Page 61 of His Dark Pull

He nods. “It’s been a lot.”

Silence descends.

“I’m just so grateful you’re safe,” he finally says. “I don’t know what I would have done if you—”

“I’m here. And I’m okay. Your father– you and S-sarah—-” My voice cracks. “I can never repay you.”

A shadow crosses his face. “It’s also my best friend who tried to kill you—”

I turn away, gazing out the window at the cityscape below. The bustling streets seem a world away, disconnected from the raw emotions that hold me.

“It’s not your fault,” I murmur.

He finishes his coffee, his eyes fixed on the remnants at the bottom of the cup. “Ava—-I’m offered a job out west. A fresh start.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “I think it’s time.”

Tears prick at my eyes, blurring the cityscape. “It sounds like a good opportunity,” I manage, my voice hoarse. The silence returns, heavier now. Memories flicker through my mind, snapshots of laughter and shared dreams.

“I think it’s best if we don’t keep in touch. Not as friends, not as—anything. I’d always want more, Ava. And you—” He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I understand.

I release my tears; they feel hot against my chilled skin. I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The napkin beneath my mug is soon soaked.

I rise, gathering my things. A final hug, a lingering touch, and then I turn away, leaving behind a piece of my heart with him.

There’s one more thing I need to do at the police station.I gulp and head for the bathroom first.

* * *

In the restroom, I stare at my reflection: a stranger with tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. I splash water on my face, the coolness a shock that brings me back to the present. With each swipe of the paper towel, I wipe away not just the tears but the remnants of fear.

I need to do this. I want to do this.

I straighten my shoulders, meeting my own gaze strong. The woman staring back is a warrior, scarred but not broken. And with that newfound strength, I head towards Harvey’s office one floor up.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft whoosh, releasing me onto the fifth floor, the heart of the police station’s detective division. Unlike the bustling activity I just witnessed, a quiet hangs in the air here.

The walls are painted a sterile shade of pale gray and are bare except for the occasionally framed commendation or faded wanted poster. The industrial carpet underfoot muffles the sound of my footsteps as I walk. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and dust. As I pass a row of closed doors, I glimpse two detectives through a small window. Their heads bent over a desk littered with papers and coffee cups. Their brows are furrowed in concentration, carrying Port Haven’s burdens.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and turn the knob at Harvey’s office door. It creaks open, revealing a spacious room. A large desk commands the center, its surface littered with files and folders. Several detectives in civilian clothes huddle around, their low murmurs barely audible above the hum of the air conditioner. The stale scent of cigarettes lingers.

Harvey rises from behind the desk, his face serious. “Ava,” he greets, pulling me into an unexpected hug. His embrace is comforting. “Let’s sit down. Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I just had one with your son,”I say, forcing a weak smile.

“Oh, yes.”

The walls seem to press in as we settle into the chairs. Harvey’s gaze holds mine, steady and serious. “Ava, as you know, Dexter’s agreed to confess.”

“Yes,”I manage, my hand instinctively going to my hair, twisting a strand around my finger. I already know this.

“But—”Harvey pauses, his words a hammer blow. “Only if he can talk to you first. Alone.”

My breath catches. My muscles lock, every nerve ending screaming in protest. Images flash – the cold concrete floor, the smell of his cologne, the terror in my own eyes reflected back at me from the darkness.

“How?”My voice is a dry rasp.

Harvey’s expression softens a fraction. “We’ll have officers right outside. He’ll be cuffed to the table. It’s just —”He hesitates, searching my face. “If there’s any chance of getting a full confession, it’s worth a shot. But only if you’re comfortable.”

Ice floods my veins. My stomach churns. The thought of being alone with him, even now, is unbearable. But what if he gets away? A voice whispers in my head. What if he hurts someone else?

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