Page 91 of Defended By Love

If he answers, I don’t hear it. I already know the answer.

The answer is yes.

Chapter 39

Logically, I know how I got from my office to my bed—Grant carried me home. The actual memory of it all slips through my fingers like water in poorly cupped hands. I have vague glimpses of me sobbing against his chest, of me begging to go back, of me going catatonic trying to process it all. Nothing concrete, though.

It might as well have happened in another life. To another person.

Except, it wasn’t something done to me. It was something I did to another person.

There was no reason for me to go back into work. We were given the time off; no one was expecting me to work. I was only fueled by my own ridiculous notion of self-worth. I couldn’t conceptualize how I could be of any value without work, so I broke the rules. I snuck in.

I didn’t take a second to think about the spiraling out impact my actions might have on others.

Even if the building hadn’t collapsed, what if people had gotten in when it started being fumigated?

No, I was only thinking about the cheap adrenaline spike I’d get when Dominic would give me a half-nod of approval when he saw I’d gotten ahead on my work. Not that it would have changed how he thought of me at all.

The truth is: I got a woman killed for absolutely nothing at all.

That thought unleashes a new bout of crying. Grant doesn’t say anything. He just holds me against him, safe in his arms, while I work through the terror that comes from taking a hard look in the mirror.

* * *

Hours later, I wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and two strong arms still around my middle.

“Hey,” Grant says gently.

I know I must look terrible. I can feel my eyes puffed together from crying and my hair must be a knotted mess. Grant just looks at me with nothing but relief and love in his eyes.

Even though I’m basically a murderer.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

I scowl at him. A reflex from being told what to do by a peer that I should probably learn to control.

“I’m thinking that I killed a girl.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know the story. Oh god, when I tell him, he’s probably going to think I’m a monster and want nothing to do with me. Can’t say I blame him.

“You don’t understand—”

Grant shifts me so that I’m on my side looking at him. His expression is nothing but kindness and patience. I should probably take a second to appreciate it since I’ll never see it again.

“You snuck into work and left the door to the building unlocked,” he finishes for me. “You’ve been talking about it for the last little bit.”

He says it like it was a casual mistake and not like the murder it practically was.

“She died so many times.”

My own death was terrifying. The pain. The fear. The panic. All those feelings are so intense that they were almost enough to kill me. I put that girl (god, I don’t even know her name) through that again and again.

“We’ll save her tomorrow and every day after,” Grant promises.

It’s just not enough.

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