Before I can decide if I should laugh, we’re back on the fifth floor. Graham pauses before we go our separate ways. “You need anything, we’re right down the hall.”
“Thanks,” I say when he’s halfway to his door. “For earlier. Sirens…”
“You don’t need to explain. We’ve all been there.”
I find Hope at the breakfast counter with plates and two glasses of wine set out for us. The scent of the food seems to perk her up, and she puts away three slices of salami primo and a piece of cheesecake. In almost complete silence.
If only she’d talk to me.
Idiot. You’re not talking to her either.
What the fuck am I supposed to say? That one of Ry’s men had to rescue me from the lobby because of a stupid siren? That I hate putting Murphy on a leash to take him out for a walk even though he couldn’t care less?
Seattle hasn’t been my home in more than three years. Yet sitting in this luxury apartment with Hope, I feel equal parts unsettled and more at peace than I have since I left the SEALs.
“You want to watch TV, darlin’?” I ask when the food’s put away and the dishes are done. “Maybe a movie?”
Hope chews on her lip, her fingers stroking absently over Murphy’s head. “I guess?”
Sinking down next to her, I cup the back of her neck and wait for her to meet my gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what I want, Wyatt. What I like. It’s been so long since I could make any decisions for myself.”
Her eyes shimmer with tears. Dammit. I want to find this Simon bastard and peel the flesh from his bones an inch at a time. Tomorrow, when Ry gets his team together, I’m going to insist he let me be the one to put an end to Arrens.
“Darlin’, you can make all the decisions now. Here.” I pass her the remote. “See what’s on. If you watch five minutes of it and hate it, find something else.”
“But…what if you—”
“No.” Leaning closer, I brush my lips to hers. “You don’t worry about what I want.”
From the look on her face, she’s about to protest—again—but I shake my head. “I want you to relax. To enjoy something—anything—as much as you savored that bacon the other day. Or the pizza tonight.”
With a nod, Hope flips on the television. It’s a full ten minutes before she settles on a station—some superhero movie from a couple of years ago—but when she leans against me and winds her arms around my waist, a lump swells in my throat. I’m falling in love with this woman. Anything she wants, anything she needs…I’ll give her.
14
Wyatt
I’m up at first light, the soft-as-fuck sheets and duvet rustling as I ease Hope from my arms. Her sobs pulled me from a deep sleep sometime after midnight, but when I asked her to talk to me, she shook her head and claimed it was only a bad dream.
At least she let me hold her.
I didn’t fare much better. Even got up at 3:00 a.m. to go sit out on the balcony with Murphy. This part of the city’s quiet at night. Or maybe that’s the five stories between us and the street. I could barely hear the sirens.
Murph follows me out to the kitchen and sits patiently as I start a pot of coffee—the good stuff, thanks to West—and dump a couple of scoops of food into his bowl. But he ignores it and pads over to the front door.
Fuck. Poor guy isn’t used to being trapped indoors. “Five minutes, pal. Can’t let Hope think we disappeared on her. Get your leash.”
As soon as the coffee’s done, I fill two travel mugs—one for me and one to leave on the nightstand for Hope—and scribble a quick note on the back of the takeout receipt from last night.
Taking Murphy out for a walk. Back soon. Call me if you need anything.
Call. On this hunk of plastic and glass I didn’t ask for, but now don’t want to be without. I shove the phone into my back pocket and pat my belt.
Shit. I locked my pistol in the safe built into the bedroom closet, and it needs to stay there. Without a concealed carry permit, I can’t just walk down the street armed.
“You ready?” I ask, taking the leash from between Murphy’s jaws and clipping it to his collar. He’s so happy, his ass is wiggling. Either that or he really needs to take a piss.
