Page 29 of Looking Grimm

His grip tightened. It was the kind of viselike squeeze I craved, as though the right amount of pressure could somehow hold me together.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.” When he kissed the top of my head, tears welled in my eyes.

I swore and pulled away from him, but he reached after me.

“Fitch? What’s wrong?”

Tugging up the hem of my shirt, I wiped it over my face. As I smoothed it slowly down, I got a good look at him. His beard was longer than usual and getting scraggly at the ends, and sleepless shadows circled his eyes. The wrinkles ofconcern lining his features seemed entrenched, far too comfortable on his face.

I remembered the calm-down concoction he’d prepared for himself the day I ran from the bar. It wasn’t like him to drink his own product, and I’d never known him to consume anything potentially mood-altering. He hadn’t ever needed it before.

Looking at the side of the hotel building, I spotted a raised flowerbed framed by a low brick wall. I gestured toward it.

“Can we sit? I’m fucking wiped.”

Nash nodded. “Sure.”

He took my hand and held it as we sat side by side on the garden ledge. I leaned against him, laying my head on his shoulder while he brushed his thumb across my knuckles.

“Ripley said you had a rough night,” he murmured.

I worried for a moment that my partner in crime had shared the details of our exploits, but Ripley was more secretive than me and likely less proud of what we’d accomplished in the past few days. So, I breathed a little easier and kept my answer succinct.

“We cleaned out the trunk.”

Nash hummed acknowledgment. “That’s good.”

Our joined hands rested on my thigh. I looked down at them, studying my fingers lined with tattoos like battle scars. They had been trophies, symbols of victory in a shitty, one-sided game. But I didn’t want to play anymore.

“Fitch, I want you to come home.” Nash’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

I might have guessed that was the crux of this because I wanted it, too. Sleeping balled up on the loveseat in Ripley’shotel suite meant not sleeping at all. I’d grown accustomed to having a warm body sidled up next to mine and found that I enjoyed little more than being woken by nuzzling kisses on the back of my neck.

But that was all selfish, and dangerous, and…

“I can’t—”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about the investigator,” Nash continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain, but you didn’t have to leave. I want you with me.” He turned and took my other hand, holding both between us. His expression was sincere as he said, “You’re safe with me.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What, then?” he asked, and I wondered how he couldn’t know.

“You!” I exclaimed. “Your home. Your job. Your life…”

He looked ready to cut in again, but I barreled on.

“Pippa was right,” I said. “I made myself your problem, and I shouldn’t have.”

Nash’s brow furrowed in a scowl. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

I released one of his hands to cup my palm to his cheek. The scruff of his beard tickling my skin caused a smile to tease my lips, but it quickly vanished.

“The investigator wasn’t the end of it,” I told him. “There’s more coming. More danger, and I won’t put you through that. I can’t risk it because if I lose you, too…” The confession petered out, already more than I meant to say.

Nash slid his arm around my waist and drew me into a strong embrace. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” he said. “You, either, as long as I’m around.”

“You can’t know that. It’s not safe—”

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