I woke to the sound of retching.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming—some nightmare flashback to basic training or that bar in Kandahar—but then Danny’s weight disappeared from the bed, and the bathroom door slammed shut. I was on my feet before my brain caught up, heart hammering against my ribs.
The bathroom light was on, harsh and sudden after the darkness. Danny was on his knees in front of the toilet, one hand braced on the seat, the other clutching his stomach. He looked up when I appeared in the doorway, face pale and sweaty.
“Go back to bed,” he said, voice thin. “I’m fine.”
I crossed to him in two strides, kneeling beside him. “Like hell you are.” I reached for him, then stopped, not sure if touch would make it worse. “What happened? Was it something you ate?”
He shook his head, then gagged again, nothing coming up but a thin strand of bile. I flushed the toilet and grabbed a washcloth from the rack, running it under cold water before pressing it to the back of his neck.
He sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Must’ve been the pizza. Or maybe I’m just...I don’t know. Stressed?”
I helped him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. In the fluorescent light, he looked ghostly—skin almost translucent, dark circles under his eyes. I guided him to the sink, handed him a cup of water to rinse his mouth.
“You’re burning up,” I said, pressing my palm to his forehead.
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. Just need to sleep it off.”
I wasn’t convinced, but he was already heading back to bed, moving carefully like he was afraid his body might betray him again. I followed, switching off the light behind us.
The bedroom was bathed in moonlight now, silver pouring through the window to pool on the floor. It caught the angles of Danny‘s face as he settled back against the pillows—the sharp line of his jaw, the shadow under his cheekbone. He looked exhausted, but also weirdly peaceful, like the sickness had washed something away.
I climbed in beside him, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “You sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, eyes already drifting shut. “Just tired. And embarrassed.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Happens to the best of us.”
He made a noise that might have been agreement, then turned into my side, head finding the hollow of my shoulder like it had been made to fit there. I wrapped an arm around him, careful not to squeeze too tight.
“Get some sleep,” I murmured. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
He was already half-gone, body heavy against mine. “Love you,” he mumbled, the words slurring together.
My heart stuttered. He’d never said it before—not out loud, not like that. I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, too afraid to say it back in case he didn’t remember in the morning.
“Sleep,” I said instead. “I’ve got you.”
He nodded, a sleepy sound of contentment escaping him. I lay awake long after his breathing evened out, counting each rise and fall of his chest, making silent promises to the darkness.
Whatever came next, we’d face it together. I’d make sure of it.
* * * *
“I don’t care what it takes,” I said into the phone, voice low and tight. “That bastard isn’t getting anywhere near him again.”
Rawley’s voice rumbled through the receiver, all business and no bullshit. I paced the length of the kitchen, one hand braced against the countertop like it was the only thing keeping me upright. The bail hearing was set for tomorrow, and the knot in my stomach had been growing since breakfast.
“Calloway’s on our side,” Rawley was saying. “Says the DA’s pushing for no bail, but Jenkins has that cousin on the bench, so...”
“So we need a backup plan,” I finished. “What about that PI you used in Missoula? The one who found Jojo’s birth certificate?”
“Already called her. She’s digging into Dennis’s finances, seeing if we can find anything that’ll keep him locked up longer.”
I nodded, even though Rawley couldn’t see it. “Good. And the restraining order?”
“Filed and served. He so much as texts Danny, he’s back in jail.”
