It didn’t surprise me that he’d do something like that, but what did surprise me were the words that came out of my mouth next.
“Can I come?”
He stared at me as my request sank in. “You want to go to my survivors group?”
The back of my neck heated. “Is that not okay?”
He shook his head immediately. “It’s not that. Of course it’s okay, but…” He let out a breath, and he held me tighter. “I just want you to understand that not everyone in the group was excited about you being in town.”
He said the words with such care and gentleness, but they still stung.
“Of course,” I said, too quickly. “I can stay here.”
I felt the stiffness in his muscles. There was an uncomfortable pause.
“How about this…” he murmured finally. “I can ask. Come with me. I’ll introduce you and see what the group thinks.”
A flush moved up into my face. I wasn’t sure why I was embarrassed. I didn’t even know why I’d asked to come. Part of me knew it was because I didn’t want him to leave me behind. I wanted to stay with him. I felt safe with him.
But another part, a small, quiet part of me felt like I was a survivor, too.
And I wondered what it might be like to be in a room full of people who might be broken, like me.
“Okay,” I agreed, nodding. “We’ll try.”
Thebasementofthelibrary smelled faintly damp.
It had been raining since morning—steady sheets of cold November rain that didn’t quite make it to snow. The scent of moisture clung to the painted limestone walls even though everything was clean and dry. Cozy, in its own way.
No books were down here. I tipped my chin up anyway, imagining the weight of all those shelves stacked above us, the history of this whole town pressing down.
A pulse of anxiety shot through me, but I ignored it, stiffening my shoulders.
The folding chairs squeaked when people shifted into place in the circle around us. Graham and I had just sat down, and everyone’s attention snapped to me.
I resisted the urge to fidget under the judgmental stares of strangers. The only face I recognized was Mara. Her posture was perfect, her hands folded in her lap and expression soft as always.
Across from her sat a younger guy. I vaguely recognized him, though I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t think we’d ever met, but something about his eyes—the shape of them felt familiar. He looked nervous, his knee bouncing as his gaze darted between Graham and me, like he knew exactly who I was. He probably did. They all probably knew, by the way they looked at me.
Graham drew in a steadying breath beside me, and when everyone settled in the circle, he opened the group.
“I know things are hard right now,” he said gently. His deep baritone wrapped around the room. “Things might feel unsafe and scary, but we’re here to listen.”
He was cautious as he spoke, aware of everyone’s body language. I watched him, intrigued. This might have been something he volunteered to do, but he was no less than professional. The way he read the room with his analytical eyes…it was clear he was good at this.
“I thought it was more important than usual to meet tonight,” Graham continued, “not just to talk about what’s happened, but to discuss ways we can help ourselves feel safe.”
Graham leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed, but attentive. “I wanted to introduce someone new,” he added,cautiously. “This is Quinn Carpenter. She wanted to ask permission to sit in the group tonight.”
A rustle of unease rippled through the circle. Chairs shifted and bodies stiffened.
Graham lifted a hand in a calming gesture. “Quinn is no longer associated with—”
“Of course she’s not,” a man scoffed. “He doesn’t need her anymore. He’s out.”
The room seemed to freeze. Nothing but the soft patter of rain on the high, narrow windows.
“She removed herself from the case before—before he was gone, though. Right, Graham?” Mara said, coming to my defense.
