Page 143 of Only Be Mine

Trevor’s posture changed. Not dramatically, just a subtle straightening, a tightening around the eyes. Professional.

“Detective,” he said smoothly. “This is Trevor Reeder. I’m Catherine Reeder’s husband.”

I watched his face as he spoke, trying to read what I couldn’t hear. Trying to gauge whether my body was supposed to react, whether my chest was supposed to tighten, whether any of this was supposed to feel wrong.

It didn’t.

It felt like someone else taking the wheel while I stared out the window and tried not to throw up.

“I’m with her now,” Trevor continued. “She received your messages. We’d like to arrange a time to meet today.”

A pause.

Trevor nodded once, like he was agreeing with something reasonable. “Yes. She’s safe. She’s… understandably shaken.”

Another pause.

He glanced at me then, and his expression softened, careful and reassuring. The husband face.

“No,” he said into the phone. “I won’t let her do this alone.”

My throat tightened. I should’ve corrected him. Told him I could handle it.

But my tongue felt too heavy.

Trevor listened again, then said, “I understand your procedure. But I’m not leaving her side.”

He wasn’t raising his voice. He didn’t need to. He had that lawyer-calm way of making resistance feel impolite.

“I’d prefer to limit unnecessary stress on her today,” he continued evenly. “She’s just returned from travel, and this has all been… a lot.”

He listened.

His jaw worked, the muscle ticking once.

Then, barely perceptible, he adjusted.

“Downtown is fine,” he said calmly. “Two o’clock works.”

He smiled then. Not warmly, but satisfied. “We’ll be there.”

He ended the call and set the phone down carefully.

For a moment, he just stood there, breathing through his nose like he’d finished something unpleasant.

Then he looked at me. “Okay,” he said softly. “It’s set.”

The words should’ve made me feel better. Instead, panic darted through me, small and sharp, because now it was real. Now there was a time on the calendar. Now I couldn’t keep floating.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.

Trevor’s expression didn’t change. Not outwardly.

He came closer and crouched in front of me, hands settling on my knees. “You can,” he said. “And you will.”

It was meant to be encouraging. A pep talk.

But something about the certainty made my stomach roll.