She pauses near the front door as Faith walks toward her. No words are spoken as they hug, and when Faith steps back, she doesn’t question what’s going on. The woman nods in my direction, approval in her eyes as I leave the building with her best friend.
It hits me in a way I never thought I could feel as I open the passenger side door for Sylvie. I’m a trusting man. People trust me all the time—my team, my bosses, the military. I’ve spent years building that reputation but being trusted to protect this woman somehow hits a little differently.
I rush around the vehicle, unwilling to spend more than a few seconds away from her. I don’t even bitch and complain when I have to spend the next full minute adjusting the seat so I don’t get a fucking leg cramp on the drive back to her house.
The SUV parked behind me flashes it lights, whomever is inside telling me they’re ready to follow me to her place.
I didn’t even have to have a conversation to understand it. I can’t leave Sylvie in the car while I check her place because it would be as unsafe as having her stand behind me while I do it myself. My teammate will head out ahead of us and check her house, finishing up about the time we arrive.
“How long will you stay at my house?” She asks the question, but her eyes are already closed as we pull out of the clubhouse parking lot.
“Until Will is caught,” I answer.
“That could take forever,” she says and I can’t tell which direction she’s wanting to go with the thought of me being in her personal space for an extended amount of time.
“There are a lot of people looking for him. It shouldn’t take long.”
“That’s a shame,” she mutters, her voice sounding distant and sleepy.
I bite the corner of my lip to keep from smiling, but then I put all of my focus on getting us back to her house safely.
Chapter 25
Sylvie
I’m not exactly versed in the signs of shock. I’ve always been one to be aware of my surroundings, but as Spade helps me out of the vehicle in front of my home, nothing seems real. It’s more than just the alcohol I consumed tonight that’s making me feel like my feet aren’t even touching the ground. I hate the feeling, but at the same time, I’m not able to shove it away. It’s as if I'm living in an alternate reality.
I’m both numb and somehow rife with shame as he takes my keys and unlocks my front door.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the accusations rolling off him, and I’m in no position to be mad about the way he’s feeling. I didn’t listen to him about Will. I didn’t open my mouth and question that little girl being in his home or the way Greta couldn’t make eye contact with her boss.
My inaction left a little girl battered and bruised and a woman dead. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it.
It would be asking too much for Spade to offer any sort of empathy. I don’t deserve it even though I long for just that.
As he urges me inside, I go over everything I missed, starting from when I was in high school. I question each and every memory, every conversation I ever had with Will and his cousins.
Nothing comes to mind. I was completely ignorant to what they were doing.
Was I lucky? Did they consider abducting me? How could Will hurt women at night and smile in my face and be my shy friend during the day?
None of it makes sense.
“Stop,” Spade whispers, his hands clamping mine before I can run them over the top of my head for the millionth time.
Him being here grounds me, and as much as I want to argue when he drops his duffel on my bedroom floor, I can’t seem to manage that either.
My guest bedroom has become a catchall for the things I don’t feel like dealing with, so insisting he stay in there isn’t an option. The bed is covered in boxes and discarded impulse buys and probably would take until the sun comes up to clear.
Instead of just accepting everything that has happened tonight, I vow to deal with it tomorrow. I spin around and head back into the kitchen.
Spade is frowning at the bottle of wine in my hand when I reenter my bedroom, but the man doesn’t open his mouth. I’m well aware that adding more alcohol to the problem isn’t really going to help, but it has the power to boost the numbness that is threatening to fade with each sobering breath that shudders out of my mouth.
I don’t want to live in this reality. I hate it here.
I’m not ignorant to what goes on in the world, but facing it firsthand rather than watching a story on the news or seeing a social media post is nearly impossible to handle.
After taking a long pull from the bottle, I let it coat my tongue before turning the bottle up again, gasping as the cool liquid slides down my sore throat.