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“Do you want to be alone, or should I stay?” he asks me, his voice low.
I suck in a breath, then slowly turn around. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, giving me a significant amount of space.
He didn’t crowd me. He didn’t try to touch me.
“Stay,” I whisper. “But I need air.”
He nods, then walks past me to open the front door.
“Do you want to take a walk?” he asks, his voice soft. “That’s what helps me when these happen."
“Yes, please,” I choke out, wondering how often this has happened to him.
He shrugs off his leather jacket and helps me into it. It’s warm, and I inhale the spicy scent it surrounds me with as he shuts the front door behind us.
“Oh, I need to lock it—” I start, but he’s already putting a key into the lock.
Of course. They must all have house keys since they’ve been taking turns watching over me.
The thought soothes me a bit. It makes me feel safe.
But then the guilt hits me again, and I let out a shaky breath. “Shit,” I hiss, gritting my teeth.
“You’ve got this, baby,” River murmurs next to me. “Walk with me. It will help it pass.”
Keeping my arms crossed, curling in around myself, I take hesitant steps down my driveway with River.
He doesn’t say a word. We reach the sidewalk and walk side by side down the street in silence until my breathing calms.
The night air is chilly but refreshing. I slowly uncurl my arms from my sides and stand taller, forcing my body to release some tension.
“Your jacket doesn’t smell like smoke,” I say finally, as we head down another street.
He leans close enough to me that our shoulders touch. “One of the first things you did was call me out for smoking.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Wouldn’t want you to be angry with me, baby.”
I stop walking. “Wait. Have you really stopped smoking?”
He turns to me, and I take in his strong jawline, piercing eyes, and the lock of hair that has fallen into his eyes. “When you were missing,” he says darkly, “I made a promise to whatever or whoever was listening, that if you came back to me, I would make sure you never scented that shit on me again.”
My mouth falls open. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “I don’t plan to die anytime soon. Especially now that you’re here.”
My heart aches at his words. “You should do that for yourself, not me,” I whisper.
“Probably.” He gives me a crooked grin. “But I’m doing it for you, anyway.” His eyes fall on my lips. “C’mon. Let’s keep walking.” He reaches out his hand, and I take it, our fingers intertwining as we head down the street.
“How do you know how to handle these?” I ask.
He scoffs. “I’ve had them all my fucking life,” he mutters. “Since I was a kid. I was an…emotional child.”
“I never would have guessed,” I chuckle, and he squeezes my hand.
“But that’s what makes me a good detective. I can catch on to bullshit easily. Or recognize when someone is trying to hide their panic or fear. There are little tells that people have, especially when they’re frightened.”
“What are my tells? Besides the obvious ones today,” I add quickly.
“Your scent, for one. I’m more attuned to your scent than any other’s. And when you’re distressed, it’s like I’m experiencing your emotions, too. It’s as if I absorb your anger and fear and blend it with mine. And it’s all I can feel. It’s like a slow fucking poison. Like I’m slowly bleeding out when I can’t help you.”
