Page 149 of The Rut in the Road

I’d worn my gloves to work for the last three weeks because I was certain that I was too raw on the inside to even think about concentrating on not triggering other people’s thoughts. Except, somehow, I still had the ability to keep them from overwhelming me.

When Detective Maza had shown up hauling the barrel on his cart, I’d let him in, listened to what he needed, then stripped off one of the gloves, swallowing and steeling the spine I didn’t have to run my fingers over the rusty metal of the barrel. And now that he was gone, I was desperately trying to resist the urge to go scrub my hands until they were red and raw.

It wouldn’t do any good, because I couldn’t scrub away myself.

I wasthe last one in the office—Ward and Mason had left around four, Beck not long after, and Violette wasn’t here, either.

I barely managed to look up when the bell on the door rang.

And then I froze.

Raj looked as bad as I felt.

He wasn’t wearing work clothes, even though it was a day he usually worked. Instead, he had on jeans, an unzipped navy blue hoodie, and a grey t-shirt with a Johns Hopkins logo on it, faded and soft-looking.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked, softly.

I nodded. “I’ll lock up,” I said, then went through the process on autopilot, my whole body vibrating. I wanted to throw myself at him. To kiss him. I wanted him to hold me and tell me he’d never let me go.

But I needed him to trust me.

He waited, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, eyes tracking my movements as I shut things down, closed doors, locked the back, and came back to the front. I pulled on my fleece jacket, punched the alarm code in beside the door, waited for him to walk out, then followed him, making sure the door was locked behind us.

“Can we—go somewhere?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, then began walking home. I didn’t want to have the kind of conversation this might become anywhere public.

He followed me, but hesitated at the door to my building. “Are you sure?”

I looked up at him. “Do you not want to come up?” I asked him.

“I—” He stopped, and I watched him swallow, clearly deciding something. “It’s fine,” he replied.

I took the stairs, and he followed, his feet quieter and breath more steady than mine. Like always. I paused a moment as I unlocked the door to catch my breath, then led the way inside.

I heard him close the door behind him as I took off my fleece, hung it up, then kicked off my shoes. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked him. “Tea? Water?”

“No—Rayn, I?—”

I turned to look at him, hands clasped in front of me to keep them from shaking.

He took a deep breath. “You were right,” he said softly. “I wasn’t trusting you. And I should have.”

I studied his features, his cheeks a little hollow, dark golden eyes downcast and sadder than I’d ever seen them, making my chest ache. I didn’t know what to say, so I remained quiet.

“I—I went back over the reports from the warehouse,” he said softly. “And the Garraway case. And then back to the original Tranquil Brook files that Hart got me from the RPD.”

I waited.

He drew in a long breath. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded.

“How did you survive?”

“Survive what?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t been anticipating any question in particular, but I really hadn’t expected that one.

“Any of it,” he whispered. “You were beaten, starved, drugged, had your magic stripped, contracted Arcana… And then a few months ago you were kidnapped, drugged again, had your magic drainedagain, and then got fucking thrown in a well, and still—” His voice broke. “And then the warehouse.” Heshook his head. “I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I was so afraid. So worried. I just didn’tthink.”