12. Chloe
Chloe
When the sun attempts to burst through the closed slats of the shutters on my bedroom window, I’m still on the fringes of a wet dream about Colin.
His warm hands circle my ankles, sliding slowly up the length of my legs and squeezing my thighs. I wiggle under his grip, and he smirks, moving his hand between my legs. I open for him, because obviously.
He pushes two fingers inside me, his face hovering over mine.
His eyes flash with need and…something else.
Something that looks a lot deeper than lust and longing.
Like he’s finally allowed himself to feel the feelings I know he has inside himself.
Like he sees all of me and chooses me anyway, his fingers curling inside me as he brings me toward the edge of release.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he says, which confuses me, because the movement of his lips doesn’t match the words coming out. “Someone drugged her,” he says in a hushed whisper, causing me to wake fully and sit up in my bed, the quick movement throttling my brain into a spin.
Colin’s muffled voice travels through my house, floating through my open bedroom door, each word another kiss against my skin.
“I was helping her get home, captain. Did you expect me to sit by and watch her get hurt?”
My heart swells at his words. He didn’t want me to get hurt. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but the fact that he’s admitted it out loud brews a storm of joy that sparkles in my toes and consumes my entire body in a flash.
I swing back my comforter, eyeing the dress on my body. Why did I sleep in this? And why is Colin in my house?
There’s a water bottle and a bottle of Advil on my nightstand. I roll a few into my hand, because damn, my head hurts. I check my friends’ locations next, and they both appear to be safe at their homes; which makes me feel better, but doesn’t exactly ease my confusion.
I run back through the events of last night as I pull myself from bed and change into shorts and an oversized t-shirt.
I was here at my house with my friends, trying to convince Stella that I wouldn’t let her or any of them get hurt in my pursuit of Colin. And then he was there, trying to keep his lips off mine as my friends watched from the sidelines.
Maeve said we were going to a party, and I certainly woke up like I’d been dressed for one, but I can’t seem to get past the fog in my brain that gets thicker around the time I started to get ready last night.
I descend the staircase, running a hand through my hair until Colin comes into view near my couch.
His eyes widen, like even though he’s in my house, he didn’t expect me to be here.
His phone is pressed to his ear, his body tense as the tinny sound of someone yelling on the other end of the line comes into focus.
“No,” he says, holding my stare, “you will not see my truck in her driveway if you drive by.”
I raise my eyebrows at his lie and continue into the kitchen, eyeing the plate holding scrambled eggs over avocado toast and the mug of coffee steaming next to it. I lift the mug to my lips, tasting it and then moaning, because it’s made exactly how I like it.
Maybe he made it for himself, but it’s mine now.
After his phone call ends, he circles into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the raised countertop over the sink.
“You lied,” I greet, taking another sip of the coffee and eyeing him over the edge of the cup.
“I didn’t lie. He will not see my truck in your driveway, because I pulled it into the garage.”
“Touché.”
My mother’s letter is splayed out where his hand rests on the edge of the countertop, the smudges and slanted letters on display even though I definitely tucked that letter back into its envelope and pinned it to the fridge with a magnet. “You read my letter.”
“I did,” he admits, no hint of remorse in his tone. I don’t care, though; many people read that letter before it even left the correctional facility. It’s not like there’s anything blatantly incriminating in it.
“What’s that?” I point to the tiny vial next to the letter, the dark liquid rising almost to the top.
Colin’s gaze follows my finger, and he clears his throat, shifting on his feet.
“That is…” he clears his throat again, appearing to have a difficult time meeting my curious stare. “Your blood.”
“My blood?”
He nods. “I think you were drugged at that party last night.”
Ahh, so I did go to the party. “And you took my blood for…”
“Proof.”
I press my hand to my chest, warmth blooming throughout me. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I gush. I have no recollection of even being at the party. And also, who the fuck drugged me? I’ll kill ‘em.
I lift the mug in my hand into the air and motion toward the plate of food in front of me. “Is this yours?”
“It’s yours,” he says flatly.
“How do you know how I like my coffee?”
“Baby Widow Steps Out for Coffee,” he says, using air quotes. I chuckle. That was a very detailed article on my coffee drinking habits. Enthralling information, apparently.
“Ventures,” I correct.
“Right.” He nods, settling into a chair on the other side of the counter.
“How did you know I was at a party?”
“Do you always talk this much first thing in the morning?” How cute, he’s deflecting.
I shrug, laughing and setting the coffee down to lift the toast to my mouth. Colin watches me eat, and I note the way his eyes look tired, his hair especially disheveled, but he looks no less handsome even though his white button-up is slightly wrinkled from being slept in.
“Who were you talking to?” I ask around a mouthful of perfectly cooked egg and ripe avocado.
“My boss,” he clips.
“He’s upset that you took me home?” I don’t even care that he’s in my house. Each thing he tells me is a tick mark on my list of reasons why I know Colin doesn’t actually hate me.
“He told me to stay away from you.”
“Because he thinks I’m dangerous?”
Colin laughs, shaking his head. “Because he thinks you’re not dangerous at all.”
“And you do.”
“Of course I do,” he says, his brows pinching together, though the conviction in his voice is not as prevalent as it usually is.
“Aren’t you upset that someone tried to drug you?” he asks, pivoting the conversation.
“Well, apparently they did more than try.” I nod toward the vial of blood and think about the fact I can’t remember a damn thing from last night. “And why would I be upset? You protected me.”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle piece he can’t seem to fit in the bigger picture.
“Why did you, by the way?”
“Why did I what?”
“Protect me.” I stuff another bite of food into my mouth, using my tongue to lick a runaway crumb off my lip.
“I don’t like to see women being taken advantage of.”
“Even women like me?”
“Women like you?” he repeats, not following.
“You know,” I wiggle my fingers in the air, whispering sarcastically, “a dangerous criminal.”
That earns me a smirk. “Even you.”
“Interesting,” I sing, tapping a finger on the counter.
I am so excited that my chest is fluttering.
I have to force myself to stay calm and slightly still because my limbs are itching to move with all that I’ve learned this morning.
Pushing the remnants of my breakfast away, I steady myself and hop up onto the counter. “So, what are we doing today?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This thing between us feels like it’s getting pretty serious. Should we go on a real date? A picnic maybe?”
He scoffs, barely managing to cover the smile teasing his lips. “It’s not that serious, Stark.”
I screw my face up in disbelief. “You followed me to a party, saved me from date rape, took my blood,” I say, pointing to the vial again, “and made me breakfast.” I wave a hand at the crumbs on the plate next to me. “Feels pretty serious to me.”
Colin grunts, lifting himself out of the chair and pushing off the counter, disappearing into the foyer as he calls behind him, “I have to go to work.”
“Wait!” I hop off the counter and run after him, wrapping my hand around his forearm and turning him back to me.
The instant charge where our skin touches spirals through me, and it takes considerable effort to draw my eyes away from the black ink under my fingers and up to his eyes where he’s staring at me in question.
“I have something to do today that you could probably convince your boss falls into your realm of work.”
Finding the person who drugged me is on my list of things to do, as well, but I’ll wait until Colin’s gone to do that.
His eyes are full of questions, but I know he won’t turn me down. He’s too curious about what I do in my free time, which is a win for me because it’ll help him get to know me better. “You can drive us,” I chirp when the question in his eye fades to acceptance. “I just need to get ready.”
I bound up the staircase again, ignoring Colin when he yells, “Hurry!”
***
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the sharp ache that’s been hovering in my brain all morning slowly dissipating.
I don’t tell Colin exactly where we’re going, just tell him when to slow down and when to turn, which seems to irritate him because I know he likes being in control.
He looks surprised when we pull up to Hope House, shifting his truck into park and looking over at me from the driver’s seat.
“Is this a joke?”
His brusque words catch me off guard, and it’s the first time I find myself hesitating when I respond to him. “Why would it be a joke?”
He searches my features for something—what, I don’t know.
I take my seatbelt off and climb out of his truck, staring at him as he remains in his seat.
“Come on,” I urge. “We won’t bite.” I smile gently and shut the door, waiting in front of his truck until he climbs out and falls into step with me as we head toward the gated entrance.
Hope House was my temporary home for a very brief blip of time.
The two-story U-shaped structure stands nestled into a clearing of tall pine trees, fitting so perfectly into the scene you’d think it was meant to be there.
Four Peaks looms against the backdrop, appearing painted against the blue sky, the giant mountain promising security from any outsiders that attempt to penetrate the warm bubble that this property is.
It’s quiet today, as it usually is. While occasionally there’s the added sound of children’s feet pattering all over the place or hushed conversation among the guests who are building cherished connections, the staff take very seriously their roles in creating a chaos-free, tranquil environment to foster growth and healing.
I press my finger to the buzzer and wait for Wanda’s voice to flow from the speaker.
“It’s Chlo,” I tell her. “And Detective Colin Mills is with me today.”
“Wonderful,” she returns. The gate buzzes and unlatches, and I open the door for him, letting him cross the threshold first and ensuring the gate closes securely behind me.
I’d called Wanda ahead of time from my bedroom, asking if it would be okay that Colin volunteered with me today. She said she’d never turn down extra help—at least from someone whose integrity is easily verifiable like Colin’s.
Wanda teaches science at the high school and is the volunteer coordinator at Hope House. She’s shared on more than one occasion that finding people you can trust to volunteer at a domestic violence shelter is difficult, and I know, because I’ve been doing it for years.
I lead Colin through the courtyard to the main office, past the quiet fountain with the Japanese Maple blooming from the middle of the water.
The rooms that face the courtyard are mostly offices, the actual living quarters situated toward the back of the property, away from the busyness of the day-to-day.
I don’t spend a lot of time back there these days, but I’d come with my mother once as a teenager, and we stayed in one of the apartments.
Each unit has a stellar view of Four Peaks. I remember the day after we arrived, sitting on the balcony with my mother while she drank her coffee, staring at the massive bluffs, wondering if we’d simply imagined the last seventeen months of what our life had become.
It was not long before Husband Number One died.
I bet every woman who has passed through these walls in the last decade has felt the same thing. The hope that it indeed has all been a dream. That this is their actual life; safe, and peaceful, and calm.
At least temporarily.
“Have you been here before?” I ask Colin who’s eyeing the area quietly.
“A few times for work,” he says. “Have you?”
I nod, pulling the door to the office open. “I’ve been volunteering here since high school. Stay here.” I leave him by the chairs inside the office door and cross to the desk Wanda’s sitting behind. She greets me with a smile.
“How’s school been?” I ask her quietly.
“A dream,” she says, reaching up to squeeze my hand in hers.
“And Lily?”
“Home.”
“Safe,” I confirm.
“Exactly.”
I nod a few times, the gravity of the situation weighing down on me again.
When she’d first shown up to the shelter, Lily had a fresh black eye and welts on her neck.
The kids had handprint shaped bruises on their arms. All three of them were visibly shaken, but Lily had her armor on for her children, her head held high and kids tucked under her arms. I distracted them with toys and snacks while the intake coordinator helped Lily complete her intake forms in another room, walking through the events from the last few days.
Pure terror it had been for all of them. Broken glass. Holes in the walls. Slaps, and punches, and kicks.
I slipped into the intake room later and looked over her forms. Each word on the page was another kick to my gut.
Another stolen breath. Another tear dropped for another woman who deserved to be safe.
Whose children deserved to know peace. Come to find out, his family were not the only people experiencing the terror that was Grayson Tyler.
He and Richard Soffett knew each other well.
Stone made the first move for me, taking Grayson to some undisclosed location that only he and Stella knew about, until he dropped my mother’s car at the warehouse with him in the back, ready to face his maker. And Venus.
I angle toward Colin who’s eyeing me and Wanda from a distance, his expression ripe with scrutiny.
“Do you think the girls will be okay with him here?”
She’s already said as much, but I know what it’s like to deal with cops when you already have a hundred times before, all to walk away without a shred of protection in sight.
It’s not entirely their fault. They do what they can. Lock the husband up, separate them for a few nights, pool their money to get the family a safe place to stay until the storm blows over.
Except it very rarely ever does.
“They’ll be okay,” she assures me, assessing Colin over the edge of her desk. “And it’ll be good for him to see this side of things.” She turns to her planner, flipping to today’s date. “Misty was supposed to run the painting class for the kids today. Maybe you two could do that.”