15. Sterling
15
STERLING
S loane has been slowly spiraling, and I can tell she already feels out of control, but the look she shot me when her daughter asked for me to hold her, when I paid for dinner… it means she’s not going to like how tonight is going to end because as much as she doesn’t want us watching her, she’s got no choice in the matter now.
Not with someone breaking into her home.
She trembles, tightly grasping onto her control, but it’s a losing battle. She needs to find a release before she can’t hold it in anymore.
I squeeze her shoulders, rocking her gently back and forth until she leans back with a little bit of trust. She’s warm against my chest, even as she tries to maintain her rigid distance.
My mouth is near her ear, talking to her softly like I did to Reese. “You’re alright.”
Her breath is shaky as she sucks it in and nods.
“Let’s make dinner as normal as possible and get your daughter to sleep so we can figure this out.”
My maintained calm is seeping into her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to be strong for someone like this. For a woman who doesn’t seem to want or need to borrow strength from anyone else.
I’m selfish, and I soak in our contact for the few seconds we’re allowed.
I’ve not wanted to comfort a woman in years. Not wanted a woman in my arms for so long—not beyond the mere physical needs that can only be ignored for a time, and certainly not while she’s ready to break down crying.
Crying women usually send me running in no time. But Sloane is different. She’s not seeking out something I can’t give her.
Something I might want to give her.
Sloane nods again, standing a little taller and wiping her face with her hands, and smooths her hair before she turns.
That fierce look she gave me the first time I met her is back, if a little more haunted.
I want to make that go away. To help her find peace.
My hands clench with the urge to tuck her hair back from her face, to touch her more than I’ve been permitted.
“Where are your plates, utensils?”
She points. The plates are already on the counter, the utensils in the drawer behind her.
“Why don’t I set the table, and you go clean off the bed?”
Sloane doesn’t hesitate, slipping silently into her bedroom as I set the small card table by the window for three, although she only has two chairs. I can easily stand and eat. I’ve done it plenty before.
It only takes Sloane a minute to reappear. And Reese is right behind her. After Sloane serves her daughter, she pulls the little girl into her lap and tugs their plates to the side to give me room to sit with them.
It’s more than I’ve been given before, especially when I know Sloane doesn’t want me here.
Still, I sit and enjoy the reminder of what eating with my family was like. It’s such a distant, fuzzy memory that I find myself soaking in every detail of how Reese and Sloane interact with each other. Half sentences, silent admonishments, and lots of smiles and giggling.
Sloane becomes a completely different person when she’s in mom mode. Like the outside world can’t penetrate their warm little cocoon.
Hannah used to sit on my lap like that at dinner, but usually when she was trying to push Mari’s buttons. My wife would spit the word traitor across the table while she bit back a smile. It was a taunt to keep my daughter in my grasp for as long as I could.
But my girl always had too much energy to stay still for long. Even when she’d color or do her math homework at the table, she’d be standing on her chair, hopping from one foot to another, humming under breath or full on singing her current earworm.
The ache in my chest that misses them all the time flares and settles back to the long-burning embers I’ve grown used to as I watch Sloane kiss the side of Reese’s head.
“Time for bed.” Sloane’s voice is soft and low as she rocks Reese in her arms. “Let’s get you in the bath. We’ve got some snarls to get out of that hair. Were you wrestling today at school or what?”
“Or what.” Reese’s gap-toothed smile does its intended job, and Sloane elicits squeals when she tickles her daughter’s sides.
“Up. To the bathroom. I’ll grab your pajamas. You get the water running.”
With a soft pat on her butt, Reese does as she’s told. I share a look with Sloane. She seems to be more at ease with me here at the moment.
“I’ve got the dishes.”
Her small smile is a hard-won prize, and I tuck it away for later because before the night is over, she’s going to be less than happy with me.
Once the two of them are getting her ready for bed, I call my team to update them as I examine her lock.
“Oye, how’s the feisty one? She slam the door in your face, too?” Shepard’s smile is obvious over the line.
“No. Someone broke into her apartment and left it a mess. I’m going to need replacement parts for the front door.” My matter-of-fact tone doesn’t reflect the severity of the truth.
Whatever’s going on is escalating, and fast.
“Explain.” Shepard’s voice is hard and low, and I know he’s feeling the same protective instincts for Sloane that I am. Only, I’m growing attached to Reese, too. She reminds me so much of Hannah that it hurts.
I explain. It’s simple. There’s not much to tell, no evidence that I’ve been able to collect so far. “Bring the fingerprinting kit. I’ll keep the door clear until you get here.”
Once it’s dusted, I can put something stronger in place of the flimsy handle lock. The door, however, isn’t built to put up with an assault, so it’s simply giving her a few extra seconds to prepare for an invasion than it is to keep someone out.
Reese reappears in her pjs, her hair wet and her face clean.
Sloane hovers behind her. “She wanted to say goodnight.”
I offer Reese a small smile and crouch down in front of her as she flings herself into my chest for a hug. It’s sweet.
“You’re staying tonight in case anyone comes back, right?” The twinge of fear in her words rages against my heart.
“Right.” Even if her mother won’t let me stay inside, I’ll be here, but I have a feeling she won’t kick me out. Not yet, anyway.
“Okay.” Reese pulls back and runs back to her mom’s waiting hand.
Sloane’s expression is tight, but she doesn’t argue with me.
The old ache in my chest expands, hitting harder the more time I spend with Sloane and Reese, as I hear their voices muffled through the mostly closed door. Sloane’s reading her a bedtime story.
Just like I used to read Hannah stories at bedtime when I was home.
Tucking her into bed, tickling her sides before she would settle down, how she had to touch and say hello to every animal character drawn on each page. Mari and I predicted she’d become a vet—a nice, safe occupation.
By the time I got through her favorites, she’d be snoring softly like a small, sleeping angel.
I miss that.
I miss her.
Boots stomp up the stairs outside the front door, and I open it to Hastings and Shepard before they can knock.
My finger comes up to signal quiet.
Not that I can keep the inevitable at bay.
Sloane appears, closing the bedroom door behind her. Those pretty midnight eyes narrow at the three of us in her entryway.
My hands spread, palms up and open, signaling peace.
“Now, don’t hit me.”
My men slip in behind me, closing us all in the small space as we wait for her to rip us apart. It won’t stop us from sticking around, but maybe it’ll provide her with some much-needed relief.