Chapter 28
He hated that they paid him to clean up their messes. He didn’t know what this poor fucker had done—or not done—to get offed by the Delorios, but it didn’t matter now.
I was shocked at how easily I could still shut it off. At how I was able to keep functioning despite my heart being broken.
I looked up at Detective Maza. “The victim was killed by the Delorios,” I told him, my voice flat and emotionless. “The thoughts came from someone they hired to dispose of the body.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Rayn. You’ll testify to this?”
I jerked my head in a single nod. “Of course, if you need me to.” I didn’t want to, but if that’s what was required, I would do it.
Maza shook my hand, then left, pulling the oil drum on its small cart with him.
I went back to my desk and stared blankly at the computer screen, unable to do anything that someone didn’t directly tell me to do.
I thought I’d understood what it meant to feel hopeless.
I mean—I did. I’d spent fourteen years in an asylum with no expectation of ever leaving it. But now I’d made the awful discovery that hopelessness after hope was far worse.
I’d had Raj. Someone who cared about me. Taken care of me.
And now I didn’t.
As wasteful as it was, I’d thrown out dinner after he left. I couldn’t bear to even think about eating it—definitely not right then, and not ever. I’d scrubbed the kitchen and lit candles I wasn’t supposed to have in the apartment to burn the smell of it out of the air.
Because I hadn’t meant to break up with him when I’d asked him to come over.
But then I had.
Maybe it was because I didn’t love him, although I was pretty sure I did. Maybe I just didn’t love him enough. Maybe I couldn’t ever love anyone, not really. Because I wasn’t willing to give up myself for them. For him.
I wanted him to love me for me. To believe in me. To trust me.
And now I was sitting at work, almost three weeks later, my whole body still screaming from the inside.
I had no idea how I was going to handle this.
I’d worn my gloves to work for the last three weeks because I was certain that I was too raw on the inside to even think about concentrating on not triggering other people’s thoughts. Except, somehow, I still had the ability to keep them from overwhelming me.
When Detective Maza had shown up hauling the barrel on his cart, I’d let him in, listened to what he needed, then stripped off one of the gloves, swallowing and steeling the spine I didn’t have to run my fingers over the rusty metal of the barrel.
And now that he was gone, I was desperately trying to resist the urge to go scrub my hands until they were red and raw.
It wouldn’t do any good, because I couldn’t scrub away myself.
I was the last one in the office—Ward and Mason had left around four, Beck not long after, and Violette wasn’t here, either.
I barely managed to look up when the bell on the door rang.
And then I froze.
Raj looked as bad as I felt.
He wasn’t wearing work clothes, even though it was a day he usually worked. Instead, he had on jeans, an unzipped navy blue hoodie, and a grey t-shirt with a Johns Hopkins logo on it, faded and soft-looking.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly.
I nodded. “I’ll lock up,” I said, then went through the process on autopilot, my whole body vibrating. I wanted to throw myself at him. To kiss him. I wanted him to hold me and tell me he’d never let me go.
But I needed him to trust me.
He waited, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, eyes tracking my movements as I shut things down, closed doors, locked the back, and came back to the front.
I pulled on my fleece jacket, punched the alarm code in beside the door, waited for him to walk out, then followed him, making sure the door was locked behind us.
“Can we—go somewhere?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, then began walking home. I didn’t want to have the kind of conversation this might become anywhere public.
He followed me, but hesitated at the door to my building. “Are you sure?”
I looked up at him. “Do you not want to come up?” I asked him.
“I—” He stopped, and I watched him swallow, clearly deciding something. “It’s fine,” he replied.
I took the stairs, and he followed, his feet quieter and breath more steady than mine. Like always. I paused a moment as I unlocked the door to catch my breath, then led the way inside.
I heard him close the door behind him as I took off my fleece, hung it up, then kicked off my shoes. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked him. “Tea? Water?”
“No—Rayn, I—”
I turned to look at him, hands clasped in front of me to keep them from shaking.
He took a deep breath. “You were right,” he said softly. “I wasn’t trusting you. And I should have.”
I studied his features, his cheeks a little hollow, dark golden eyes downcast and sadder than I’d ever seen them, making my chest ache. I didn’t know what to say, so I remained quiet.
“I—I went back over the reports from the warehouse,” he said softly. “And the Garraway case. And then back to the original Tranquil Brook files that Hart got me from the RPD.”
I waited.
He drew in a long breath. “Can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“How did you survive?”
“Survive what?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t been anticipating any question in particular, but I really hadn’t expected that one.
“Any of it,” he whispered. “You were beaten, starved, drugged, had your magic stripped, contracted Arcana… And then a few months ago you were kidnapped, drugged again, had your magic drained again, and then got fucking thrown in a well, and still—” His voice broke.
“And then the warehouse.” He shook his head.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I was so afraid. So worried. I just didn’t think. ”
I still wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say, so I stayed silent.
“I let my worries take over, and I didn’t see how much strength you have.
How much power. How much ability.” He raised that golden-brown gaze and stared into my eyes, his own somehow impossibly deep.
“I’m still terrified,” he whispered. “Because I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.
But what you’re capable of…” He trailed off.
Took a hesitant step towards me. “I’m in awe. ”
I swallowed, struggling to keep myself under control.
“I’m still going to worry,” he said softly.
“And, if I’m honest, I’m going to worry whether you’re willing to give me another chance or not.
Because I do love you, and that’s not going to stop just because I’m fucking stupid enough to have ruined this.
” He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath.
“I don’t expect you to give me another chance.
At least not now, because I—I really fucked up.
But I needed you to know. That I know I was wrong.
I was selfish and overprotective… and I’m sorry.
” He nodded once, eyes on the floor. “So, thank you for listening.”
And then he turned.
“Raj.” I don’t remember deciding to say his name.
He froze, far more still than I could ever have been.
“Stay,” I whispered.
Only a shifter could have heard me.
And he did.
I barely had time to blink before I was in his arms, his lips on mine, my body melting into the heat of his. Then he pulled back, his expression chagrined. “I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t say—”
I grabbed his face with both hands, awkward as that was with my cast, and kissed him back, and those big, warm hands wrapped around me, pulling me against him.
He pulled back again. “Rayn,” he whispered, nuzzling against my neck. “Jaanu.”
“What does that mean?” I asked him, breathless. He pulled back, looking at me.
His lips twitched. “My love,” he replied, his voice soft and low. He ran his fingers around the edge of my face, brushing back locks of hair, touching my features as though trying to reassure himself that I was real. “I—are you willing to give me another chance?”
I nodded.
He pulled me close, burying his face in the side of my neck, breathing deeply. “I promise,” he murmured into my skin. “I trust you. I believe in you. I love you.”
I rested my cheek against his soft hair, wanting so desperately to believe him. “I love you,” I whispered back, my arms around his shoulders.
This time, I wasn’t going to let go.