Because I knew the reason now.

Just like I’d envisioned a reunion with her that was completely different from the one we’d had. She’d been dreaming of me rescuing her and taking her away from it all. And instead, I’d let my jealousy get in the way and had been a bastard to her the entire first day after the supposed bad guy had just done everything to save her.

Strike. Three.

Rachel

I COULDN’T FIGURE OUT WHAT TO SAY or what to feel when I finally finished rehashing everything I could think of from my time with Trent.

Now I was sitting here, trying to sort through all the emotions that were coursing through me. I knew the members of his gang would kill Trent the second they had the chance, and I was feeling guilty and terrified for when that time came . . . it felt like I was already grieving his loss. I’d promised him I wouldn’t let him go down for everything, and in the end, I hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. I wanted him back; I wanted him safe and away from the other members of his gang. I wished more than anything that he could have gotten a start at a new life instead of being sent to prison, where he was likely to die for what he’d done for me. But through all of that—through all of those emotions—they didn’t compare to what I was feeling for the man sitting across from me.

I was so confused. I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling for me after the conversation I’d heard yesterday afternoon. I’d always known he was quick to react on his emotions, it was one of the reasons I loved him. But everything about yesterday and today was so beyond what I thought it would be, and what was us, that I just felt like I didn’t know anything anymore.

So I was grieving, but it wasn’t just for Trent and what was to come for him, it was also for the relationship that I was afraid was now over after everything Logan and I had been through.

When more than an hour had passed since I’d finished talking, and he still hadn’t said a word, I stood up to take a shower.

“What can I do, Rachel?” he asked to my back. “Tell me what to do for you and I’ll do it. Tell me how to help you and it’ll be done.”

My lips tilted up in a forced, helpless smile even though he couldn’t see me, and I kept my back to him as I said, “If I had any idea what to do to make that month go away, or to fix us, I would. But I don’t, I don’t even know if there is anything either of us can do.”

Without waiting for a response, I walked to the back of the house and through the bedroom to the bathroom. Stripping down after the steam from the shower started filling up the room, I stepped in and let the hot water soothe my aching body, and hide my unrelenting tears.

Logan never came to check on me, though I stayed in long enough again that the water ran cold. But when I was in new pajamas and was walking out of the bathroom again, something on the bed caught my eye.

My engagement ring was on top of the same piece of paper I had left it on this morning, sitting in the middle of the bed.

I sat on the edge and reached for the paper, letting the ring slide off it onto the comforter.

I understand, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry.

I’m here. Always. And I’m never giving up on us. I love you.

“So fall when you’re ready, babe . . .”

Somehow, impossibly, more tears filled my eyes, and I pressed the paper to my chest as I fell back onto the bed. Grabbing my engagement ring, I held it above me and stared at it through blurred eyes as I replayed yesterday, then replayed the first and second times Logan sang “Fall into Me” by Brantley Gilbert to me. It was after our first time together, and then again as he danced with me in my kitchen last fall on the anniversary of my parents’ death.

I loved him. I loved the man that was waiting for me somewhere in the house. I loved the way he loved me, and I loved all his faults. Including his quick reactions based solely on emotions rather than on facts.

But the events of the last month wouldn’t just go away. Just like the horrific night with Blake hadn’t gone away overnight. Logan was right about one thing, I was sure of it. I wasn’t the same Rachel as before, and I didn’t know how to get her back. Because this time, it wasn’t just the events that had changed me . . . it was also Trent, and he had changed Logan too.

Logan didn’t understand my relationship with Trent, and I wasn’t sure if he understood now that I wasn’t in love with him. But for Logan, there was still that level of unease and suspicion when it came to Trent, and that needed to be addressed, just as much as I needed to work my way through all that had happened before Logan and I could move forward.

Sitting back up, I opened the drawer of my nightstand and kept both the note and ring in my left hand, suspended over it, as I thought of the past . . . the future . . . and most importantly, the present. What happened here and now could change everything.

Letting the note fall, I shut the drawer and stood to leave the room.

20

Kash

SLIPPING THE CHAIN holding the badge over my head, I pulled on an old Henley shirt and made sure it covered my duty weapon resting in the holster on my belt. Grabbing my tactical boots, I put them on and ran a hand through my hair as I walked out of the bedroom.

It was weird. Getting ready for work whenever Rach was home usually consisted of me trying to get ready, and her doing everything to make sure I had fewer clothes on ten minutes later than when I’d begun. Now that she was back, I hadn’t expected it to go back to that immediately. But she shut herself in the closet when she changed and always seemed to walk out of the bedroom whenever I was doing the same. And it’d been close to three weeks since she’d come home.

I stopped near the end of the hall and leaned a shoulder against the wall as I watched her. She was sitting on the far end of one of the couches, her legs up in that way that she always seemed to sit now, and was staring off into the backyard. Her journal was resting in between her knees and her chest, a pen in her hand like she’d forgotten she was writing again.

This happened a lot now too. She wrote more than she used to, and even when she wasn’t writing, there were times when she would suddenly stop whatever she was doing and just stare off . . . usually outdoors. I didn’t ask what she was thinking about, or what she was remembering, because it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. I just usually tried to let her be alone in her thoughts during those times.

With all that said, though, she was getting better all the time, and I was so damn proud of her. After that second day home, when she’d walked into the living room with her engagement ring back on, we’d slowly been working on everything. Neither of us mentioned the fact that she put it on, but I’m positive I hadn’t stopped smiling like a lunatic for hours after.

We’d worked on her fear and anxiety, as well as my jealousy issues and insecurities over Trent. But most of all, we’d just worked on being us again. She hadn’t cried since her second shower, as far as I knew; and after a long talk about how she’d felt like she didn’t know the man who’d come to rescue her . . . she slowly went back to calling me Kash again. As I’d seen that second day, my bitchy Rachel was still there, and her attitude was slowly coming out more and more. I’d gone back to treating her like I always had from day one, and she’d gone back to teasing and fighting with me again, as well as smiling a little more every day.

Though she didn’t ask about him, she knew that I’d made sure Trent was put in an isolation cell so that no one could get to him except for the guards, and I knew she only didn’t mention him for my benefit. Because every night, in her sleep, she’d whisper his name. Sometimes her voice was laced with fear or agony, and sometimes it was as if he were standing right there . . . but it never failed. Though we were working on us, and I knew without a doubt that she loved me, there was always that nagging thought of what her real thoughts of him were. Even still, Mason and I had been working for the last few weeks on getting him moved somewhere else for his safety, but since Rachel didn’t bring him up, I wasn’t sure how to bring that up to her . . . especially when there was the chance we wouldn’t succeed.

I held her every night in our bed, and took any opportunity to kiss the top of her head, forehead, cheeks, and neck . . . but we still hadn’t kissed since that second morning. There were lingering touches from her, brushes here and there; and when I would hold her in my arms, her eyes would search mine as her fingers gently trailed over my face and through my hair. It was the sweetest form of agony I’d ever endured.

I pushed off the wall, and Trip lifted his head as he watched me make my way toward him and Rachel. He’d come back home a few days ago and hadn’t left Rachel’s side since. Scratching his head when I got close, I tried not to shake my own when I got directly next to Rachel and she still hadn’t realized I was here.

She jumped a little when I cupped one of her cheeks in my hands but smiled and pressed her fingers gently into my chest when she looked up at me.

“Gotta go to work, Sour Patch.”

Her lips twitched, and her fingers trailed up the side of my neck and into my hair. “Be safe.”

I leaned in and kissed her neck, and then closer to her ear before whispering, “Always. I love you, Rachel.”

“Love you too.”