I couldn’t sleep. Didn’t even bother trying. The pain in my ribs was manageable now, but my mind wouldn’t stop. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the wall in his shop, the shadow where the graffiti had been, the wild look in his eyes when he realized what had been lost.
I didn’t realize I was crying until he turned toward me, eyes open, and reached up to brush a thumb under my eye.
“You’re not supposed to be the soft one,” he said. His voice was rough with sleep, but there was a smile in it.
“Too late,” I replied, trying to laugh. “Guess we’re both defective.”
He rolled onto his side to face me. The blankets tangled around his hips, the pale blue glow from outside painting his tattoos in shades of navy and gray. He looked at me for a long time, like he was memorizing every detail.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Really.”
I thought about lying, but there was no point. Not anymore.
“I’m scared,” I said, voice barely a whisper.
He frowned, not in anger, but confusion. “Of what?”
“That I can’t protect you,” I said. “That this… us… is a target. That I’ll fuck it up and lose you anyway.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just reached over and ran his fingers through my hair, slow and careful.
“You know what scares me?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“That you’ll decide it’s not worth it. That you’ll go back to being alone. That I’ll wake up one day and you’ll be gone, and the world will just keep moving like nothing happened.”
I swallowed hard, the words stuck in my throat. “Not going to happen.”
He smiled, and it was the real one—the rare kind, all crooked teeth and stubborn hope. “Good. Because if you leave, I’ll have to burn the town down. And that’s a lot of paperwork.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “You’re an idiot.”
“Takes one to know one, Sheriff.”
He leaned in, pressed his lips to mine, just for a second. Gentle, like he was afraid I might shatter. I pulled him closer, ignoring the flare in my ribs, and held on tight.
After a while, I felt him relax, his breathing slow and steady. He tucked his head under my chin and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in until there was no space left.
I stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker.
I thought about tomorrow. About going to the station and pulling every resource I had. About finding the bastard who’d done this, and making sure he never hurt Ransom—or anyone else—again. But mostly, I thought about the way he looked right now: safe, peaceful, alive.
I’d been a cop for twenty years. I’d seen people die over less than a grudge, over less than a rumor, over nothing at all. I’d learned that you can’t save everyone. But you can try.
I’d try for him.
I lay there, listening to his heart beating under my hand, and made a silent promise: whatever it took, whoever it pissed off, I’d protect him. Not because it was my job, but because it was my choice.
He was mine, and I was his.
And in the dark, that was all I needed.
Chapter Nineteen
~ Ransom ~
You’d be amazed what passes for “clean” in a tattoo shop that’s just survived a hate crime and a forensic sweep. There are the bits you notice right away—shattered glass, the scorched line of chemicals on the floor where the arson attempt fizzled out, the flash art still dangling sideways on thumbtacks like a drunk’s last attempt at home decor.
