I lie there, frozen, not sure what to do. He’s right there—close enough to touch, close enough that I can see the individual threads of silver in his hair, the faint stubble along his jaw, the slight part of his lips as he breathes.
He stayed.
The thought keeps circling, picking up weight with each repetition. He could have left. Should have left. He has a club to run, a crisis to manage, a dozen things more important than watching me sleep.
But he’s stayed.
I let myself look at him. The strong line of his nose. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, earned through years of squinting into the sun and, I suspect, the occasional genuine smile. The silver threaded through his dark hair, more distinguished than aging.
You’re in trouble, Bright.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes open, catching me staring.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “You stayed.”
“Someone had to make sure you napped.” His eyes hold mine, warm and steady. “I meant it.”
My chest cracks open. A wall I’ve been carefully maintaining for weeks, months, years—crumbling under the weight of this man and his quiet, stubborn care.
“Stone...”
“You were having nightmares.”
I blink. “I was?”
“You kept making these sounds like you were scared.” His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want to leave you alone with that.”
The dreams come back in fragments. Fire. Screaming. A little boy’s hand slipping out of mine.
“Maria,” I say quietly. “Daniel, her brother. And their mother, Kalisha.”
“Who are they?”
The question hangs in the air between us. I could deflect. Make a joke. Change the subject. I’ve gotten good at that over the years—keeping the ugly parts of myself locked away where no one can see them.
But I’m so tired of carrying this alone.
I stare at the ceiling, not trusting myself to look at him. My throat tightens around the words, but I force them out anyway.
“People I promised to protect. Back in Atlanta there was a witness, Maria. We had a big case, and she was the star witness. I promised her she’d be safe if she testified. And then—” My voicecracks. “Car bomb. The night before she was supposed to take the stand.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“I made promises I couldn’t keep. She trusted me, and I got her killed.” The words taste like ash. “Her and her mother and her seven-year-old brother. A little boy named Daniel who wanted to be a firefighter when he grew up. Who drew me a picture of a fire truck the last time I saw him.”
“Josie—”
“I still have it. The picture.” I laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. “It’s handing in my office. Some kind of penance, I guess. A reminder of what happens when I let people down.”
Stone is quiet for a long moment. Then his hand finds mine on the blanket, his fingers intertwining with mine.
“You didn’t let them down,” he says. “The people who planted that bomb are evil. The system that couldn’t protect them let them down. You were trying to get justice for victims. That’s not something to be ashamed of.”
