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I had the briefest impulse to argue that he didn’t need to, but I never voiced it. I wanted him there.

So bad.

My desire just to have him in a room with me—hostile or benevolent—had me firmly in its hold, and its grasp was strong enough to do some damage.

I put the gun back in its safe and grabbed a fluffy pillow and blanket out of the linen closet quickly, rushing to set them out on the couch for him.

He came back into the room as I was straightening. He wore a tight white shirt now—one of my dad’s. Buck was six feet even and built wiry, so anything that fit him normally was fighting for its life across Chief's shoulders.

It was almost a relief to have more of him covered up. Things were feeling more awkward by the second.

He double-checked the safety, then set his gun in the best spot to grab it from the sofa. He straightened and turned back to me.

“Just holler if you need me,” he said, rubbing his jaw and looking somewhere over my head.

I took a singularly deep breath and moved to him, right into his chest, surprising his stiff form with a hug.

I pressed my cheek against his T-shirt, over his heart, and tried not to melt into a puddle at his feet. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

He didn’t put his arms around me, but he also didn’t push me away. It was more than I had expected, more than I’d hoped for.

A jolt of need slammed into me like a hard punch to the gut.

It felt amazing to be so close to him. So many things bombarded me at once. The feel of him, firm and warm. And he smelled amazing. Like old times. Like home.

I’d always been affectionate with the Bishop brothers, and still was with the other four, and I missed this with him.

More than anything, I missed just being able to touch him and not be rebuffed.

I took a few deep breaths, knowing I should move away then, but I didn’t, instead deepening the contact, leaning into him.

“I miss you,” I told him in a trembling whisper that came out so quiet I would have questioned if he’d even heard me if not for his reaction.

He sucked in a harsh breath, pushed it out, then dragged in another. Each one had a pause between as though he would speak.

I waited for him to say something with bated breath.

My doorbell started ringing.

Started and didn’t stop.

And right on the tail of that ringing, Clayton’s voice started calling out loudly, “Piper, Chief, you in there? Piper, what’s going on? Piper!”

Declan swore. He pushed me away, jerking back from me like I had become something repulsive again.

I glanced up at his face. As I watched, all of the old Declan leached out of it. Any concern, tenderness, any softness at all, was wiped clean, replaced only by hardness. His hatred of me owned his face again.

My gut clenched.

No, no, no.

What I would have given for just five more minutes of my old Declan.

“Declan,” I said quietly. It was a whisper.

A plea.

He shook his head once, rolled his shoulders, and moved to answer the door.