45. Daphne
Daphne
My mouth drops open as he walks away.
I’ve been waiting—waiting in this empty house for hours, just hoping he’d turn up. Now he’s here. He’s home. And I feel like I’ve been slapped.
Once again, a man I trusted has thrown me overboard. I stand here, feeling foolish, heaving in a breath so deep it hurts my lungs.
But then I let it out again, and I realize a few things in quick succession. Rickie came face to face with our common enemy. At which point he put himself between me and Reardon, to try to save me from my own stupidity.
Then he flew at Reardon right after the guy called me a whore. After which he was punched by a cop and spent a night in jail, before facing down a judge.
That’s a lot.
In fact, I’ve buckled under far less pressure than that, and I’ve done worse damage. Just ask my sister.
I take another deep breath, and then I do what needs doing. I walk through the house to Rickie’s door, and then I knock.
No answer.
I knock again, but he still doesn’t open the door. So I take out a credit card. Dylan and I taught ourselves to open each other’s bedroom doors at a young age. And I opened Reardon’s office door with this same technique just a few days ago.
But, damn it, Rickie’s lock is made of sterner stuff.
My card trick fails, and I’m foiled again.
I put the credit card away. Then I back up a couple of steps, turn my body to the side, and ram the door, shoulder first. I hit with a loud crash, but the door doesn’t give. And I bounce awkwardly to the floor.
My shoulder hurts, now.
This isn’t going well.
The door is suddenly yanked open. “What the hell are you doing?” Rickie booms, looking down at my crazy self in a heap on the hallway floor. “Don’t break yourself. We’ve had enough trouble already this week. Jesus Christ.”
“Fine.” I scramble to my feet. “But I’m not letting you do this. You’re not shutting me out. We’re a team, okay? Those were your words, asshole.”
He gives me a look that’s pure exasperation. Then he turns around and walks back over to his bed, where he lies down on his side, facing away from me.
It’s not exactly a hand-lettered invitation. But I take it anyway. I close the door and follow him to the bed, where I curl up against his back. And I tuck an arm around his waist.
He doesn’t move, or acknowledge me. But he doesn’t fight it, either.
Suddenly I feel weepy again, which is really inconvenient. But he’s so warm and solid, and he makes my heart ache. “I don’t care whether you’re guilty or innocent. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“You might have cared,” he says dully, “if you had to take the stand and tell a jury everything you did on Wednesday night, and then everything I did.”
“You’re wrong,” I insist with a shaking voice. “I’d do it right now if you needed me to—if it meant I could spend another night right here with you.” I tighten my arm around his waist and breathe in his scent.
“Daphne…” He sighs. And then finally, he lays a hand over mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s crap,” I whisper. “Lenore would agree.”
His abs contract under my hand, as if he nearly laughed. “Dirty play, Shipley.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Nope. But I probably wouldn’t believe her, either, so…”
“You should.” I press my face against his back. “Maybe today you just can’t hear me. I have those days, too. But this will pass, Rickie. And I’ll still be here when it does. Because we’re a team. And…” I take another deep breath. “Because I love you.”
Rickie goes very still. And my poor, bruised little heart braces itself.
Slowly, Rickie rolls over to face me. And when I see that black-and-blue face, it’s hard work not crying. But then I make myself focus on his clear gray eyes, and I feel calm again.
“Baby,” he whispers. “I love you so much it hurts.”
My whole being relaxes. “That’s just your broken nose,” I whisper back. “Do you need some Advil?”
“Yes,” he says, with a sheepish smile. And his eyes look suddenly wet. “But first I need to hug you.” He reaches out and pulls me closer.
We fit ourselves together right there in the center of the bed—my face in his neck, his hands stroking my hair.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he says softly.
“I could say the same,” I point out. “You’re the one who told me not to give up hope.”
“Don’t,” he says, rocking me against him. “Let’s never give up.”