Later, after Elliot and Brody leave, I’m loading the dishwasher when the exhaustion finally catches up with me. The adrenaline that’s been carrying me through the day just... stops.
“Whoa,” Dex catches me as I sway. “When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee or wine?”
“Dinner, I think. Maybe.”
“You only picked at your dinner. Food first, then sleep.”
He makes me a sandwich—peanut butter and jelly because it’s apparently all my kitchen has to offer—and sits with me while I eat it.
“Thank you,” I say when I’m done. “For today. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” I meet his eyes. “You could have walked away. This morning, when Evan showed up, when you realized how complicated this was going to get. You could have decided it wasn’t worth it.”
“Never crossed my mind.”
“Not even for a second?”
“Not even for half a second.” He reaches across the table, takes my hand. “You’re stuck with me, Goldie. All of you.”
“Even when Blythe puts maple syrup on everything?”
“Especially then.”
I laugh, surprising myself. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Fair enough.”
We head upstairs, and for the second night in a row, Dex helps me get ready for bed like we’ve been doing this for years. There’s something comforting about the routine, the normalcy of it.
In bed, he pulls me against his chest, and I listen to his heartbeat until my breathing slows to match his.
“Dex?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared about the testimony. About what happens if this gets public.”
“We’ll handle it. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve seen what you’re capable of. You left an abusive marriage, rebuilt your life, raised two amazing kids, and today you decided to take on a corrupt system to protect other women. If that’s not superhero stuff, I don’t know what is.”
I want to argue, to point out all the ways I’ve failed or been weak or made mistakes. But I’m too tired, and his arms are too warm, and for once in my life, I decide to just accept the compliment.
“Goodnight, Dex.”
“Goodnight, Goldie.”
I drift off thinking that maybe, finally, the worst is behind us.
18
DEX
What wakesme is the smell of something burning downstairs and Blythe yelling about toaster rebellion at a volume that could wake the dead three states over.
