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The other officer looks confused. I can tell that she isn’t sure what’s going on here, but how do I explain? It’s a trauma bond. At the most terrifying moment of my life, Mitchell Jennings walked through the door and saved me. “Miss, Kaitlyn,” the female officer sits on the edge of the coffee table and pulls out a notepad, “can you tell me what happened here today?”
Safe in Mitchell’s arms, I nod my head slowly. “Around three or so, Frankie needed to go on a walk…”
The story isn’t a pretty one. In fact, it shakes me to my core to repeat the details. But each word feels like a tiny little weight lifted off my chest until I’m strong enough to move my limbs around again and feel.
5
MITCHELL
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Gunther blinks twice as fast as usual. He seems to be quelling his rage by keeping his eyes incredibly hydrated.
I toss a look back at Kaitlyn and shake my head. “Look at her, Walden.” As people started to filter out of her apartment, she gained the strength to go to her bedroom and pull on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweats. But her motivation waned the second she returned to the couch. With sunken eyes that just stared off into space, she seemed helpless. “I can’t leave her like this.”
Gunther doesn’t look at Kaitlyn. Instead, he looks at his watch. “Dude, she isn’t your responsibility. You don’t know this girl from the neighbor next door. Shift is over in like, two hours. Let’s go back to the station, file these reports, and then you can come back.”
I don’t even wish I was that callous. I don’t know how Gunther lives with himself knowing that he’s the kind of guy that would leave a woman this broken and this terrified by herself. “I’ll call the Chief and explain. I’ll come by later and fill out the papers,” I spitball. Anything to keep me in this apartment with Kaitlyn. “I just can’t leave right now.”
My partner knows when he’s met his match. And right now, he doesn’t want to argue with me anymore. He just rolls his eyes and accepts that he’s not going to get me to budge. “Fine. Whatever. But don’t call me if you need a ride home. I got shit to do after work.”
I’d rather walk the twenty miles back to my place than call Gunther for a ride. We’re very different people and I don’t want to spend a car ride trying to explain to him why I’m willing to risk getting in trouble at work to comfort this victim.
Gunther heads for the door and I close it behind him, leaving Kaitlyn and me alone for the first time since this all began. Her gaze rises from the coffee table to meet mine as I slowly walk over to the border collie still tied to the kitchen table. “Hey, girl,” I greet as I crouch down in front of her, “I’m going to let you go, okay?” I unclip the leash from her collar and she goes running toward her owner.
Kaitlyn is the most enthusiastic as Frankie launches herself onto the couch. She opens her arms wide and wraps them around the dog, burying her face into the collie’s merle coat before she starts crying again.
I admit, I questioned why this dog wasn’t a better protector. But Frankie seems just as sweet as her owner. She lets Kaitlyn wet her fur with her tears, all the while staring at me with a passive look. I wonder if dogs have thoughts. If they do, what’s Frankie thinking now? Is she wondering what I’m doing here? Is she curious about the circumstances of the last couple of hours? Does she want me to leave so that she and Kaitlyn can be alone together?
I tentatively walk across the space and close the gap between myself and Kaitlyn’s curled-up figure. While she’s letting out her tears, I shoot off a quick text message to my boss. I know there will be hell to pay later when I get back to the office, but there’s something about Kaitlyn that makes it worth it.
When I walked into this apartment and saw the look of fear in her eyes and saw her shivering from the shock of the situation she was in, something drew me to her like a moth to a flame. I knew in an instant that I would exchange my life for hers if those men asked. I would have done anything to keep her out of harm’s way.
“Kaitlyn,” I hesitantly call her name. It takes her several moments to compose herself after she draws her face out of Frankie’s coat. Her cheeks are tear-stained and her eyes are rimmed in red. “Kaitlyn, I’m here for you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She blinks a few times before bringing the back of her hand up to drag away a few more tears. When her mouth opens, I think that she’s going to say something, but the words never come out. Instead, a fresh wave of tears pools in her eyes and threaten to fall.
“Shh, it’s okay.” I place a hand on her knee and reassure her that she doesn’t need to say anything. “Would a shower help? Or a bath? I can draw one for you.”
Her head tilts as she looks at me. There’s a dawning of realization in her eyes but I can’t place from what. But slowly, she starts to nod her head.
When I was a little kid, whenever I was sick, my mom used to draw a bath for me. I remember her using all her special salts and oils to distract me from my earache or the congestion in my chest. Later, when she slipped into a depressive state over my father leaving us, I did the same for her.
I get off the coffee table and walk toward her bedroom where the on-suite bathroom is located. One half of the countertop has her makeup and brushes neatly arranged. The other half is empty, devoid of personal items. There are two bathroom rugs on the floor: one in front of the bathtub and one in front of the sink. Both are brown with a light blue damask pattern printed on them. They match the towels hanging from the rack next to the tub.
I turn on the hot water and adjust it to a reasonable temperature before plugging the drain and letting it fill up. She doesn’t have a lot of bath items, but I pour a capful of body wash into the tub and let the cascading water create bubbles. The floral scent that fills the room is heavenly.
“I have some bath salts under the sink,” Kaitlyn says from the doorway.
I turn from my place at the side of the tub and stare at her in shock. I expected to have to walk her back here, maybe even carry her, but she arrived all on her own. And she’s talking. “I wouldn’t have thought to look there. Thank you.” I walk two steps toward the sink and open the cupboards. Sure enough, there’s a container of lavender and rose bath salts buried in the back. I open it up and sprinkle some all through the hot water. “I’ll wait in the living room while you take your bath.”
Kaitlyn takes a step forward, blocking me in the room. “No,” she says with a quick shake of her head, “please stay. I-I want to talk to someone.”
She just spent an hour talking to Officer Callahan, but I suppose this is different. Maybe she doesn’t want to discuss what happened to her. Maybe she just wants to forget.
“Okay.” I press down the lid of the toilet seat and sit atop it. “I’ll stay.” When I close my eyes to allow her to get undressed, she tells me that that isn’t necessary.
“You’ve basically seen it all already,” she says with a shy blush staining her cheeks. “Don’t worry.”
But I can’t help it. Worry is my second nature with this woman. I haven’t known her long, but Kaitlyn makes me overprotective. She stirs something inside of me that would rather burn down the world than ever watch her get hurt again.
