Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
Greyson
I rushed out the front door, but Paisley was already gone, the blue of her car a smudge of motion turning the corner out of the neighbourhood.
Running back inside, I grabbed my phone and dialed. Not that I really wanted her picking up while driving, but still. Straight to voicemail. “Pais, please call me,” I pleaded. “I need to know you’re safe.”
I pulled up the tracking-location app and watched until her bubble stopped south of downtown.
Juliet’s. I groaned and paced the small kitchen.
My heart screamed at me to go after her, but my head knew otherwise.
She’d remembered him. Really remembered.
It had been years since she’d reacted that strongly to me.
And I doubted my presence would help right now.
You messed up big time. How could you be so careless? The one person she shouldn’t be afraid of, and now she thinks you’re a monster.
I shook my head, trying to clear the condemning thoughts.
I might have messed up, but I couldn’t just do nothing.
I knew she had insecurities about arguments.
I’d used our code phrase “I just need a minute”—my promise to her that we were a team, that I just needed a moment to process. But she didn’t remember that.
You failed her again.
I sucked in a rasping breath. That one hurt the most. Frustrated, I grabbed my phone again.
It rang twice before Myles picked up. “Hey, Grey. She’s here.”
“Is she okay?” Well, that’s a stupid question.
Myles was quiet for a moment. He was a naturally quiet guy, but he saw more than most people. “No. But she will be.”
“I take it I wouldn’t be welcome?”
“I think she’ll need some time.” Myles hesitated. “She wasn’t keen on having me around. But Jules is with her now.”
My sister was a bulldog, so I knew Paisley was in capable hands. But I wanted it to be me. If only I hadn’t . . . I should have . . .
“Hey.” Myles’s deep baritone cut through the haze of accusing thoughts. “Don’t beat yourself up. You had no control over which memories she’d get back. This isn’t your fault.”
How I wished that was true. I’d been frustrated, and that failure hadn’t helped me keep her safe. It had turned me into the monster.
I wanted to throttle a dead man. Or punch a wall. Neither of which were helpful, so after hanging up with Myles, I attacked the woodpile.
It was still a couple months till we needed wood for the stove, but I was getting an early start. Anything to chase away the buzzing need for violence swirling in my veins. And if I imagined Jared’s face on every piece of wood I split, this would indeed be cathartic.
SMACK.
I tossed the split pieces into a pile and lined up another shot.
This was too much. The memory loss. The pressure from Keegan to join the agency. The terror on Paisley’s face.
How could I protect this woman when I wasn’t even sure I could protect her from myself? That nightmare a few weeks ago could have ended far differently. Even if falling asleep in her arms was the best sleep I’d had since before the accident.
But you could hurt her.
SMACK.
Chest heaving, I stared at the sky, the dying sunset streaked with amber and coral. I just needed . . .
God, I don’t even know what I need anymore. I just . . . I got nothing. I just want my wife back.