Page 57 of Forced Proximity

I unlace and tug off her shoes, tuck a blanket up to her chin, and help myself to one last look. I’m giving myself a pass because what I really want to do is kiss her head, but yeah, I know … not cool. I shut off the lamp, head to my room and flop on the bed.

The pillows are useless. I smack, adjust, fold and smack again. What if I couldn’t help her? I should get landlines. That’s what I need. And install panic buttons in every room. Doc mentioned that multiple times, but I thought she was being ridiculous. Until now. Can you call 911 from Alexa? My smartwatch probably has one, but I don’t even know how to activate it.

How did this happen? She mentioned it hasn’t happened in years. Why today? Should I have more than one type of juice on hand? I don’t even normally have juice but happened to have some left over from brunch on Friday. What would’ve happened if I didn’t have any?

I flip to my side, then flip again, then to my back and finally sit up. Shit. I press my thumbs into my forehead and allow the familiar worry circle to rush over me like a tidal wave. It’s a tactic I’ve used my entire life. If I visualize all ‘what if’ scenarios, I’ll be prepared. I can prevent anything. I just needed to think of every single potential situation.

‘Screw it.’ I throw off the covers and step into the shower. The hot water pelts my back and I push my forehead against the wall. What if she didn’t take the juice? Tomorrow, I’m calling my doctor and asking her everything about Type 1 diabetes. Then, I’ll ask Doc what supplies I need around the house. Sugar packets? Juice boxes? I’ll put some in each room. Do smartwatches have an app with a blood sugar drop alarm? I’ll buy her whatever she needs.

For nearly an hour, I stay under the water, making a mental punch list. When my brain is satisfied it has played out every situation possible, I lie back in bed.

Tomorrow, everything will be good.

Chapter 28

Lexi

‘Huuuuu!’ I jolt awake. ‘What the fu—’ I blink into the dimly lit room, squinting until my eyes land on the familiar, massive stone fireplace to my right. I check my watch. 4:53 a.m.. Holy shit! Did I fall asleep here? Horror slams into my body. I just committed a cardinal sin in professional security – falling asleep on the job. My gut constricts. I fell asleep on the fucking job! Is Justin okay? Did Jack come here? I need to report myself to Marcus immediately and see if he’ll suspend me or worse.

I leap off the couch, bang into the side table and knock over a vase.

Jack appears in less than three seconds. ‘Good morning.’ He steps into the room. ‘Trust you had a decent night’s sleep?’

‘Fuck, Jack. I cannot believe I did this.’ My eyes dart and I frantically pat my waistband. ‘My gun!’

‘It’s okay,’ he says, pointing at the corner table. ‘I disarmed it last night. It’s on the side table.’

Oh, thank God. His tone is kinder and less militant than normal – which makes every nerve cell prickle. I reattach the mag and holster. My mouth is dry, my body sore. I swallow. ‘I’ve never done this before.’ I’m technically Jack’s superior, but now he probably thinks I’m as competent as a first year. The floor needs to suck me up whole. ‘Where are my shoes?’

‘Not sure.’ He tugs on his cuffs. ‘I disarmed you, and Justin took care of the rest.’

I glance at the blanket, pillow and my shoes tucked up against the couch, and my heart leaps.

He flicks his gaze to the floor then straightens. ‘Hey, Doc. I need to report this.’

‘I know.’ My gut drops. ‘But I’m going to report myself first, so don’t feel bad. I’m calling Marcus on my way home.’

Balancing on one foot as I put on a shoe, I catch my shaggy-ponytailed, wrinkled-clothes, lined-face reflection in the wall mirror. My chest pinches. I grab my items and bolt from the house.

How could I do this? Besides my family and Marcus, nothing in this world matters more than my job. It’s who I am. My personal life is shit. My marriage turned to shit. My job is the only place I receive purpose. Without it, I have nothing. I am nothing. And I let one-on-one basketball games, movie nights and dancing at the nightclub compromise everything I value. And worst, I put him in danger.

Not only that, but I showed weakness. In front of a client. In front of him. I bite my lip to keep from crying. How could I have failed at such an epic level? I went way too hard on my workout without proper nutrition and let my feelings cloud my health judgment. It’s been years since my last diabetic shock episode. Not since I was back in Minnesota, picked up an extra shift at the diner and got hit with an unexpected rush.

The sun opens its eyes for the day, cracking through the horizon. At the light, I roll to a stop and readjust my ponytail. The actions this last week, the last month, drown me. My growing feelings, my inability to maintain professionalism. Conner, Justin, the fight, the dancing. Everything smothers me like a wet blanket, crushing me, stealing my breath. My clouded judgment makes me ineffective at my job, and even worse, makes me a detriment to Justin’s safety.

I need to make this right. At the next light, I pull out my phone to call Marcus. But instead of dialing, I stop, whip a U-turn and speed the opposite way.

Everything is totally clear.

I know exactly what I have to do.

***

I squeal to a stop in front of Marcus’s house and ring his doorbell multiple times. I rip the ponytail holder out of my hair, pull my hair into a bun and smooth out my rumpled, day-old-smelling shirt.

Marcus opens his door, and his face drops. ‘Come in.’

Inside, he grabs a coffee mug and points to the dining table. After I slump in the chair, I immediately tell him I fell asleep while on duty. I’m not surprised when his first question is, ‘Are you okay?’