey, Doc, it’s Jack.’ He lays a palm on her shoulder. ‘I know you’re not feeling well. I’m going to remove your firearm and mag and put it on the side table, okay?’

A surprising tinge of care laces Jack’s tone.

‘Okay …’ Doc mumbles.

Jack reaches into her inner waistband, removes the gun and magazine, and checks the standard two times to confirm the chamber’s empty before laying it on the table.

‘I’ve got it from here,’ I say.

He studies my face, and I lean on every actor technique I’ve ever used to stay casual. The last thing I need is him seeing my guttural need to take care of Doc.

‘I’ll do a sweep,’ he finally says and steps from the room.

Doc looks so damn uncomfortable. With her legs on the ottoman and head on the side of the couch, she’ll wake up with a hefty crick in her neck if she doesn’t adjust. ‘Hey, Doc,’ I whisper, ‘I’m going to move your legs.’

She mumbles. I scoop in, guide her to lay down and prop the pillow beneath her head. She moves into a fetal position and my breath hitches. Don’t stare. For fuck’s sake, do not stare. But her usual powerful, tough body looks so beautifully fragile at this moment, and if it wasn’t creepy as hell, I’d absolutely take a picture.