Annika moved closer to the edge of the bed where he stood. “What happened, Daniel?” Her voice was calm, but her eyes shone with concern.
“About a year after the incident, Gus and I, we spoke out. Did a few interviews, called for gun control. We called for waiting periods, background checks. We also called for better mental health care.” He swallowed at the memory. “I was still drinking, but telling the story, speaking out and trying to change things, made me feel like I wasdoingsomething.” There had been a light, showing him a path out of grief. It was only a pinprick of light, but it was something.
“Then Sheila got a call.” He fisted his hands. “Some asshole had the balls to call our home and accuse us—” A lump of anger in his throat stopped him.
“Accused you? What could someone possibly accuse you of?”
Daniel found his voice, though it burned with anger. “They accused us of making the whole thing up just so we could come out against guns.”
When Sheila, shaking from head to toe, had told him, he’d punched a hole in the kitchen wall. Sheila had taken to her bed again, and whatever small pinprick of light Daniel had seen was snuffed away, his world even darker, if possible, than before.
“Theywhat?” Annika nearly shrieked. “Daniel, that’s unforgivable. What did you do?”
He shrugged and flexed his fingers as if he could still feel the bruising from punching that wall. “What could I do? I stopped. I stopped everything. I went to work, tried to take care of Sheila.”
Annika laid her hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
His heart calmed at her touch, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I just couldn’t risk it again.”
Annika wrapped her arms around him from behind and held him, and gratefully, he sank into her embrace, taking whatever she had to give. And what she had to give was everything. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so loved.
When they finally got out of bed, Daniel poured them each a glass of wine and set about making final prep for dinner. “So.”
“So what?” Annika wandered around his small living room area, looking at photos and such. Daniel suddenly wished he had more than textbooks and a few family photos out to show for his life.
She was dressed simply, and she looked tantalizing. She’d had on her own blouse, but when she dressed, she’d grabbed his shirt before he had and put it on. It was sexier than hell, but his focus was shot.
“How was the meeting?”
She walked back to the kitchen, which was tiny, but it had a small breakfast bar open to the living area. She sat on a stool and sipped her wine.
“I mentioned to Mitch’s mother that I thought he was suffering from what is known as selective mutism. It’s a form of anxiety. Children are fine talking at home with their families where they feel safe, but once they get outside of their comfort zone, they freeze.”
“Only the mother? The dad didn’t come?”
Annika shook her head.
Daniel sighed, disgusted. “Un-fucking-believable. What kind of father can’t even come to listen to you help his son?”
“Daniel. Not the point. The mom came, and at first she was reluctant to believe me, but I think I offered enough information for her to at least get him evaluated.”
“Hmm.” Daniel put aside his disdain for the father and clinked his glass with hers, his grin proud. “Nicely done.”
Annika beamed. “You okay with that wine?”
Daniel nodded. “Just the one glass.”
Annika hopped off the stool and went back to exploring Daniel’s bookshelves. Daniel put the finishing touches on the salad while the chicken cooked.
“Oh! What’s this?”
“What’s wh—” Daniel froze as he looked at what Annika was holding up. She was holding one of his textbooks—and a small red paper heart. He felt the blood drain from his head and leaned against the counter. Annika was by his side in an instant.
“Daniel?”
Daniel hung his head for a moment to gather himself. Tears burned in his eyes when he finally looked up at her. “Well... Sara. Sara would cut out and leave those hearts everywhere.” He shook his head.
“Why?”
