Chapter Nineteen
Eric
“He did what?” Eric asked.
He hadn’t minded getting rushed out of Bree’s apartment that morning. For the few hours he’d slept, Eric felt incredible. Rested. Peaceful. Bree’s early morning panic when she realized he was still there had been mostly adorable. He felt a twinge of regret that she felt anything besides the gratefulness he’d felt waking up beside her, but they’d regained so much ground in one night, he didn’t want to dwell on it.
He had texted Bree and asked her to come over after he was done work and she was finished at the Grey’s house. They were headed into the weekend, and he hadn’t wanted to let any grass grow beneath their feet in his plan to get her back and keep her.
She’d said yes; Tyson wasn’t working, and apparently he’d told her to take the day off so he could have some family time with his girls. Bree needed the break. She was a great friend, and she wouldn’t quit as long as Allison and her family needed her. But Bree was too soft-hearted to jo a job like that full-time. She took too much onto herself. Sometimes it helped. In situations like this, her compassion only served to burn herself out faster. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she needed a person looking out for her. The sooner he could prove that person was him, the happier they’d both be.
The night before had been a gentle exploration of finding their new footing. They’d brushed off a lot of the rust when they’d searched for the spots and responses they remembered. As they whispered back and forth the morning after, it seemed like Bree decided it would be a good time to fill Eric in on the latest weirdness in her life.
Bree shifted on his bed; the thin sheet sliding down her ribcage to stop in the small of her back. “He said I was a pretty little thing and you should be keeping a better eye on me.”
They were in his house this time. Honestly, he was a little surprised she’d shown. Last night had been unexpected, but he wouldn’t have given it up for the world. Bree back in his arms, giving him herself and her trust was all he’d thought about for the last year. Thankfully she’d come prepared. Her insistence on a condom was a shock. He hadn’t been with anyone since her. But that was her choice; Bree had every right and reason to protect herself. It was so fucking sweet to have even part of her back. The rest would come eventually.
“Did Forrester say why I shouldn’t let you out on your own?” The motherfucker had tracked her down again, although Bree was positive it was a coincidence. She thought bikers could like ice-cream as much as everybody else. Eric thought the timing was suspect as hell.
“Because I was pretty,” she repeated. “Really, that’s what he said. With me looking the way I did. Then he called me a pretty little thing. Marcus said you should be keeping a better eye on you.” She tugged at the sheet and the crumpled duvet at the foot of the bed. Eric traced the sheet’s path the entire way. “Are you even paying attention to me?”
“Absolutely.” He paid attention right up to when the last of her shoulders disappeared.
He didn’t see the slap on his arm coming.
“Why is Marcus commenting on how I look and why should you care about it?”
He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want to pull her into this dark part of his world again. She was the one who dragged him into the sunlight. But leaving her ignorant wasn’t doing her any favours. It could even take her way from him. Permanently. “You know I can’t comment on ongoing cases,” he said.
“But,” she prompted.
“But the news has been pretty accurate. They’ve reported four women killed. Long brown hair. Pretty brown eyes. Your height. Your build.” He spoke softly, punctuating each additional comment with a kiss on her shoulder, the back of her neck, her jaw. “But they haven’t announced the fifth woman yet. She looks the same as the others. Forrester was right. You need to be careful, and I should be keeping a better eye on you.”
He squeezed her against his chest. Bree had always hated hearing that she needed a man to take care of her. She’d heard it too often growing up. With a firefighter father and older brother, and a younger brother who was a cop, she’d been smothered since birth. Then Eric had entered the picture. Already a rookie, and terrified of the new darkness the job introduced him to, Eric had tried to wrap her in bubble-wrap too, but Bree would have none of it. He’d learned to grit his teeth and live with it.
This was different. Before he’d been paranoid of general bad guys. This time, he had a specific danger in mind. Unfortunately, he couldn’t describe it, so Bree couldn’t prepare for it, and he was back to general paranoia with an extra edge of helplessness. He squeezed tighter.
“I don’t need you to babysit me,” she protested.
“I know.” It was probably the best opening he was going to get to change the subject, so he jumped on it. “Speaking of people you don’t want as babysitters, I invited Adam over for lunch today. It’s supposed to be nice, so burgers and hotdogs on the barbecue?” he asked.
“That sounds okay.”
Okay, but not good. They still had work to do. Eric wasn’t going to tell her about Mackie and Dutch and Booker until they arrived. He didn’t want to give her a reason to run away. He didn’t worry about Booker; he’d been a patrolman when the whole situation went down. But the other two had their own apologies to make.
He came back from the bathroom to find Bree ransacking his bedroom. “I need a sweater. I’m cold,” she said.
Eric gently moved her out of the way and reached to the back of the shelf in his closet. His Winnipeg Jets sweatshirt was there. Bree had given it to him on the same Christmas he’d proposed. He’d worn it once before she claimed it as her own. He hadn’t been worn it since she left. He’d almost thrown it away. Now he was glad he hadn’t.
The morning wasn’t perfect. Bree stumbled around the unfamiliar set-up of his two-bedroom house. He hadn’t intended to buy a place on his own. The two of them had had plans for a big house and dog and a white picket fence with the idea of children down the road. However, after Bree was gone, Eric had jumped on the first property he could afford.
It wasn’t a bad house, but it was definitely a bachelor’s place. He had learned more about home repair in the last twelve months than he’d ever wanted to, but he’d be able to sell it at a profit when he decided it was time. Dancing around Bree in the postage stamp sized kitchen as they tried to prepare a meal moved up his timetable.
“How did you end up in Forrester’s basement?” he asked after she’d ordered him into the dining room.
“I needed a place quick after…” She shrugged. “The former tenants had been students who’d done a number on it. I got it cheap by agreeing to do some repairs and live through construction. The management company offered me a discount if I kept an eye on the kids upstairs.”
“Do you still want a house?”
