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An advert came on, the jingle far too cheerful for the preceding news.
Her chair scraped back hard enough to draw looks. She made it down the hall on muscle memory alone, hit the locker room door with her shoulder, and barely got to the toilet cubicle before her body revolted.
It was violent. Undignified. Over fast.
She braced herself on the porcelain, breathing through her nose, eyes squeezed shut until the world steadied. When she finally stumbled to the basin, her reflection was pale and hollow-eyed in the mirror.
By the time she returned to the bullpen, the TV volume was back down. But she could feel the stares of her colleagues. They merely tolerated her, thinking her aloof and prissy. If only they knew of the vulnerable child lurking beneath her hard-won veneer.
Sheriff Stirling approached. “You all right, Graham?”
Felicity shrugged. “Bad tuna?”
He grimaced with sympathy. “Go home.”
Taking the out he offered, she powered down her computer and escaped to the locker room.
Not wanting to spend another minute in the suddenly too-tight uniform, she stripped down to her underwear. A few minutes later, dressed in civilian clothing, she climbed into her Bronco and pulled out of the parking lot.
But she didn’t go home.
Home meant quiet. Quiet meant thinking.
Remembering.
What she needed now was something to beat up.
Or a hard, mindless fuck.
The latter was out of the question. But the former … the gym had more than enough leather to absorb the rage clawing beneath her skin.
Ronan’s house came into view.
With a start, she realized that she had taken a wrong turn.
And ended up here.
Felicity slowed, scanning the yard. No truck in his driveway.
Before she could second-guess herself, she eased up the cracked concrete and parked.
Got out.
Walked the path parallel to the veranda, fingers brushing the lavender.
Climbed the steps.
And sat on the top one.
Slumping against the post, she closed her eyes, and filled her lungs with deep, even breaths. Lavender drifted on the air, teasing her senses. The wood was warm beneath her, the afternoon light slanting just right.
For the first time since the bullpen, her stomach settled.
She allowed herself to linger a few moments — until the quiet pressed in, the way it always did when she stopped moving.
She opened her eyes and stared out across the yard, at nothing in particular, then reached into her pocket. The phone felt heavier than it should have. She turned it once, twice, her thumb hovering over the screen as if delay might still count as choice.
It didn’t.
