Page 43 of The Savior

“How do you know my gun is not safely tucked somewhere within reach?”

“Because…”

He stopped, and she did too. His gaze swept from neck to ankles, inspecting what he already knew. Not once, not twice, not any specific number of times that he could recall, Liam had watched how she moved, the way her pants fit over her thighs, and how they tapered down her leg. He’d studied her shoulders, her posture, her chest. Even if he hadn’t realized what he’d done, Liam knew that he could recall a three-hundred-sixty-degree memory of how she looked.

But on top of that, he’d been close enough to smell the lemon in her shampoo and had touched her, learning that she had power under her layered uniform.

“I would’ve felt it.”

Chelsea’s lips parted.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Appropriate conversation had never been his strong point, and when bourbon and beer were thrown in, sometimes the truth came out.

And maybe he also shouldn’t have thought about her body, but he had, to the point of distraction, and he didn’t know why he’d never noticed a hundred things about her that he’d noticed that night.

The recall of their every connection filtered through his thoughts with such intensity that it made him crave their closeness again. Instead, he stepped back.

“My service weapon is locked in a small gun safe in my condo.” Her eyes darted around and finally landed on his shoulder, settling for a moment before she turned, walking again.

They stepped onto the sidewalk and wound through the complex. Thunder rumbled again, and he noted that the weather report had been wrong by about half a day. Friday’s thunderstorms had arrived early.

Lightning cracked far off in the sky, and the amber light of the neighborhood lampposts illuminated their familiar walk.

The sidewalk came to a T intersection, and Liam turned right—alone.

Momentarily confused, he pivoted. “Hey—”

Chelsea faced him on the opposite side, each a step away from where the sidewalk split. Julia’s condo had been to the right, and Chelsea’s was to the left. Turning had been a habit, even if it had been a while since he made the journey.

“Shit.” Memories splintered him from the inside out.

“Are you okay?” Chelsea asked with genuine concern.

His throat ached, and he inhaled and rubbed his hands into his hair.What am I supposed to say?A year had gone by, and he still hadn’t learned the words that could explain the void.

Chelsea waited, and he shrugged. Neither moved, as though there were an invisible line between them.

Finally, she said, “Call your Lyft from here. I’ll wait with you.”

He stepped to her side of the T, and they walked toward her parking lot, where their night had started. She angled them toward a bench.

“I’m going to sit out here for a bit,” he offered. “Until I’m okay to drive.”

Thunder cracked, as if God were laughing at him.

Tipping her chin up, she said, “That’s not going to happen.”

His forehead pinched. “I want to go home.”

“Want to or need to?”

“What I don’t want to do is split hairs.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “Lyft. Uber. Whatever else is out there. A taxi. I don’t care. But you’re not driving.”

He bristled, knowing he was wrong and stubborn but that his mind wouldn’t change. “I’ll sleep in my vehicle.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I believe that.”

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