Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“Grant, this was temporary from the start.”
“Sure,” I replied, even as bile clawed up the back of my throat. “But we are not in a position to make a change. I trust Lark. I trust Brayden. I’d go to war with either of them.” I stopped and shook my head. “But this case has layers that would take weeks to brief. The father. The property. The history with the ex. Whoever was actually in that alley. I know this assignment. Rotating someone in now just creates gaps.”
“And that’s the only reason? All professional, nothing personal?”
As if I could still see her, my gaze traveled to the strip of light at the bottom of the bathroom door from her lamp I’d left on. She wasn’t the only one who found peace in our connection. There was a quiet that had settled over me with her tucked into my side. The tension I’d been carrying for years, melting right along with her. The noise in my head genuinely disappeared when her laughter filled my ears.
Maybe that was the head-fuckery her friend had been talking about.
Leaving would have been easier. At least for me. I could have been out by morning, removing myself from the equation before whatever was left of my resolve dissolved completely.
But that wasn’t what was best for her. She was still in danger, and trauma bond or not, I knew with unwavering confidence that she was safe with me.
And yeah, I could say with absolute certainty that it was all professional, because on a personal level, I was the one in danger.
“Yeah,” I stated, the God’s honest truth. “Strictly professional.”
“Good. Make sure it stays that way. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The line went dead.
I shoved my phone in my back pocket and headed across the bathroom to cut her light.
Lofton was still on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek where my shoulder had once been. It wouldn’t have taken much for me to slide back underneath her. Steal a few more minutes before I started the massive undertaking of rebuilding my walls.
However, that woman, even in sleep, was a force of nature. One night at her side, and I wasn’t sure I’d have anything left to build.
In an effort to end this mess once and for all, I reached out, caught the small chain on the lamp, and plunged the room into darkness.
The sound of her soft breathing dragged our conversation to the forefront of my mind.
“It steals your breath to leave, but staying suffocates you too.”
“I hope you know every time I saw you tonight, air filled my lungs again.”
I couldn’t be that air anymore, but I wouldn’t let her suffocate either.
She mentioned that her normal used to be the farm. Back when it had been full of life and the chaos of a family that opened its doors to anyone who could find a chair. Everything had changed since then, though. She’d spent almost two decades becoming Lofton Beck, global superstar. One night at the Doodle Bug Café would not resurrect the girl she’d once been or the normalcy that accompanied her.
But there were other versions of normal.
One that would hopefully remind her I wasn’t the only form of steady in her life.
I snagged her phone off the nightstand and turned off her morning alarm. Then I dug my phone from my back pocket and started typing, hoping like hell this didn’t come back to bite me directly in the ass.
But she’d said she wanted normal.
And this was the closest thing to it I could actually give her.
I hit send before I could change my mind.
The response came almost immediately.
17
LOFTON
“Tofton.” The voice broke through my slumber, threading itself through the edges of a dream I wasn’t ready to leave.
“Mmm,” I hummed, stretching out like a cat, only to immediately curl back up, fighting consciousness.
“Wake up.” A small hand patted my cheek. “We have bacon.”
The words floated through the fog approximately half a second before the scent infiltrated my nose.
Bacon.
Real, actual, greasy bacon.
I made a fresh batch for my dad every morning since I’d been home. If I were going to dream about breakfast, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be bacon.
My eyes flew open.
Zoey’s face was approximately four inches from mine. She was sporting her favorite pink pajamas with the tiny rainbow backpack she never left home without strapped to her back.
I stared at her in utter shock.
And she stared back, happy as a clam.
“Hi,” she chirped.
“Um, hi,” I breathed.
She waved a hand in front of her face. “Ew, you need to brush your teef.”
Yeah. Definitely not a dream.
I sat up so fast I nearly launched her off the bed.
“Whoa!” she laughed, catching my arm to keep from falling.
A familiar voice came from the door. “I told you she was crazy when she wakes up.”