Chapter Fourteen—Dalen #2
Her gaze drops to her hands. “I was scared in my own house, and the person I trusted most started watching me. You’d ask if I’d slept.
You’d ask whether I’d eaten. You’d look at me when I forgot a word or lost my train of thought.
Then I found out you were talking to my sister and a doctor about me without telling me. ”
“Petrov didn’t diagnose you.”
Julie looks at me.
The defense came out before I could stop it. I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“I know.”
She makes a frustrated sound.
“Sorry.” I press my palms against my thighs. “I’m listening.”
Julie waits a moment before she continues. “I know why you called him. I know why you talked to Meg. I know why every single choice probably made sense to you while you were making it.”
I look at her.
“That doesn’t make it better.” Her eyes fill, but her voice stays steady. “I know why. That’s the problem, Dalen. I understand every decision you made. I still had to live through them.”
There is nothing I can say to that without trying to make myself feel better, so I don’t.
Julie wipes beneath one eye and gives a small, irritated sniff. “I hate crying in hospitals.”
I reach automatically for the tissue box on the tray, then stop with my hand halfway there.
She notices.
“Can I give you a tissue?”
A broken laugh escapes her. “Yes.”
I take one and hold it out. Julie reaches for it, but our fingers don’t touch.
She wipes her face. “This is ridiculous.”
She blows her nose and drops the tissue into the little trash can beside the bed. “The knife was when I knew.”
I don’t have to ask which knife.
Julie looks at me directly. “You moved it away from me.”
“Yes.”
“You were afraid I might hurt you.”
“No.”
Her expression closes.
I hear myself and correct it before she has to. “I was afraid for half a second.”
Julie doesn’t move.
The admission has lived inside me since Sunday. I kept dressing it up as caution, uncertainty, or instinct. None of those words change what my hand did.
“I didn’t think you were going to stab me,” I say. “I didn’t believe you were dangerous. For half a second, I looked at that knife and wondered whether I should leave it there.”
Her eyes close.
I want to take it back. I want to tell her the thought meant nothing because it lasted less than a breath. I want to explain that Meg had spent days feeding me fear, I hadn’t slept, and Petrov had warned me against exactly what I was doing, but I did it anyway.
Every explanation would make this worse.
Julie opens her eyes. “That was when I knew I wasn’t safe with you.”
The words hurt enough that I have to look down.
She continues before I can respond. “I don’t mean physically. I knew you weren’t going to hurt me. I knew you loved me. That’s what made it worse. You loved me, and I still couldn’t trust you with my reality.”
My throat tightens. “Julie...”
“I called you from that house because I was terrified.” Her voice breaks. “I heard somebody downstairs, and I wanted my husband. You asked me if I was sure.”
I grip my knees.
“I was alone. You were in Chicago. I didn’t need you to solve it. I needed you to stay with me in it.”
“I should have.”
She shakes her head, and I stop.
“I can’t keep telling you what you should’ve done. It’s over. You did it.”
The nurse returns with medication and a small cup of water. Julie takes both without looking at me this time. I keep my attention on the floor until the nurse leaves.
A few minutes pass before Julie settles deeper into the pillows. Exhaustion is showing now that the adrenaline and anger are fading. Her eyelids lower, then open again. “You should go home.”
I look at her. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
Everything in me resists. I want to stay in the chair or sleep in the hallway if she won’t let me stay here. I want to call the hospital administrator and make sure nobody gets near her without three forms of identification. I want to put security outside her door and another officer inside it.
Instead, I stand. “If that’s what you want.”
Julie blinks at me.
I pick up my jacket from the back of the chair. “Do you want me to call anyone before I leave?”
She shakes her head. “Mara knows I’m here. I’ll call Laurent when my head stops throbbing.”
I nod and start toward the door.
“Dalen?”
I turn, holding my breath as hope sparks. Maybe she’s changed her mind and is letting me stay.
Julie is watching me with an expression I can’t read. “Meg asked me if I’d let them arrest her.”
I wait.
“For a second, I almost tried to fix it.” She looks down at the blanket. “After everything she’d done, I still had that thought. She’s my sister, and I’ve spent so long taking care of her that I almost stepped right back into it.”
I understand why she’s telling me.
Maybe.
I don’t trust myself enough to assume. “What do you want me to say?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Nothing. I just wanted you to know I understand the urge to fix things for people we love.”
“I...sleep well.” I leave.
The hallway outside her room is bright and busy, full of people who don’t know that my marriage came apart because I kept treating uncertainty as something I had to defeat.
I make it halfway to the elevators before I see Calla sitting in one of the waiting-area chairs with my phone charger wrapped around her hand.
She stands. “How is she?”
“Concussion. Sprained knee. Bruised ribs and shoulder. They’re keeping her overnight.”
Calla studies me. “How are you?”
I almost tell her I’m fine because that’s what people say in hospital hallways. “Bad.”
She nods. “Your car is downstairs.”
I take the charger when she offers it. “Thank you.”
“Do you need me tomorrow?”
The answer is automatic. I need her to clear my schedule, contact counsel, get copies of the police report, find out what hospital Meg is in, make sure Julie’s credit is protected, and coordinate whatever happens next.
I hear Julie telling me she needed one thing in her life I didn’t take over.
“No.”
Calla raises her eyebrows.
“I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“All right.” She reaches for her bag. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
I think about saying yes simply because I don’t want to be alone. “No. Thank you.”
Calla leaves me beside the elevators.
My phone rings before the doors arrive. A number I don’t recognize fills the screen, and when I answer, a man identifies himself as Detective Feno. He wants to arrange a time tomorrow to finish taking my statement and asks whether Julie has an attorney.
“I don’t know.”
There’s a pause. “Would you like me to give you the number for victim services?”
Every instinct I have reaches for the problem. Attorney. Security. Credit. Hospital. Meg. I could have all of it moving before Julie wakes up.
I look back toward the hallway leading to her room. “Yes,” I say. “Give me the number.”
I save it when he does, planning to offer it only if she asks. I won’t present it as a solution.
I put the phone in my pocket and head downstairs to find the hired car Calla arranged. I’ve been going home alone for days, but tonight is so much worse. I don’t even know if she’ll give me another chance.
I wince at the phrasing. Even in my head, I’m framing reconciliation as something to fix. Try is the only word I have left, and I don’t know if she’ll agree to it.