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The asshole didn’t deserve his pity, or another of his thoughts.
“He deserves everything he gets, but he won’t see the inside of a cell. Unless he lied to me—which I wouldn’t put past him—he’s a dead man walking.” Thane ran his fingers through Connie’s hair, gently working out the twisted strands.
“Yeah, he wasn’t lying about that. He’ll see hell long before a trial date is set.”
“Well, he and Guthrie can spend eternity killing each other over and over. I need to ask a favor, Att. Can you call Connie's office and request a leave of absence? She's missed two days already, but I don't want her to lose her goddamn job on top of everything else.”
“Anarchy called in yesterday morning and told them that Con had a death in the family. They've given her two weeks bereavement, full pay, and her colleagues sent their condolences along with a message for her to call them if she needs anything.” Atticus’s gaze dropped to Connie, his expression softening. “Her patients have been divided between the other therapists for the time being.”
“Two weeks isn't going to be enough. Time flies when the drugs knock you out for hours. I need to get her home, we need to talk about what happened and what comes next. She has to adjust and heal. It would be irresponsible to let her go back to work—for her, and for her patients. I want to take her away for a while. Sun, sea, sand. Florida might be good. She needs a few months off.”
“I agree. Not about Florida,” Att told him with a disgruntled snort. “Florida is a bad idea. If anything happens to Bodie while you're getting your toes wet in the ocean, you've got to get back here. How badly do you want sun, sea, and sand?”
“It's just an idea.”
“Yeah, well, throw it back in the think tank. I've got a cabin on the edge of the Saguaro National Park. Nothing fancy, but it's comfortable and secluded. Takes roughly two hours to get there by car. I've got a guy who takes care of it when it's not in use, keeps it maintained. Borrow it for however long you need.”
*
“You'd do that? Just let us go chill out in your cabin?” Thane sounded incredulous.
Connie's lips twitched. Yeah, Atticus would do that. It didn't matter how big he was, how fucking scary and intimidating he could be when he wanted, because his heart was ten times bigger than the man. He constantly went out on a limb to give people what they wanted, what they needed. The people he loved were the ones he stretched himself thin for, and she hoped he would find the one person who would not only give him a focal point to lavish affection on, but who would adore him the way he deserved.
“You won her heart and her trust, Thane, and that makes you the luckiest son of a bitch alive. But she stole mine a long time ago. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her—and in essence, for you, because you're hers. So yes, if you need the cabin, it's yours. You need a marching band and fireworks display, I'll get it for you.”
It wasn't quite the answer she was expecting, but the sentiment was enough. One day, when her emotions weren't raw and her body didn't shudder at the thought of being touched, she would hug the big lummox and thank him for having her back. Loving him might run on a separate track to the love she felt for Thane, but he was still her best friend.
“Thanks, Atticus. Yeah, I think that would be good for both of us.”
“Tell me when you're ready and I'll set things in motion. As for Connie's job, leave it with me. At some point, you're going to have to consider finding her a shrink she can warm up to. Normally, I refer everyone to Connie, so that won't work. If you want me to start digging around and compiling a list of potentials, just say the word. Of course, she might have her own ideas on who will fit her requirements.”
Thane sounded horribly dejected when he spoke again. “Are we really going to pretend she’s open to therapy? I don’t want to take her choices away from her, Atticus, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to leave her to own devices this time.”
Connie's heart lurched in her chest. She forgot the conversation entirely, her brain locking on take her choices away from her. God, she knew how dismissive her colleagues could be with patients—Caera was a prime example.
“No, we’re not. Take your time, think about it. Talk it over with her when she’s ready. I’ve got some stuff to do, but I'll be back later tonight before I go home to check the pair of you are still in one piece. You did good, Thane.”
Connie held her breath as footsteps rounded the end of Thane's bed, pausing at the footboard. She didn't move a muscle, which was probably more of a giveaway than just breathing normally, then flinched as a hand cupped around her blanket-covered foot. The muscles in her calf cramped with the effort not to kick out, then she exhaled desperately when her lungs flailed. Rolling onto her back, she met Atticus's amused eyes.
“Been a rough few days, little sub,” he grumbled, patting her foot lightly. “Might get worse if you don't stop and take a moment to examine your own head. You're the best fucking psychologist I know, Connie. We could parade every shrink in the city through here, and not one of them would understand you the way you need to be understood. There are two people who can, and they're both in this room. Neither of them is me.”
She blinked in surprise.
“Look after Thane,” he ordered with a final foot pat, then gave her a knowing smile. “You'll be home soon.”
Now would be good. She watched as Atticus walked out, shutting the door behind him to lock out the outside world. She stayed silent, but her eyes lifted to meet Thane’s, wishing she could convey how damn much was hanging between them, without a single syllable leaving her lips.
When she lost him behind a sheen of tears, she cursed silently.
She relaxed into the stroke of his fingers along her scalp. If this was all she got before hell opened up and swallowed her whole, then she would take it. His touch didn't scare her, didn't send chills running through her bones. It didn't make her want to cower and protect her core. While thoughts of intimacy were banished, she was secure in the knowledge he wouldn't push her in that direction.
For a while, she lay awake as Thane's breathing slowed and levelled out again. The gentle strum of his fingers came to a stop, his fingertips pressing possessively into her head. She listened to the beat of his heart, let the rise and fall of his chest lull her into a doze as she tried not to think how lucky he'd been.
He could have been shot in the heart, the head, a vital organ. The bullet could have severed an artery and he might have bled out completely in just a couple of minutes. The asshole with the gun could've followed through on his threat and shot Thane in the head, point blank.
Images of his body heaped at the bottom of the stairs, sprawled out in the living room, tormented her as she dropped into sleep.
*
