Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Four years later

Detroit, Michigan

Jack

P ressing my forehead against the freezing cold glass, I gaze down at the snowy world of Detroit from my tenth floor apartment. A lot has changed since we lost Dahlia. I sold my house because it made me depressed.

I bought it with the hope she’d live there and finish out school. I just wanted to be her support system, but I failed her.

Dahlia’s text devastated me. I wasn’t asleep when she sent it, I was nursing a single glass of whiskey all night. I immediately called her over and over, but she never answered. Then, I called Bronwyn and blew up her phone.

Her father had told her to delay her trip home, presumably because he’d hurt Dahlia so badly. Instead, I bought her fucking ticket back to Detroit and told her that she wasn’t listening to him ever again.

“You’re going to make yourself sick pressed against that glass,” Bronwyn says softly.

When she got to the Detroit airport, I picked her up and told her Dahlia had written her a letter that she’d hidden in her room. It was eleven in the morning when we snuck into the house, packed her shit up, and she read the letter under a small blacklight she took with her.

As the tears rolled down her cheeks, she said, “We didn’t see, and now she’s gone.”

Fuck.

“I know,” I grunt, standing straight. My skin feels overheated from the memories, and it’s after midnight during the work week.

Bronwyn sighs, moving closer toward me. She's wearing an off the shoulder sweater, a pair of panties, and nothing else. When she left her dad’s house four years ago, I asked an acquaintance in the security industry to change her identity, provide her with paperwork to back it up, and she disappeared from every server looking for Bronwyn Davies.

Only I call her that now.

She moved in with me, enrolled in a public school to finish her high school education, but neither of us have forgotten Dahlia.

“Working late or nightmares?” Bronwyn asks, frowning. When she turned eighteen, she and I got really drunk together. She told me she wanted to forget, which led to us having sex, and my taking her virginity.

It shouldn’t have happened, she’s always been Dahlia’s, but after four years we still haven’t heard from her.

Everything is upside down and twisted.

“Nightmares,” I rasp. “My brain keeps torturing me with things he could have done to her. I dropped Dolly at the front door that night on her birthday, and then made a joke about how a gentleman makes sure she’s safe. But she wasn’t…”

“We didn’t know,” she whispers. “I have a feeling she was holding onto a lot of secrets. Even when we messed around when we were together, she wouldn’t really let me touch her. Sophomore year of high school, I found out that she was binding her breasts to hide them.”

“She probably didn’t want Gareth to notice,” I grunt. Bronwyn no longer acknowledges her father as a paternal figure, and calls him by his name now. “I wanted to respect her privacy, so I stopped pushing.”

“Gareth made sure I was always really busy during the summer, I’m guessing to isolate her. The fact that he used me against her…” Bronwyn shudders, reminding me I’m not the only one hurting.

This is one of the reasons we’ve fallen into bed together more often than I care to admit. We comfort each other as much as we hate ourselves for it, and she’s my only connection to Dahlia.

“I know,” I sigh, pulling her into my arms. “It’s been four years, if she was going to find us, she’d have reached out by now, right?”

My integrity has one flaw, and it's Dahlia. I’ve never hesitated to bend the rules for her. I stalked phone records to find her when she was living alone in New England, and now I periodically ask one of the people in my office to scan the video cameras for her likeness.

Each time the scan is a waste of time, Lorrie tells me she’s only checking the street cameras in Detroit and the businesses she can hack into. Dahlia could have left the city, which means there’s no way to find her unless I’m willing to expand my search.

I don’t know why I keep insisting that she hasn’t left yet. Maybe it’s hopeful thinking, maybe I’m just a fool.

“It’s too hard to write her off,” Bronwyn says tearfully. “I only knew Dahlia for a year, but things were clicking into place, she told me she loved me that day.”

“She told me,” I confirm. “I wish I could have said I was surprised, but she always looked as if the world lit up when she talked about you. Dahlia adored you.”

Holding her body against mine as she buries her head in my chest, I can feel more than see her nodding. Deciding it is too cold for her, I lift her into my arms. Bronwyn’s become a curvy bombshell as she’s gotten older.

I never paid attention to it when she was in high school, outside of reminding her and Dahlia to be aware of their surroundings when they went out with friends. I was protective of Dahlia, and by extension, Bronwyn as well.

Bronwyn’s breath shudders as she cries softly, making my heart clench . Four goddamned years ! I want to scream. Not knowing is killing me. If Dahlia doesn’t want us in her life anymore, I would rather she tell me that to my face.

“Jack,” Bronwyn whimpers, brushing her tears away angrily. Her cheeks are ruddy from the crying jag, her red curls tumbling around her. After a certain point, you just get tired of crying.

“You know you were her hero, right? No matter how everything ended up, she told me that you were always there for her.”

My chest rumbles as I growl, beginning to walk toward our shared bedroom. Neither of us sleeps well without the other anymore, so we stopped trying.

“I’m no one’s hero, baby girl,” I mutter, crawling into bed with her cradled in my arms. Laying on my back, I wait until she’s curled around me, pulling the blanket over us. “My one goal in life was to show her how amazing she was and keep her safe. I don’t know if I succeeded at either.”

“You’re so hard on yourself,” she says, sleep already pulling her away.

Playing with her hair, I gently rub her head until she falls asleep. Gazing up at the ceiling, I while away the hours until sunrise by thinking about the good times I’ve spent with Dahlia.

I tried to never miss a birthday, make her feel special, but Gareth still found a way to terrorize and hurt her by using that connection against her.

I want to shake her and tell her that I was an adult. She didn’t need to protect me!

Finally, at four in the morning, I drift off to sleep, strands of a song I remember from The Darkest Nights following me.

Bronwyn

Walking quickly, my boots crunch against the snow on the sidewalk as I head into my mid-afternoon shift at the call center at the Crisis Center. After I graduated high school a year early, I applied at University of Detroit to get an undergraduate degree in psychology.

I was broken hearted, didn’t know what direction I wanted to go in, and broke.

Since I left Gareth’s home, I don’t have any of my own money. Jack told me to focus on my school work, and he would cover what was needed. Apparently, he’s loaded as a third owner in his security company, but being as humble as he is, you’d never realize it.

As much as I didn’t want a handout, I accepted Jack’s offer. He paid someone to completely change my identity, while ensuring my background in private school remained intact. All the sleepless nights and working for those dumb points weren’t a waste, at least.

When I applied to the University of Detroit, the first question I was asked in the interview was why I had decided to “slum it” in public school after having been born with a silver spoon all of my life.

The interviewer didn’t know anything about my real life, but was going off the fact that these schools don’t give out scholarships. You either have the money to fork over, or you won’t be allowed to attend.

As surprised as I was by the interviewer’s question, I explained that I went through a financial hardship when both of my parents died. Thankfully, I was able to get a scholarship that pays for both tuition and books while I live with Jack for my undergraduate degree.

In many ways, Gareth is dead to me. I had no idea he was capable of what he did to Dahlia, and have a sick feeling I only know a sliver of the truth.

Jack put himself on all of my paperwork after I left home as my guardian, ensuring I went to therapy when he saw I was spiraling. He told me it was a perfectly appropriate response.

Losing my fucking mind at finding out my girlfriend was being raped by my father is worth spiraling over. I may not know exactly what he did, but my imagination is a terrifying place. So, I went to therapy, attended school, and tried to move on even as I missed her.

Now, I’m nineteen-years-old and graduating at the end of the year with my degree. I only have four months to go now that it’s January. I want to work with people who are struggling with life, and feel as if their emotions are too much for them to handle.

The world is unkind, all we can do is find a way to survive.

That’s what brings me to the Keller Crisis Center. They allow people who are in school for mental or behavioral health services to work here under close supervision, gaining real world experience before they graduate.

Working here has only managed to solidify my desire to continue school, but it makes me feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile.

Opening the door to the Center, I hurry inside. I have about five minutes before I start my shift, and I want to make sure I’m settled at my desk first.

“Good morning, Bowen,” the security guard says, raising his hand in greeting. I told Jack I wanted a name that was as close to mine as possible. Otherwise, I’d end up forgetting it.

This is what we landed on. I still refuse to go by “Bee”, as it just doesn’t feel right without her, even though Jack started the nickname first.

“Good morning, Nate,” I say with a warm smile as I put my badge over my head to identify myself. He buzzes me through the door, and then I’m climbing to the second door to my office.

It’s really more of a cubicle, but it works. Sitting down at my chair, I put everything away, including making a trip to the lounge to place my food in the fridge, and pick up my headset to connect it to the server.

Once I’m in, I’ll get calls as they come through. Almost immediately, I get a call, allowing myself to focus completely on the person calling.

Sometimes, they want someone to talk to, and others they’re in the midst of a crisis. I never know until I pick up the phone. The Center does have therapists I can grab on site if it’s something I can’t handle, but I do have training and a script to work from that helps me.

Right now, I unfortunately have someone I’m going to need to call the police for to give her more assistance, as she’s straddling the railing on a bridge.

“Marie, think hard, is there anyone you want to talk to instead of jumping?” I ask, calm despite my heart pounding as I text dispatch. I’m grateful that there are multiple people we work with for when we have someone who calls who has suicidal ideation with the intent to die. There’s the off chance someone is fucking with me, but I don’t feel as if she is.

“ What ?” she asks, her teeth chattering. I can hear the wind whipping around her, which is another reason I can tell Marie is serious.

“There’s my Aunt Sarah, but she doesn’t want to talk to me…”

“May I ask how you know that?” I ask, voice soft. “If you do this, you won’t be able to speak to her, because death is forever.”

The reminder makes her begin to cry, and my supervisor, Taylor, stops next to me. Lifting my cell phone, I show her the conversation I’m currently having with the police dispatch. Nodding, she tensely squats next to me, listening to my side of the conversation.

The police are on route, without sirens and only lights to ensure that they get there quickly.

“I don’t want that ,” Marie sobs, gasping. “ I’m so tired of the voices telling me I should die.”

I write a note quietly to my supervisor as I continue to speak to Marie and she informs the dispatcher that Marie may be having hallucinations along with her depression. I’m able to get her to step back over the railing before the police pull in silently, and take her in for a psych evaluation.

She’ll be able to get the chance to call her Aunt Sarah, who I found out is still alive while chatting with Marie.

Sitting back as I disconnect the call, I take a deep breath.

“Great job, Bowen,” Taylor says, sighing. “Take a break or a walk. I know I’d need to walk it off after a call like that.”

My hands are trembling slightly as I nod. Maybe I need something sweet.

“Okay,” I murmur, making sure to remove myself as someone taking open calls before I stand to go to the lounge. “Thank you.”

Standing, Taylor nods as she watches me carefully. “I don’t know what it is, but you tend to get the harder calls. I know it’s because they need you in whatever awful situation they're going through, and while that’s a good thing, I don’t want you to get burnt out. Do a little decompression before you come back.”

Grabbing my cellphone to call Jack, I agree as I stick it in my back pocket. It’s so cold today, I went with black leather pants, Doc Martens, and a long-sleeved lilac-purple sweater. My curly hair is contained in a fishtail braid over my shoulder, mostly so I won’t fidget with it.

It doesn’t hurt that I look put together right now, when I feel like I’m cracking a little on the inside. It’s always a line I feel that I struggle with daily.

Leaving my long coat behind, I walk toward the lounge, and call Jack. He had texted earlier, but I didn’t notice. It’s now after five, and I should probably just heat up my dinner.

“ Hey ,” Jack says, with a smile in his voice. He sounds as if he’s walking.

“Hi, I saw you texted just now,” I reply, stepping around someone and into the lounge.

“I just wanted to say hi. Why do you sound weird ?” he asks suddenly.

I swear, live with someone for enough years, and you can’t hide a damn thing. Not that I want to hide anything from Jack, anyway.

“Rough call,” I explain. “It ended okay, though. I think my sugar dropped a little. I’m heating up my dinner.”

I made a lemon chicken risotto for the both of us, knowing I wouldn’t be home. We tend to split meal prep duties, but damn I was really craving this.

“ You’re sure you’re good, though ?” he asks, checking in as I open the fridge to grab my container from my lunch box.

“Yeah, I am. It was like an adrenaline rush and a sugar crash had a baby,” I say, giggling.

“Okay, that’s adorable, and probably exactly what happened ,” Jack says. “ You’re done with your shift at eight, right?”

I came in at noon, which means he’s correct.

“Mmhm,” I murmur, opening the container slightly to vent before I put it in the microwave and set the timer. “I’m parked in the garage on Ninth street. Traffic was kind of crazy today.”

Jack and I both work downtown, and the school isn’t far, which is one of the reasons he bought the high rise apartment. I know he didn’t feel right staying in the house he bought when he initially moved here.

“Okay, I’ll be home by nine or so ,” he says. “ I have drinks with a client who wants to schmooze while he discusses what he wants for his company .”

Jack hates these kinds of meetings. He doesn’t mind going out for a drink with friends, but this is the side of the company he dislikes. He still travels as the face of the company and the closer, however, I’m finding it’s not as often as he’s been building a decent clientele here in Michigan.

While I don’t mind being alone, the nights are the hardest for me, because that’s when my nightmares come to visit. I dream Gareth walked into my room instead and hurt me in ways that shattered me.

My psyche is an asshole.

“ Bronwyn ?” Jack asks, and I realize I’ve been lost in my head.

“I’m here, I promise,” I say when the microwave beeps, saying my food is ready.

“Do you want me to swing by ?” he asks. “ I’m not far, and sometimes a hug goes a long way when you have a rough call.”

My lips twitch because Jack is a sweetheart. I know we never would be whatever we are if I hadn’t been drunk and sad on my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t even think I was into guys, but Jack is different. I wish we both didn’t feel so much guilt over it though.

“Have I told you how wonderful you are today?” I ask, carefully lifting my food from the microwave plate. “Talking to you is helping to settle me.”

“ Okay ,” he says easily as I grab my fork and water, moving over to a table. “ To answer your question, you have not told me that yet.”

Chuckling, I open the top of my container, letting it cool a little. “If I tell you now, you won’t be able to get through the door,” I tease him.

“Nah, I’d be fine ,” he says. I imagine the smirk he has on his lips as he walks down the sidewalk. “ We’ve both been busy, why don’t we go out tomorrow?”

Chewing my lip, I want to ask if we should. We’ve gone around and around on this. It’s a tug and pull. Sometimes I think I want more, and others it’s him who questions things. Jack is right, if Dahlia wanted to see us, she’d reach out. She would find a way.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask hesitantly.

“How about the new speakeasy? We can do dinner and drinks ,” Jack says.

Taking a bite of my food, I hum appreciatively. God, I could seriously eat this every damn day. I have a fake ID for when Jack and I want to go places that I can’t quite get into yet, because of my age. It’s ridiculous not to go when I have the means to.

Or maybe I’m just ignoring the fact that Jack has been over twenty one for years.

When I think about it, I worry that Jack will get tired of me. I’m idealistic, work a lot, and study even harder. But, at the end of the day, the only person who fits perfectly next to me when I close my eyes is Jack. That’s what matters, even if I get confused by it all.

“Earth to Bronwyn ,” Jack teases me. Giggling, I realize again that I’ve been having an entire conversation in my head.

“I would love to, Jack. I’ll make sure I get my reading done tonight when I get home,” I say.

I chat with him as I eat, discussing what my schedule at the Crisis Center looks like the next few days in terms of shifts. I work part time because I’m taking fifteen credit hours this semester, and sometimes I feel as if I’m doggy paddling through my week.

It’s exhausting, but I know that I’m doing what I’m meant to do.

Finishing up, I say goodbye to him, clean up and return to my cubicle with a bounce in my step. Plugging back into the calls, I wait for one to be shuffled to me. There’s a slower pace now that people head home from work, or do whatever it is that they’re doing.

I get one or two calls over the next hour and a half, and I wonder if I should go home early. There are three other full time employees who are at the Center with me. As it approaches eight o’clock, my phone rings. Blinking away the haze of inactivity, I shake my hands out before answering it.

“Keller Crisis Center, my name is Bowen, are you in a safe place?” I ask. A lot of people make up a name when they’re answering calls, but since my name isn’t mine, I feel comfortable enough to use it.

“ Yeah ,” says a hoarse voice. It's raspy and tired, and she sounds as if she’s had a long day. “ I don’t even know why I’m calling. ”

“That’s okay,” I murmur. “Sometimes, it’s nice to reach out and know there’s someone else on the line.”

“I used to have people like that, but I don’t anymore ,” she says sadly. Sometimes, the speaker on the other end gives me their name, while others they won’t.

This person sounds lonely, but I don’t know much else yet.

“May I ask what happened?” I ask, wondering if she wants to talk.

“ Life is just really unfair, you know ?” she asks with a sigh. “ People are evil, and just want to use and abuse you.”

“I can’t believe everyone is like that,” I tell her. “There are really good people out there.”

“I don’t know ,” she grunts. “ You may think that, but it’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone decent .”

“Well, I’ll be the one decent person you know then,” I say with a shrug. “Sometimes life decides to make you their punching bag, and it’s rough.”

“ You’re like Miss Sunshine ,” the girl teases. “ I don’t believe anyone has ever made you their punching bag. It doesn’t get much worse than being sixteen and homeless.”

This girl doesn’t sound sixteen… She must be talking about the past.

“Michigan is cold,” I say noncommittally. It may seem dumb, but reframing or filling the space with something that fits the response, helps keep the conversation.

“It was the summer, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world,” she says. “I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. It was a nightmare .”

A tingle moves over my skin, and I feel hyper aware as I speak to her. There’s more than one person who’s ever had an awful home life when they were sixteen. She sounds completely different from Dahlia too.

“I’m glad you chose you,” I say instead. “At a certain point, it’s the only thing you can do.”

“Yeah? You think ?” she asks. I can hear people talking around her, but it’s echoing. Is she in an alley? “I wonder about it all the time. I tried, I really did. He was going to kill me .”

Swallowing thickly, I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“You can only control your actions and no one else,” I say, subtly clearing my throat. “Why do you say you tried?”

“I left people ,” she says. “ Anyway, I have to jet. I have a shift.”

The phone goes dead as my heart pounds and I disconnect from the server. I’m done for the day, I have nothing else to give people. Signing out of the system completely, I alert my supervisor that I’m leaving for the day.

Sighing, I wonder if that could have been Dahlia before dismissing it. The sheer possibility of it is enough to make me lightheaded.

Forcing myself to take a deep, cleansing breath, I unlock my jaw and drop my head back. The walls of my cubicle are high enough that no one will be able to see me until they’re leaning over, so I can take my time to unclench my body before I leave.

Pulling on my coat, I stand and button it up. My mittens and scarf go on next before gathering my things and heading to the lounge to grab my lunch box. By the time I have everything, it’s almost eight fifteen at night.

Yawning, I trudge down the stairs and out of the building with a wave at the security guard. I secretly hate this walk to the parking garage.

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I walk, and I pick it up without looking at it. While I have a few friends from school, only one person would be calling me right now. I'm still a little surprised by it, because I thought he would be finishing up drinks with his work client.

“Hello,” I answer, waiting for the light to change so I can cross the street.

“I seem to be having an aneurysm ,” Jack says . “I know it’s been hours since we talked, but did you really say you parked on Ninth street ?”

“Yes,” I say with a laugh, scurrying across the street as soon as the light changes, signaling it’s safe. At night, I swear it’s even shorter than normal, and I squeal as I run the last section before it changes, and traffic continues behind me.

“I fucking hate these lights.”

“I know you do ,” he soothes. “ I’m going to stay with you on the phone. I don’t know why I’m so damn slow on the uptake today. I would have picked you up from the Center to drive you back to the garage.”

“That’s just silly,” I counter, my short legs moving as quickly as possible. “You have a meeting. I love that you’re worried, but I’m really fine.”

“ Nah, I told him my girl needed me to keep her company while she walked, and he said he appreciated that I’m a gentleman ,” he says.

“Oh? Now I’m your girl?” I ask. See, the damn push and pull. It’s exhausting as fuck .

Jack growls under his breath that makes my pussy clench and whimper in need. God, is it wrong to want him? I’m so confused. I’m tired of not giving in. I need him to say something to take this decision out of my hands.

“You’re goddamn right you are ,” he grunts. “ Pay attention to your surroundings for me, Bronwyn. I need you home in one piece. No more talk about whether or not you’re mine. The past is the past. All we can do is move forward, okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper, stepping to the side to walk around a couple walking and chatting together. Ugh, one more street to go.

“I need to bring something up first ,” he says, making me frown. What could he possibly want to ask me? “ Outside of who it was, you are attracted to women, right? Fuck, this feels like a really probing question after I just went all caveman on you. You’re such a brat sometimes. I don’t know if I want to spank you or fuck you.”

“Both please,” I say, gulping in air. It has little to do with the fact that I can see the sign for the parking garage, and more to do with if I would like it if he spanked me. Based on how wet I am, I’d say that’s definitely on the table.

“I think I’m bisexual. There’s something about how soft a woman feels while you’re kissing her, and her little noises…”

We both know who I’m talking about, and if possible, Jack’s voice deepens.

“I want you to have everything you want ,” he says. “ There’s this event I was told about by someone, it may be fun to check out. You’d be able to explore that side of yourself, and I’ll be happy to watch. Fuck, my dick is hard just thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” I ask, smiling as I hit the elevator button, calling it down to me. It’s too cold for the stairs right now. No, thank you. “You wouldn’t want to fuck me while I’m getting my pussy licked?”

I’ve only started to feel comfortable talking dirty with Jack. I’ve never had oral with anyone except Dahlia and him, but the thought of what I’m talking about makes me shiver from more than just the cold.

“As long as we’re both worshiping you, and you’re the star of the show, I’m good with it,” he rumbles. I swear his words go straight to my clit as the elevator takes me to the floor my car is on.

Jack bought me a cute Honda CR-V that I can easily get in and out of, and has all weather tires, when I turned seventeen. He taught me how to drive it in the snow before he’d even think about agreeing to me sitting for my driver's license. I was overwhelmed with excitement and anxiety, because I didn’t know how I’d learn how to drive otherwise.

It was never on Gareth’s radar of things to do with me since I had a driver for most things.

“Yes, please,” I whisper as the doors open. It’s a lot emptier on this level now than when I first parked earlier in the day. “Okay, almost there.”

“I still feel like an asshole for not realizing how far you parked ,” Jack groans as I hold my keys in my hand.

“I didn’t really make it a big deal,” I remind him. “I don’t love this walk though.”

“How far are you from the car, baby ?” he asks, sounding super focused on me.

“Three spots away,” I report. My thighs burn from the walk, and I’m slightly out of breath. “I think I need to get into a gym. I’m out of shape.”

“ We can do whatever you want. There’s a gym in our apartment complex, ” he says. “ Now where’s the car? ”

“Unlocking it,” I grunt as I open it and slide inside, tossing my bag in as I close the door behind me. Quickly, I lock the doors around me and hit the start button.

Hitting the speaker, I make sure my headlights are on and put the SUV into reverse as I turn behind me to back up. Screaming as I see a man peeking into my back window, I lean on the horn, making him jump.

“Go away!” I scream, startling him as he backs up.

“What the fuck, Bronwyn,” Jack asks, on speaker phone.

“There’s a man looking in my back window. He’s backing up. Holy fuck,” I gasp.

“Continue to reverse the vehicle, he’ll move or risk getting run over,” Jack snarls. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

Doing as he says, I watch as the man continues to step back until I can turn the SUV and drive away.

“Okay,” I whisper, blinking furiously to clear my vision. “I’m good.”

“ No crying, you’re okay. I’m not there to hold you, ” Jack says. “ If you beat off a man with your car and then crash because you can’t see, you’ll lose your badass points. ”

Laughing hard as I drive out of the garage, I take a right toward the apartment.

“You have a point. Will I lose points if I ask you to meet me in the underground lot?” I ask. “I don’t think I can handle walking through another one alone tonight. My nerves are fried.”

“ Not at all. Give me your status as you get closer,” he says easily. “ I swear my heart about exploded from my chest when you screamed, Bronwyn.”

“Ah, you and me both,” I say. “My hands are still shaking. I swear no one was around when I jumped into the car, and then as I went to back up, there he was. I’m one street away, Jack.”

“I’m headed downstairs. I finished early, and I’ve been waiting for you,” he explains. I can hear doors opening and closing as he walks, and my heart begins to slow down. “The drug situation has been ramping up, maybe he wanted money?”

“I don’t carry cash, so he’d have been shit out of luck there,” I say. I have a prepaid card for the garages, and it simply deducts the money from there.

“In the elevator,” Jack reports. “I’ll be downstairs in no time. Where are you?”

“At the light before the building,” I murmur. Looking around, I see people going about their business. Everyone just wants to get home.

“Good, I’ll beat you there,” he says. I can hear the doors to the elevator ping as my light changes, and I pull into the garage, my sensor on my vehicle opening the gate.

Smiling, I see Jack wave at me, and I pull into the spot next to his vehicle. Thank God for assigned parking spots. I love not having to fight for parking.

Jack takes my lunch box as I get out of the car, wrapping me in his arms.

“Welcome home, beautiful,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.

For the first time, I believe it while I hug him back. Things will be different now.