Miss you too. You’re doing too much. Lie down.
I prop the broom against the wall and raise my middle finger, spinning in a circle to ensure he sees it. I have no idea where he hides these cameras. I tuck my phone into my hoodie pocket and return to sweeping up the shattered glass. It’s never-ending, like glitter—glass fragments lie beneath, within, and around the furniture, both upstairs and downstairs.
Reece’s team boarded up the windows and secured the kicked-in back door. A crime scene specialist came yesterday and removed what blood and gore they could. The couch, unfortunately, is unsalvageable.
They’re only material objects, I remind myself. They can be replaced—or not. Either way, they don’t matter. What matters is we’re all alive. Our wounds will heal eventually.
My phone buzzes, and I pause once again.
My HUSBAND
I saw that!
Good.
My HUSBAND
Go rest! Now that the biohazard team is finished, I’ll hire a cleaning crew.
Staying busy keeps my mind off everything.
My HUSBAND
Nothing for you to worry about. It’s over. I promise.
If only my brain got the memo. Whenever I’m not occupied, I relive the night over in my head, searching for…mistakes? Reasoning? Solace? It hasn’t found it yet, whatever ‘it’ is.
A familiar, heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs sends me scrambling to find a hiding place. I drop the broom and dart for the yoga studio, which leads to the terrace. I’d rather not receive a scolding from Reece for leaving the apartment while he’s already grumpy.
“Don’t you dare run.” His deep voice booms down the hall, his words sharp. “You won’t get your surprise if I have to chase you.”
Curiosity piqued, I step around the corner, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs. “What surprise?”
Too quick for me to react, he bends down and scoops me up with one arm under my ass and thighs. “You’ll see.” He adjusts me, careful of my stomach. “Hold on.”
“Reece!” I press into his uninjured side and hug his neck. “You shouldn’t be carrying me!”
“And you shouldn’t be taking off without me. I swear, you do this shit on purpose.”
I attempt to stretch my feet to the floor. “Put me down! You’re hurt.”
Our faces only inches apart, he shoots me an icy glare, daring me to keep it up.
His usual calm and patient demeanor has been replaced with simmering agitation. I’ve never known him to be this irritable. It’s hot, minus the dark circles under his eyes and pale complexion.
Without missing a step, he carries me up the stairs and takes a right toward my room. “Are your feet sore?”
I reply, “No,” a little too quickly.
He gives me a side-eye. “Liar.”
We enter my bedroom suite to the soothing scent of lavender and mint. He kicks the door shut behind us, briefly glancing around, then heads to my bathroom.
“Worried?” I wonder if his mind is also in the woods.
He sets me down in front of the enormous tub. “Nope, I already cleared the house. Force of habit. Are you worried?”
“My brain is. It won’t stop replaying the break-in.”
