The Love Series Complete Box Set (136 page)

Heavy breathing fills the space between us as I pull away. Our foreheads touch, and almost as if we’ve rehearsed it, we both say “wow” at the same time.

I pop a softer, much more innocent kiss, to her cheek. “Can I call you sometime this week? Maybe we can get together again?”

It only takes her a few seconds to answer, but in that short span of time, it feels like my heart stops beating. “You better.” She lifts an eyebrow and quirks a cute, dimpled smile.

As I pull my seatbelt across my chest and drive away from Lucy’s home, that dull ache I’ve felt in my gut since leaving Manhattan has lessened dramatically. Somehow, over the course of a few hours with Lucy, the life I used to be more than happy with, seems dull in comparison to the fire she’s just ignited in my heart.

Chapter Twelve

February 9, 2013

As I put away the last of the dishes from the meal I single-handedly screwed up, I realize I’m still grinning like a fool. Evan left over an hour ago and I still haven’t been able to wipe the smile from my face.

He kissed me. Like really and truly kissed me. Not out of pity, but because he genuinely wanted to.

Even I have to chuckle at the giddiness of my inner voice. At this rate, I’ll never calm down enough for bed. I haven’t felt this way about a kiss since . . . well, since my very first one.

Tracing my finger over my lip, my heart warms remembering kissing Jimmy. “I miss you, baby,” I say into the quietness of the empty house. But as much as I miss him, I don’t feel any guilt over what just happened with Evan. I know Jimmy would want me to be happy, especially after all of this time.

Except when the cabinet door, which has been loose for a few weeks now, crashes down to the floor as I put away the final plate, I have to laugh. “Maybe you’re not so okay with it, huh?” Bracing for the cold that I know is on the other side of the door, I grab the broom out of the garage that’s attached at the side of the kitchen.

As I clean up the few screws that skittered across the floor, I get lost thinking about how Jimmy never would have let things like this—a silly broken cabinet—happen. “You always said you wanted to fix this place up. I guess I let that slip.” My apology blends into the sound of the bristles scratching across the tiled floor.

Propping the cabinet door up against the wall, I sweep up the few splinters of wood on the floor and put the broom back in the freezing cold garage. The crash through the front door as I walk back into the kitchen causes my heart to pound against my chest. “What the hell?” I say to no one in particular. When I hear people—that’s right, people—in my house, I race back into the garage. Closing the door as quietly as possible, I crouch down in a corner, anxiety racing through my veins.

I hear mumbles and things breaking. Reality comes at me full force—I’m being robbed. Holy shit! What the hell am I supposed to do? Panic takes over and whether it’s from the freezing air in the garage or the sickening feeling consuming me, my hands start shaking.

Deep breaths. Just take a few deep breaths, Lucy. They don’t think anyone’s home. They won’t even be looking for you.
I try to coach myself into a calmness that just isn’t happening.

It’s pitch black and I can’t see a freaking thing, so it takes me a minute to get my bearings. Trying to remember where everything is, I step around the garbage pails and side step the box of chopped wood for the fireplace.

I’m straining so hard to hear what’s going on in the house that I can actually feel my pulse beating in my ears, the blood, a loud swooshing sound that drowns out the crashes going on inside. I fumble at the tool counter to my side, but when I nearly knock over the gardening shears, I stop, frozen with fear that I’ll make noise.

Eyeing my car, I think about crawling into the back seat and hiding, but then again, I’ll make noise. My legs are too paralyzed with fear to do anything anyway.

As I slide down to the floor, I realize my cell phone is still in my back pocket. I call 9–1-1 and tell them what’s going on, my heart beating like crazy, my voice barely above a whisper. I tell the operator my name and location, but when she tries to keep me on the line, I have to hang up—too fearful of being heard.

It’s the longest five minutes of my life as I hear things being tossed around, my house being ransacked. Right before I hear the sirens approach the house, I actually consider going back into the kitchen to rationalize with them.

One thing stops me—Melanie. She’s already lost so much—having to grow up without a father is more than she should ever have had to deal with. The thought of her having to go on without me, keeps me cemented to my spot.

The gravel in the driveway sprays up against the garage door as the cop cars speed in. The guys in my living room scramble as the cops swerve in front of the house. Nerves jittering all over the place, I don’t know when to come out. I think whoever was robbing me has been chased outside, but I still don’t want to chance it.

As a sliver of yellow light filters into the garage, my breath hitches in my throat. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my chest starts buzzing with pain. I can barely focus my attention on whatever movements are happening by the door. The recycling pail is kicked over—glass and metal cover the floor. It’s only when I see the ray of a flashlight searching the corners of the garage that I piece together that it must be a police officer. Fear paralyzes me. I don’t want to move too quickly, afraid that my sudden movements might put me in the way of an itchy trigger finger.

Deep breaths. Just keep calm and wait for . . . I’m not really sure what, but I’m too scared to make the first move.

The rakes and brooms roll across the floor as the officer makes his way toward me. He doesn’t speak, probably afraid to focus any attention on his exact location. But the garage isn’t all that big; there’s only one corner left to inspect—the one in which I’m currently crouched.

Hugging my knees closely to my chest, I try to stay as still as possible, but the sobs that creep up on me make me shake even more than I already am.

“Put your hands up!” A loud male voice booms out as the flashlight falls on me.

I listen, but can only lift up one hand as the light blinds me. “I l-live h-here.” My teeth chatter; my breath swirls steam into the frigid air. Tears stream down my face and I register somehow that he’s lowered his gun.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Were you hurt?” Standing next to me, he holsters his gun and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“I’m fine. I . . . I came in here as soon as . . .” my words trail off and mingle with my sobs.

He speaks into his radio, letting the others know that he’s found me and that we’re re-entering the house through the side door.

An EMT is waiting for me in the kitchen and she drapes a blanket around me. I try desperately to focus on what’s going on around me, but it’s just too much. Radio static fills the room as the other officers, who were in a foot race with the people who broke in, let us know that they caught the suspects. Two teenagers looking for quick cash. Everything sounds so clinical, so technical, but I just can’t get my emotions in check. What if . . . what if . . . those words play on repeat in my head. No matter how much I try and tell myself I’m okay and nothing happened to me, I can’t shake the sinking feeling of fear that’s swallowing me whole.

“Is there anyone you can call?” The officer who found me in the garage asks as he slides into the chair next to me. Linda is out for the night with her sister. If I call Melanie, she’ll just panic and want to race home and I don’t want to scare her. I could call Maddy and Reid, but something about that screams pathetic.

One last option chimes in, but could I? What would he say? Would he even care? Something tells me he would, so I dial his number in the hopes that he’ll answer his cell even though it’s past one in the morning.

On the third ring, he answers, his voice drowsy and raspy with sleep. “Lucy?”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .” I know he can hear me crying through the line; there’s no disguising it.

“What’s wrong, Lucy?” I hear him toss back his sheets.

His voice alone relaxes me. Taking a deep breath, I calm myself enough to give him the basics. “Someone tried to break in. I got stuck in the garage until the police officer found me.”

“What the fuck?” His anger takes me by surprise. He doesn’t strike me as someone who curses all that often, but I can hear him rushing around in a frenzy, swearing like a sailor. “I’ll be right there.” And then, the line goes dead.

In the fifteen minutes it takes Evan to get to my house, the officers ask me a slew of questions and have me fill out some papers pressing charges against the suspects. Since I never saw anyone, there’s no need for me to identify them. In my exhausted state, I hear vague facts about dusting for prints on my TV and computer. I should have my things back in a few days or maybe a week—depending on how long it takes my insurance company to pay out. I honestly don’t care about all that. I just want to feel safe again. I just want the mess cleaned up, the furniture put back in place and my home back to normal.

“Where is she?” Evan’s concerned voice calls out from the front entryway. “Lucy?”

I swear I feel him walk into the room, vibrating with anger, radiating concern. He kneels down on the floor next to me. Too afraid of the tears that I know will pour when I look at him, I cradle my face in my hands.

“It’s okay. Shhh, you’re okay. That’s all that matters.” His words only make me cry more. In a movement that takes me by surprise, he pulls me from the chair and sits down in my place, pulling me onto his lap.

Gently, he strokes his fingers through my hair and my cries recede. The officer, who has been here the whole time, lets me know that he’ll be in touch if he needs anything else. Evan shakes his hand while keeping his other one holding me close to his warm, solid chest.

“I’m just going to walk them out and lock the door behind them. I’ll be right back,” he whispers soothingly into my ear and eases up from the chair.

“You’ll take care of her?” the officer asks as he walks with Evan out of the kitchen.

“Of course,” he answers with certainty as he closes and locks the door. The need to be held, to be comforted, overwhelms me and I walk across the kitchen and fall into his arms.

“I was so scared.” Coiling my arms around his waist, I press my cheek up against his chest as he continues stroking my hair. His lips press into the top of my head before he leans his cheek in the spot he just kissed.

“I know, I know. I’m here now. It’s okay.” I’m relieved when he doesn’t ask me anything about what happened. I don’t want any part of reliving the last hour.

We stand here in the unquiet silence of my small home for a few long moments, me pulling some strength from Evan’s comforting touch.

When I step out of his arms, he searches my face for some kind of . . . I guess just some kind of something to let him know I’m okay. On a huge, deep breath, I release a sigh. “Thank you for coming over.”

“Of course.” He shoots me a ‘don’t be crazy’ look. “If I didn’t leave in the first place . . .” He runs his hand through his hair, gripping on the ends.

“Stop, Evan. Neither one of us could have known.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he puffs out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, but your car was in the garage because mine was in the driveway. They must have seen me leave and thought they could get away with everything. I left you here all alone and they . . .”

“You can’t blame yourself.” The idea that he’s spent his entire career protecting others is not lost on me. I can’t imagine the things he’s seen, the scenarios that are playing through his mind.

“But something could’ve happened to you.” His words are filled with so much emotion as he softly caresses my cheek with his knuckles. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Crushing me to his chest again, I get lost in the feel of his arms wrapping tightly around me.

“I’m so tired,” mumbling through my yawn, I step out of his arms.

He checks the clock on the microwave. “Yeah, it’s almost two thirty. I guess I should go.”

“What?” Anxiety laces through me. “No, you can’t.” I reign in my panic, not wanting to look too needy. “I mean, would you stay, please? I really don’t want to be alone.”

I expect to see him war with the decision; his earlier words about never having settled down with anyone ringing through my head. So when he agrees almost automatically, I’m more than a little surprised.

“I’ll camp out down here.” He starts moving some cushions around on the too-small couch.

Touching his arm stops his movements. “No . . . I . . . would you . . .” God, I sound like an idiot. He turns and looks down at me with his stunning, but oh-so-tired, grey eyes. “I don’t want to sound too forward, but would you stay with me instead of down here.”

Now, he wars with what to say. I can only imagine what he must be thinking; I’m sure this isn’t what he signed up for and if I could, I would take it back. The unsettled silence fills the room as he considers my question.