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It wasn’t until my arms tightened hard around him that he pulled me against him.
His lips pressed down on my head as I listened to his heartbeat, finding comfort in the sound.
“How are you?” he asked. “Really,” he added.
“I’m a little numb,” I admitted. “I don’t think it’s going to come back to me after I sleep,” I added.
Even in interrogation, forced to have the memories flash across my mind, I’d felt oddly detached from it.
“I’ve seen a lot of people shut down after a traumatic event,” he said, his hands stroking up and down my spine. “It will come up,” he added. “And I’ll be here for you when it does.”
I think I could have stood there forever, but almost that exact moment, Matilda jumped up on the back door, her version of “knocking” to be let in.
Our arms untangled, and Wells let them in.
“How about you take a bath?” he suggested. “I’ll bring you a coffee and order breakfast. Then you can get some sleep.”
“Just me?” I asked, heart seizing.
“I’ll catch a little sleep too,” he told me, but I didn’t really believe him.
I guess he couldn’t exactly just go to sleep. Normally, he would be going into work in a few hours, even if he was up all night on a case.
Maybe he would have to go in.
I was just going to have to be okay with that.
I mean, in general, if I was going to be with a detective, I was going to need to learn to sleep alone. Often.
And, I mean, it wasn’t any different than my life before Wells. I was always alone.
Well, now I had Matilda and Boss.
It would be fine.
“Good idea,” I agreed, making my way upstairs to sink into the tub. As promised, I got my coffee to sip while I let the bath ease some of the aches I had in unexpected places.
When the water cooled and I climbed out, I realized I was short a clean outfit, and grabbed one of Wells’s dress shirts instead. I had to admit that I’d always wanted to wear a guy’s dress shirt like the girls in movies did. But I’d never dated anyone who wore them.
It really wasn’t as comfortable as all the girls on the screen made it look, but it would do.
By the time I made my way downstairs, I could smell that breakfast had arrived.
“Oh, wow,” Wells said, exhaling hard as he looked at me. “That’s a good look,” he said, eyes softening.
“Get used to it,” I said, moving toward my plate. “My place is going to be a media zoo for a few days. I can’t get any clothes.”
“We can pick some things up at the store to hold you over,” he offered.
We.
God, I liked how that sounded.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I agreed, opening the take-away container.
“It kind of seems crazy that I should be so hungry after a night like that,” I said as I started to dig in. “I feel like my mind should, like, lock down my body or something.”
“Everyone processes traumatic events differently,” Wells said, shrugging. “Gawen, who is arguably the most psychologically sound person I know, told me he always had this crazy craving for macaroni and cheese after a tense night as a beat cop. After high-speed chases, shootings, you name it. Mac & cheese.”
