been a few days since he’d seen her, and he was trying to give her time. She
seemed to want it, even if she hadn’t outright said it. He haunted his front windows,
watching to see when she arrived, when she left. He felt like a stalker, kept telling
himself he knew she needed time.
They’d finally discovered what had happened to their mother … no.
That wasn’t exactly correct.
They’d found her.
But they didn’t have answers.
Something bad had happened, though.
He’d noticed how she’d kept quiet about some of the more awful parts when they’d told
her family. Had it really just been a few days ago? It felt like longer. Too long
since he’d seen her. Touched her. But, yes, it had only been a couple of days since
they’d looked at the body, since the two of them had seen up close all that remained
of Nichole Bell. He knew what Jensen had kept to herself—the damage to the skull..
There was going to be an investigation—she’d told them about that, but he didn’t know
if she’d gone into detail in the days since then.
For the hundredth time, he started to go over there.
For the hundredth time, he stopped himself.
Ever since he’d met her, he’d been doing this. Stops and starts, like a stupid kid
with a crush, but now … fuck, now look at him. He was even more unsure of himself
and if ever she needed somebody who was sure , it was now.
The question was … did she need it to be him?
Did she just need a friend?
Could he be just a friend?
Fuck that shit.
With frustration tangling inside him, he locked himself in his weight room where he
couldn’t see her place. The weights, the sweat, the punishing workout wouldn’t take
his mind off his troubles, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting on the porch, obsessing,
like some kind of fool.
“No, you stupid jackass,” he muttered as he lay on the weight bench and did chest
presses. “You’re in here obsessing.”
The ringing of the doorbell was the last thing he wanted to hear.
But it didn’t go away, even after he tried to ignore it for the next few minutes,
so he headed down the hall, temper flaring.
As he passed by the entertainment center, he paused. Just as always. There was a picture
of a young girl, a child. He touched a finger to her smiling face.
The ache was still there. Even now.
Closer to the surface even. Had to do with everything going on, he knew. With his
temper flaring and his own grief threatening to surge out of control, he jerked the
door open, ready to tear into whoever had the bad luck to stand on the other side
of the door.
At the sight of Jensen, he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing back whatever he’d been
about to say—and he didn’t even know what he’d been about to say.
Rain rolled down her face.
Clung to her eyelashes, her nose.
“Jensen…”
She looked lost, her eyes darker than they should be, her skin paler. Her hair hung
in wet, chunky strands that clung to her cheeks and her shirt was soaked.
She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Or more fragile.
“Jensen.”
She licked her lips. “Is … is this a bad time?”
“For you, such a thing doesn’t exist.” He caught her hands and drew her inside. It
was hot outside, despite the rain, but under his hands, her skin felt like ice.
Her red T-shirt clung to her and he led her down the hall to the bathroom, grabbing
a thick towel and draping it over her shoulders. “You’re soaked,” he said. Way to point out the obvious, dumbass .
“You sure I’m not bothering you?” she asked, her voice low.
Bothering me ? Baby, you’ve been bothering me from the first time I laid eyes on you . Although he didn’t think that was what she needed to hear. Instead, he just smiled
at her. He laid a hand on her cheek, using his thumb to tilt her head back. “I was
working out. I’m always happy for an excuse to get out of that.”
He reached past her and snagged another towel, using it to dry
seemed to want it, even if she hadn’t outright said it. He haunted his front windows,
watching to see when she arrived, when she left. He felt like a stalker, kept telling
himself he knew she needed time.
They’d finally discovered what had happened to their mother … no.
That wasn’t exactly correct.
They’d found her.
But they didn’t have answers.
Something bad had happened, though.
He’d noticed how she’d kept quiet about some of the more awful parts when they’d told
her family. Had it really just been a few days ago? It felt like longer. Too long
since he’d seen her. Touched her. But, yes, it had only been a couple of days since
they’d looked at the body, since the two of them had seen up close all that remained
of Nichole Bell. He knew what Jensen had kept to herself—the damage to the skull..
There was going to be an investigation—she’d told them about that, but he didn’t know
if she’d gone into detail in the days since then.
For the hundredth time, he started to go over there.
For the hundredth time, he stopped himself.
Ever since he’d met her, he’d been doing this. Stops and starts, like a stupid kid
with a crush, but now … fuck, now look at him. He was even more unsure of himself
and if ever she needed somebody who was sure , it was now.
The question was … did she need it to be him?
Did she just need a friend?
Could he be just a friend?
Fuck that shit.
With frustration tangling inside him, he locked himself in his weight room where he
couldn’t see her place. The weights, the sweat, the punishing workout wouldn’t take
his mind off his troubles, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting on the porch, obsessing,
like some kind of fool.
“No, you stupid jackass,” he muttered as he lay on the weight bench and did chest
presses. “You’re in here obsessing.”
The ringing of the doorbell was the last thing he wanted to hear.
But it didn’t go away, even after he tried to ignore it for the next few minutes,
so he headed down the hall, temper flaring.
As he passed by the entertainment center, he paused. Just as always. There was a picture
of a young girl, a child. He touched a finger to her smiling face.
The ache was still there. Even now.
Closer to the surface even. Had to do with everything going on, he knew. With his
temper flaring and his own grief threatening to surge out of control, he jerked the
door open, ready to tear into whoever had the bad luck to stand on the other side
of the door.
At the sight of Jensen, he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing back whatever he’d been
about to say—and he didn’t even know what he’d been about to say.
Rain rolled down her face.
Clung to her eyelashes, her nose.
“Jensen…”
She looked lost, her eyes darker than they should be, her skin paler. Her hair hung
in wet, chunky strands that clung to her cheeks and her shirt was soaked.
She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Or more fragile.
“Jensen.”
She licked her lips. “Is … is this a bad time?”
“For you, such a thing doesn’t exist.” He caught her hands and drew her inside. It
was hot outside, despite the rain, but under his hands, her skin felt like ice.
Her red T-shirt clung to her and he led her down the hall to the bathroom, grabbing
a thick towel and draping it over her shoulders. “You’re soaked,” he said. Way to point out the obvious, dumbass .
“You sure I’m not bothering you?” she asked, her voice low.
Bothering me ? Baby, you’ve been bothering me from the first time I laid eyes on you . Although he didn’t think that was what she needed to hear. Instead, he just smiled
at her. He laid a hand on her cheek, using his thumb to tilt her head back. “I was
working out. I’m always happy for an excuse to get out of that.”
He reached past her and snagged another towel, using it to dry
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