"I need to do something." She was looking for her boots now, scanning the dark floor, grateful for the task. Grateful for something to do with her hands and her eyes that wasn't thinking about her uncle's body on a slab. "I can't just sit here."
"Dove, stop."
She found one boot near the closet. Where the hell was the other one?
"Just stop for a second."
"I can't." She dropped to her knees, looking under the bed. There. The other boot, kicked halfway to the wall. She grabbed it, shoved her foot inside. "If I stop, I'll think, and if I think?—"
"Then think." Trent was beside her now, kneeling on the floor in the dark, his hands closing over hers. "Feel it. Let it hurt."
"I don’t want to.”
"You need to.”
"You don't understand." She tried to pull her hands free, but he held on. "I can't afford to fall apart. If I start, I won't stop. I know myself. I know how this goes. When my team died, I fell so far down that hole that I almost didn't climb back out. I can't do that again. I won't survive it."
"This is different."
"How?" The word came out sharp. Bitter. "How is this different? Someone I loved is dead. Someone I was supposed to protect?—"
"You weren't supposed to protect him. He was a U.S. Marshal. He knew the risks. He'd been doing this job since before you were born."
"And I should have seen this coming." She was shaking now, tremors running through her body that she couldn't control. “I should’ve known this wasn’t just a social visit. It didn’t add up. I should’ve pushed, but I didn’t, and now he's—" Her voice broke. Cracked right down the middle like ice too thin to hold weight.
She clamped her mouth shut, jaw tight, teeth grinding together so hard her head ached. The tears were there. They burned behind her eyes, pressing against her lids like water against a dam. But she wouldn't let them fall. Couldn't let them fall. Because if she started crying now, she'd never stop.
"Hey." Trent's hands released hers, and then his palms cupped her face, warm and rough, tilting her head up until she had no choice but to look at him.
His eyes were dark in the dim room, but she could see the pain in them. For her. With her. The kind of pain that came from watching someone you cared about suffer and not being able to fix it.
"Walking around not dealing with this doesn't make it go away," he said quietly. "Trust me. I know. I spent twenty years not dealing with my father's death, and all it did was turn me into someone I didn't like very much. Angry. Closed off. Pushing away anyone who tried to get close." His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, the touch unbearably gentle. "Don't do that to yourself. Don't do what I did."
"I don't know how to do anything else."
"Then let me help you." He pulled her forward, wrapped his arms around her, tucked her head under his chin. She heard his heartbeat, steady and strong. She could feel the warmth of him seeping into her cold skin. "You don't have to fall apart completely. You don't have to lose yourself. Just... let yourself feel it. For one minute. Let it be real."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to push him away and stand up and keep moving, keep doing, keep functioning like the good little soldier she'd trained herself to be.
But she was so tired.
Tired of being strong. Tired of holding everything together. Tired of pretending fine was even in her vocabulary.
She let out a breath.
And something cracked.
Not all the way. Not completely. But enough. Enough that she stopped fighting his embrace. Enough that she let her forehead drop against his chest. Enough that the tears she'd been holding back spilled over, hot and silent, soaking into his bare skin.
She didn't sob. Didn't make a sound. Just let the tears fall while Trent held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed flat against her back like he could hold her shattered pieces together through sheer force of will.
They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the darkness outside the window to soften, the first gray hints of dawn crept toward the horizon. Long enough for the tears to slow, then stop. Long enough for Dove to feel like maybe—maybe—she could breathe again.
Then she pulled back.
Wiped her face with the heels of her hands. "I have to go," she said. "I have to do this."
He studied her for a long moment. Whatever he saw in her face, he didn't argue.
