We stand in her kitchen like awkward teenagers, drinking coffee to fill the silence, until Wrecks barks from the living room—one sharp, demanding sound that has Clover sloshing coffee over the rim of her cup.
“He probably needs to go out,” she says, setting down her mug.
“Already? He was just outside.”
“Elle said he’s curious, and if you don’t let him explore, he gets…destructive.” She uses a paper towel to dry her hands. “I’ll take him.”
“I’m coming.” I take a moment to soften my demanding tone. “For security. In case?—”
“Security. Of course.” She’s already moving toward the door, so I can’t see her face, but her words are stilted, and I sigh in response.
She has Wrecks’s leash in hand before I even make it to the family room, but we step outside together, Wrecks dragging Clover down the porch steps. He’s too damn excitable. The dog is going to hurt her.
“He’s strong,” she chuckles, bracing herself with all her weight against the force of his forward motion.
“Here.” I take the leash from her, our fingers brushing for half a second, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end.
What the fuck was that?
“I’ve got him.” My voice is thick, but not with tension. No, I don’t know how to describe the assault happening inside me from a single touch.
The warm, fuzzy feeling vanishes when the same dark sedan from last night rolls down the street. It’s going too slowly to be a casual drive-by, and I drift my free hand toward my holster.
Luckily, Clover doesn’t notice. She’s busy watching Wrecks investigate a neighborhood free library box as though it holds all the secrets of the universe, but I clock the plate and don’t take my eyes off the car until it rounds the corner.
As soon as it’s out of sight, I loosen my grip on Wrecks’s leash and force my biceps to unlock.
Wrecks takes his sweet-ass time walking us through the neighborhood. He sniffs everything, while marking every tree, mailbox, and decorative lawn gnome in a three-block radius with a single drop of piss.
Why won’t he just let that fucking stream go?
Clover walks beside me, wrapped in a cardigan despite the early fall heat wave, her brow furrowed as though she’s lost in thought, mumbling numbers on repeat.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Yes.” The word is barely above a whisper again.
“The counting. Does it help you?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “It’s—” Sadness clouds her eyes before she looks away. “It’s something you taught me.”
My steps falter. “Me?”
She nods, biting her lip so hard the skin turns white around her teeth.
“When I was…” She pauses and taps her chin again. “I don’t even know. Twelve?” She takes a step, and I follow on autopilot. “You taught me to count to five because I can survive anything for five seconds.”
A new vision attempts to surface, and I nearly stumble over a crack in the pavement.
Little Clover, locked in a dark room, teeth chattering as she tried to whisper. Tiny fingers slide beneath the door, and I wrap them in mine. They’re ice-cold. I can’t warm hers fast enough.
“Valen?” She steps in front of me, clutching my biceps and forcing me to focus on her face. “Are you okay? W-what happened?” Her gaze darts to every tree, every car. Fear is alive and festering inside her.
Her reaction snaps me out of the vision—a memory I, for once, wish I could forget again.
“They…” My voice breaks. I hate the weakness. I will be strong for this woman. “You always wore white. And if you got in trouble…”
Her throat works as though she’s choking on air. Then she releases me, grabs Wrecks’s leash, and moves forward at a much faster pace.
