A thought hit me, a ridiculous one, and panic crawled up my ribs. It hadn’t occurred to me that he could have someone. I never asked—never thought to. The moonlight streaming through the driver-side window cast his face in shadow.
“Do you…live with anyone?”
He glanced at me, confused.
“No,” he said simply, before pushing his door open and stepping out into the night.
Relief hit me square in the chest, so potent it surprised me. I wasn’t sure why I’d care so much if he had.
A moment later, he opened my door and offered his hand. He waited, not moving closer or trying to touch me. It was an invitation, not an expectation.
I stared at his hand for too long. My body ached now that the adrenaline was wearing off. My lip throbbed so hard it made my eyes sting. My throat felt like it was on fire. Even my chest hurt like it was one big bruise, and for the first time, I wondered whether I was more injured than I realized.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for him. His hand was warm and steady, calloused in a way that grounded me as he folded his fingers around mine. His jacket was still over my shoulders, keeping out the night chill as he helped me to my feet.
Everything hurt.
He didn’t let go right away, but he didn’t hold on either. As we walked toward the porch, his steps slowed to match mine, and I could’ve released his hand at any moment. I didn’t.
Inside, the house smelled faintly like cedar and something richer—coffee maybe. The warmth hit me in a wave, and myknees wobbled. Graham closed the door behind us and guided me to a soft, brown couch in the living room.
“Sit,” he said quietly.
I obeyed without argument, sinking down onto the cushion. My fingers twitched against the fabric, desperate for something solid to hold on to.
He crouched in front of me, flicking on a nearby lamp. The soft light filled the room. His eyes swept over me, brows drawn tight. His expression was carefully neutral, but tension radiated off him.
“My friend will be here soon to look you over,” he said finally.
I stared at him, disoriented. I’d almost forgotten about that part. He’d called a doctor. I looked away, wanting to argue, but feeling too exhausted. At least this was better than the hospital.
I inspected my surroundings. The house was clean and spacious, with vaulted ceilings and an open concept living room and kitchen. The walls were a deep forest-green, the kitchen cabinets a beautiful oak. It was almost cozy. Intimate. Moody but in a welcoming way.
It felt like Graham.
“Can I get you something? Water, tea—anything?”
I shook my head automatically, though my throat burned for a drink. My hands trembled in my lap.
He stood abruptly anyway and went into the kitchen. I heard the soft sound of the faucet, the clink of a glass, and then he was back, setting water on the coffee table in front of me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The quiet stretched, thick and heavy. I tried to steady my breathing again, but in the silence, all I heard was the hiss of my attacker’s words in my ear.
You shouldn’t be in this fucking town.
I swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in my throat. Graham must’ve noticed, because he spoke again.
“Whoever did this,” he said softly, “they’re not going to get away with it.”
I didn’t reply. But when I finally met his eyes again, something steady and fierce made me want to believe him.
The ring of the doorbell made me jump. Graham stood from his crouch, heading to the door and opening it.
A woman walked inside, carrying a large bag that resembled some kind of a medical emergency kit. She tucked her short, blonde hair behind her ear and looked up at Graham.
He gave her a forced smile. “Thanks for coming.”
She nodded, following him into the living room. She smiled when she saw me. It was the sort of smile that was immediately supposed to put people at ease. She seemed around Raleigh’s age, radiating the same gentle steadiness and unspoken patience.
