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Mallory glances up with the same warm, genuine smile she always wears while her phone pipes something at her in—Korean? Whatever it was, it sounds flirty and dirty.
I can’t help a flash of disappointment that Grant’s not here, though.
I stand around awkwardly for a few seconds, lips parted, trying to pull an excuse for why I even came here—but there’s no need.
Lucas looks up from a few open folders in front of him. He’s settled at one of the smaller desks, his chair tilted back on two legs, feet crossed and propped up on the desk.
He gives me a shrewd, thoughtful look, then leans back and reaches over to rap on the closed office door with CHIEF BOWDEN stenciled on the frosted glass inset.
“Grant,” he calls. “Company.”
He gives me a knowing smirk that makes me want to march over and make up for every grade school spitball in my hair with a good, hard tweak to his nose.
“Glad to see you home, Miss Ophelia,” he says, his smile softening, a touch of sympathy in his catlike green eyes. “You doing all right?”
Just like that, I almost burst out crying.
It’s just this familiar face from my childhood, offering me kind recognition and a genuine welcome home. I can’t make a sound, my lips trembling.
No, Iwon’tcry when he just asked me a simple question.
But I’m relieved when the door to Bowden’s office swings open and Grant’s big, bearish frame slips out with more grace than any man that huge should have.
He takes one look at me, crosses the room in three long strides, and presses a heavy, hot hand to the small of my back.
“C’mon,” he says. “Come sit down with me.”
Swallowing and wiping at an escaping tear, I let him usher me toward Bowden’s office. As I pass Lucas, I offer him a watery smile.
He just snaps off a two-finger salute, his eyes glittering with quiet understanding.
I think he gets it, even though he never left this place.
By trying so hard to forget Redhaven, I forgot how many good people I left behind here, too.
I’m pushing the tears back by the time Grant leads me to one of the upholstered club chairs in Bowden’s cramped office and closes the door behind us.
Instead of reclaiming the chair behind the desk, he settles on the second club chair next to me.
The tiny space feels so cramped that his knees bump into my thigh.
I need that.
I need his presence.
I need him to fill the space around me, so nothing besides Grant can get in.
Maybe then I can push all the bad things out.
“Butterfly, what’s wrong?” he asks. Direct as always, but I’m honestly not used to him just coming out and asking me about feelings. “Did that stalker freak show up again? Did he hurt you?”
“What? No, I—” Instinctively, I brush my fingers against the bruises on my arms. They’re already turning that gross yellow-purple as they’re healing. “No, it’s silly. It doesn’t matter.” I look around, biting my lip. “So you took over Bowden’s office?”
“For now. The guys were giving me a headache about—” He breaks off, and I swear there’s a redness under his beard as he looks away. “Never mind.”
“What? No never mind!” I reach over and poke his arm. “About what?”
“About you,” he grumps, ducking his head and swiping his dark-brown hair back from his face.
