Page 28 of Reckless Love

“Good evening, sir,” the bolder of the two greeted, stepping forward.

“Come in,” Wick told them, waving them toward the living room. Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he led me forward and situated us together on one of the large sofas while the officers stood.

“I’m Detective Moore, and this is my partner, Detective Parsons,” the first man said, gesturing to himself first and then his stockier companion. “First we wanted to let you know we apprehended the suspect involved in Mrs. Forrester’s attack. He’s currently being held at the eighty-fifth precinct.”

Detective Parsons cleared his throat. “This is mostly a formality. We just need statements from you both regarding what transpired this evening.”

Wick turned to me, his expression grim as he took my hand. “Go ahead, baby.”

I recounted everything that had happened from when I’d left the building, not going into why I’d left, but focusing on what had occurred when I’d entered Central Park. I told them about the dog, and then about how Mr. Covington had attacked me.

A deep shiver rolled down my spine, and Wick’s arm held me tighter to his side.

Taking a deep breath, I finished my story with Wick showing up and saving me.

“Sounds like you’ve been through quite the ordeal, Mrs. Forrester,” Detective Moore stated, nodding to his partner, who had been taking notes. “The spot of the park you were in has security cameras. We’ve already requested the footage, and as long as there’s no discrepancies with your testimony and the tapes, we won’t need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Wick said, speaking for both of us.

“Of course,” Detective Moore replied with a nod. He gave me a small smile. “Truly sorry for the trouble you experienced, Mrs. Forrester.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as Wick stood to escort them out. I instantly felt the absence of his warmth, and I grabbed a chunky knit throw blanket from the back of the sofa.

When I’d first arrived, Wick’s home was devoid of things like throw blankets. But the day after I’d fallen asleep watching a movie on the sofa, throw blankets in a multitude of textures had appeared on the backs of chairs and couches.

Running my fingers over the soft fabric, I wrapped it around myself and watched the officers leave and Wick return.

“Did you do this?” I asked when he reappeared in the room.

His brow furrowed. “This?”

I touched the blanket. “The blankets.”

His mouth curved ever-so-slightly. “Yes. I thought you’d prefer them if you planned on watching more movies.”

“Thank you,” I said, realizing I’d never said that.

I’d never said thank you when he’d started making me meals. When my favorite coffee started to appear in a sparkly pink mug every morning with the perfect amount of cream and sugar. Not when the blankets had shown up, and not when my favorite drinks and snacks were stocked in the pantry.

Wick had done all of that. Or seen to all of it.

And I’d been too in my own head to realize it. Too busy tiptoeing around my husband to see that, in his own way, he’d been trying. Too busy blaming him to see all the ways he was showing up for me.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” he replied, coming to stand in front of me before lowering himself to the edge of the coffee table.

I licked my lips, nervous energy thrumming under the surface of my skin and crackling in my veins. “Wick?—”

“May I go first, please?” He reached for my hands.

I nodded, the words sticking in my throat.

His brow creased. “Have you heard of OCD?”

Now it was my turn to frown. “Obsessive compulsive disorder? Of course I have.”

He drew in a deep breath, looking uncertain for the first time since I’d met him. “When I was younger, I was diagnosed with OCD.”

“Okay.” Did he think that somehow made him less of a person because he had a disorder that was completely out of his control? “Wick, I don’t care.”

---