Chapter 19 Raelynn
NINETEEN
RAELYNN
The shrill blare of my phone alarm drags me out of sleep in a panic.
My body jolts upright, lungs clamped tight, heart jackhammering against my ribs as if it’s trying to escape.
I fumble blindly across the nightstand, knocking into a water glass I forgot existed, and the edge of a book, before my hand finally smacks down on the glowing screen.
The sound dies, leaving the room in a heavy, aching silence broken only by my ragged breaths.
For a moment, I just sit there, blinking into the washed-out gray of early morning pressing through the blinds.
Thin streaks of light cut across the room, painting everything in pale, cold stripes.
My brain claws for purchase, scrabbling to stitch together where I am, why I feel so wrong, so hollow.
Max is curled against me, his solid weight stretched across my thigh, his body warm, breaths slow and steady.
My hand finds his fur, fingers sinking into the softness automatically, clinging to the anchor of him.
Last night comes back in fragments. I remember making popcorn. The opening credits of The Rookie flickering across the TV. Max’s sudden barking at the sharp knock at the door—loud, frantic, insistent. And then—
It hits me.
Like a freight train at full speed, slamming into me with the force to shatter bone.
Khloe.
Her name detonates inside me, ripping me apart from the inside out.
The air leaves my lungs in a broken rush, a sound tearing loose from my chest that doesn’t even feel human.
Emilio’s voice echoes in my head, replaying itself mercilessly: low, heavy, cracked around the edges.
His words last night weren’t just words—they were claws.
The memory of my scream, of collapsing into him, of his arms locking around me because the floor couldn’t hold me—it all crashes back in suffocating waves.
A sob bursts out of me, raw and jagged. My hands fly to my face, and hot tears spill fast and relentless through the cracks of my fingers. My body shakes so violently that it feels like I might splinter apart.
“Emilio?” The name slips out, splintered and desperate, almost a plea. My voice is hoarse, shredded by grief. Panic lances through me when the silence answers back. Louder this time, my chest heaving, I cry out again. “Emilio!”
Max whines, lifting his head, nudging insistently at my side, sensing the panic ripping me apart.
His warm body leans harder into mine, a steady weight trying to tether me, but the storm raging inside me is too wild that I barely notice my bedroom door flying open, the knob cracking hard against the wall when it makes contact.
“Rae?” His voice cuts sharply through the air—urgent, frantic, but laced with softness when his eyes land on me.
Emilio is there in an instant, filling the doorway, then crossing the room in three long strides.
His presence changes the air itself. Those golden brown eyes lock on me—shaking, broken, clinging to scraps—and soften with something so achingly tender it nearly undoes me.
The mattress dips under his weight as he sits beside me. His arms wrap around me before I even realize my body has moved toward him. I collapse into his chest, burying my face in the solid heat of him, my fists twisting in the collar of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from drowning.
“I thought you left,” I choke out, the words muffled against his shoulder, my entire frame trembling like a leaf trapped in a storm.
“Baby.” The word falls from him like a vow, his lips brushing the crown of my head.
His voice is steady, warm, the kind of surety I don’t have in me.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I just went to make you coffee and breakfast.” His arms tighten, pulling me closer, as if he could shield me from the world outside these walls.
His heat seeps into me, a lifeline in the cold wreckage of grief.
The sobs still come, but they soften, losing their jagged edge. It’s like he’s siphoning the worst of them from me just by holding me. My lashes lift, blurred with tears, and I catch his face close to mine—jaw flexing, expression carved with guilt and tenderness all at once.
“Baby?” I whisper the word trembling on my tongue, like I’m testing it, unsure if it’s real.
His jaw flexes, guilt flickering across his face. “Sorry—it just slipped. I won’t—”
“Don’t be sorry.” I shake my head quickly, swallowing hard, fighting through the thickness in my throat. “I… I like it.”
Something flickers in his eyes then, like a storm cloud breaking just enough to let sunlight pierce through.
He cups my face in his calloused hands, his palms warm, his thumbs brushing away the hot tracks of tears on my cheeks.
The smallest chuckle escapes him, rough but real, and it tugs one out of me too, weak and tinged with sorrow, but there all the same.
“Does that make us official then?” he teases gently, trying to lighten the ache hanging between us.
My chest aches, my grief still raw and jagged, but the thought of him wanting me—claiming me—plants something small and steady in the wreckage. “Yes,” I whisper, the word trembling but certain.
His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is desperate, clinging, soaked in salt from my tears.
His warmth presses into me like he’s stitching me together with every movement.
For a moment, there is no storm, no death, no weight of the world.
There’s only him, and me, and the fragile spark of light between us.
When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “I’m going to finish making your breakfast, okay?” he whispers, easing me gently back against the pillows.
I nod, words lodged in my throat. My chest still feels like it’s caving in, but at least now, there’s his warmth in the cracks.
When he leaves the room, the scent of bacon and coffee drifts in from the kitchen.
It’s so ordinary, so achingly normal, it almost feels cruel.
I force myself to reach for my phone, notifications crowding the screen—Discord, Instagram, Facebook—all buzzing with noise I can’t face.
I swipe them away until only one thing matters: Sergeant Rodriguez’s number.
It only rings twice. “Rodriguez here.”
“Hi, ma’am, it’s um Rae—Raelynn Carson.” My voice trembles, but I force it steady. “I just… I’m calling to let you know I can’t make it in today.”
There’s a pause, then her tone softens, all business stripped away. “I figured as much. Officer Perez called me earlier and explained. I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Carson. Take all the time you need.”
Of course he called to let her know. She was his boss after all. I’m just grateful he saved me from having to explain my situation because I wasn’t sure how I was going to accomplish that.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I hang up and set the phone aside, dragging myself from the bed.
Max hops down with me, sticking to my heels.
At the end of the hall, the kitchen glows with soft yellow light, Emilio’s silhouette moving over the stove as bacon hisses in the pan.
The smell of coffee curls through the air, almost mocking in its comfort.
I turn away, my feet carrying me to the opposite end of the hall. I lift my hand, knuckles brushing against Tessa’s door in a soft knock.
“Come in.” Her voice is quiet, weak.
I crack the door open, peeking in. She’s curled on her side, cocooned in her comforter, her phone tossed carelessly beside her. Her eyes are swollen, rimmed red, the kind that tell me she didn’t sleep at all.
“I texted Marlena,” she whispers hoarsely. “Told her to come over. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”
“Good.” My voice softens as I step inside. “She needs to know, too.”
Tessa pushes herself up slowly, hair tangled around her face. Tears brim again, spilling over as she chokes on the words. “It doesn’t feel real. I—I texted her, like I always do, and then I remembered—” Her voice cracks, shattering, and her hands press hard against her face.
I climb onto the bed beside her, wrapping her into me before she can collapse entirely. “I know,” I whisper, my own voice splintering. “I know.”
The grief rips through us both, and we sob together. The sound is unholy, raw, filling the small room until it feels like it might burst apart. When her sobs taper to shudders, she pulls back, wiping her swollen face with trembling hands.
“Is Emilio still here?” she asks quietly.
I nod. “He’s in the kitchen making us breakfast.”
Her lips twitch into the faintest ghost of a smile. “That’s… sweet of him.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, before sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, hesitation buzzing in my chest. “I know this isn’t the best timing and all.” I dig my teeth into my lip as she looks at me with confusion. She gives me a signal to continue, and I release a breath. “We, um… we made it official.”
Her brows lift, and a smile stretches across her face, the grief in her eyes softening just a fraction. “Well, it’s about damn time. Ever since Friday night, he’s all you’ve been able to think about.”
I manage a weak laugh, shaking my head. “That is so not true.”
“Is too,” she argues softly, a smirk ghosting across her lips. “Just… do me a favor. If you two decide to fuck, put a sock on the door or something so I know to drown you out. I’m too sad to be horny and get off to you two.”
“Tessa!” I gasp, startled into laughter, even through tears.
“What?” she shrugs. “Sad fucking exists, Rae. It’s right up there with hate fucking—it’s distraction 101.”
I press my hands to my face, still laughing weakly. “I know that,” I say. “I just wasn’t thinking about that.”
She smirks faintly. “Well, now you are.”
I roll my eyes, sliding off the bed with a soft shake of my head. “I’m gonna go check on breakfast. You coming?”
“I will in a little bit. Just save me a plate.”
I nod and kiss the top of her head before sliding off the bed. “You got it.”