“Ace. That’s not what I meant.” Contrition laces his voice. “Of course it’s not your fault. I’m just saying that I know what it’s like. Feeling like—well. It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business, what’s going on with you and Yara.”
Webb picks up his gun case and turns to leave. “Just let me know if you need anything. That’s all. You or Yara.”
The guilt presses down even harder. “Webb.” He stops halfway to the door. “I’m sorry,” I add. “I know you were just concerned.”
He regards me for a moment before nodding. “I know I wasn’t on your team before. But?—”
“It’s not that.” We all came from different teams—Rafe and Indy on one GB team, Tyler another, and Webb was a Night Stalker—but in the years we’ve been together on the Shadow Team, I’ve grown to see them not just as teammates, but family. “It’s just… I’m worried about her. That’s all.”
Well, it’s notall. But it’s true.
“I get it,” Webb replies. He closes the distance between us and claps me on the shoulder. “You feel like sparring sometime, let me know. Or we can go for a hike. Sometimes that helps.”
“Thanks.” I lift my chin. “I may take you up on that.”
* * *
By the timeI get back to my apartment, I’m feeling more in control again.
Maybe it’s the endorphins, lifting my mood.
Maybe it was the scalding hot shower I took in the gym, loosening my muscles.
Maybe it was the brief talk I had with Webb, reminding me I’m not alone in this.
Or maybe it was the photo Yara sent me just before I hopped in the shower, of her wearing theBattleBotsshirt I gave her. In the picture, the bruises on her face are still evident, now turning a mottled bluish-purple edged with green. But she was smiling. Her eyes didn’t look haunted. I might even dare think she looked happy.
I love it,she texted along with it.Now we need to get you one to match.
She added a little winking emoji to let me know she was joking, but I have to admit, I’m thinking about it. Not to wear in public, but I could see wearing matchingBattleBotsT-shirts while we’re hanging out in the evening.
Could I have ever imagined myself buying the same shirt as my girlfriend? Not just buying it, but wearing it at the same time as her? And not doing it out of obligation, but because I want to?
Nope.
But here I am, thinking about it.
As I head up the stairs that lead to the third floor, my thoughts work around to something else surprising.
Calling Yara my girlfriend.
At first, it slipped out in the heat of the moment. I didn’t even think about it. I was just so fucking angry at Kellogg, and he was hurting Yara?—
My hands tighten into fists.
The anxiety that receded slightly between the gym and here comes surging forward again.
Calm down,I remind myself sternly. Getting all worked up isn’t going to help anything. It sure as fuck won’t turn back the clock so Yara never got hurt. It won’t make her feel safe if I come storming into the apartment with a scowl on my face.
I take several deep breaths and exhale them slowly, breathing from my diaphragm. I unclench my fingers. I roll my neck and shake out my shoulders.
Then I continue on my way, taking the last steps two at a time. The closer I get to Yara, the more my anticipation builds. Not just because I want visual verification that she’s okay, although I do—the photo she sent was nice, but not the same as seeing her in person—but because I miss her.
A quick laugh slips out, incongruous to my earlier mood. Just like the T-shirts, I never would have imagined missing a woman after being away from her for less than two hours. But here I am, eagerly rushing to her like we’ve been apart for weeks or months instead.
But I never had a woman I cared about this much before, aside from family. I’ve dated, of course, but there was always a reason to keep things casual—the demands and dangers of my job, for one, and the simple fact that I never found anyone who interested me enough to want a commitment.
Now?
