Graham’s voice tears through my memories, and fuck. I’ve ached for a reason to text him all week, but this? How helpless, weak, and pathetic will he think I am? It doesn’t matter. Because he’s the only option I have left.
I fucked up with him on an epic scale, and there’s no way I can fix it in a text. So I settle for something simple.
I need help. Can you come over? It won’t take long. Ten minutes.
For all I know, he’s working tonight and won’t get off until the bars close. Or he’s already asleep. But with the alarm blaring every five or six minutes, I only have two choices.
Turn the whole system off and watch the cameras all fucking night or leave it on, and enter my security code every time it goes off.
After I disable the sensors, I drag myself to the living room and lie down on the couch, phone in hand. If Graham does show up, hopefully I’ll be able to make it to the front door.
I’d kill for a cup of coffee, but every time I move, my back protests, so I try to relax and stare at the night vision images. Nothing moves for ten minutes until one of the neighborhood cats ambles by, and then it’s all quiet again.
Time ticks by in endless minutes that stretch out forever. Fifteen. Twenty. Graham’s not coming. He’s not even going to text me back. Clementine has settled at my feet, and she’s kneading like her life depends on it.
Sitting up takes me a full five minutes, but I only locked one of the deadbolts on the back door. Even with the bars on the first floor windows, the security doors, and the cameras, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Desperately and completely alone.
If I start some coffee, maybe I can give the batteries another go.
The doorbell rings before I can steel myself for the pain of standing, and I drop my phone. Then, forgetting just how fucked up I am, I try to reach for it and almost fall off the couch.
But at least I snag the hunk of glass and metal so I can check the camera.
He came. The sight of Graham, tense, shoulders hiked up, hands balled into fists, makes my breath catch in my throat, even as his name flies to my lips.
“Q? I’m here. Let me in.”
Even his voice is strained. Determination and raw need override my shaking muscles until I can flip all four locks and open the door.
His hand on my arm is like a lifeline, warm and gentle, yet so strong, I know he’d never let me fall. “What is it?”
I should tell him. But the only words I can force out?
“You came.”
His brows draw together. “Of course I came. I’m not a complete asshole. I was working. Had to get the manager to cover the rest of my shift. I should have texted you back, but as soon as I found him, I handed him my tip jar and...ran.”
He ran.I want to cry. Or throw my arms around him and tell him how long it’s been since anyone...cared. But that part of me died back in Dallas, and I can’t do anything but stare at this gorgeous, kind man who should have blocked me from ever contacting him again.
“Q? Talk to me.”
Words fail me, but I collapse against him, my arms winding around his waist, and he holds me. Just…holds me.
“Whatever it is…we can fix it.I’llfix it. If you let me.” His fingers thread through my hair, and for a moment, I feel safe. Protected. Not afraid. And I wish I could stay in his arms forever.
* * *
Graham
Q’s shaking, and I don’t understand why.
I need help.
In the twenty-three minutes between seeing his message and knocking on his door, I went through a hundred worst-case scenarios. He’d hurt himself somehow. Or he’d been attacked. A break-in. A fall. Tripping over his cat.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I say as I loosen my hold so I can meet his gaze.
He winces, pain etching deep lines at the corners of his mouth. “My alarm system…” Defeat mars his tone, and it makes my heart hurt. “The sensor on the back door…something’s wrong with it. I tried to replace the battery, but…” He stares down at his feet. “I fell, and I can’t…I can’t fix it by myself.”
