Page 48 of Finding Haven
His muscles tighten, his body turning stiff. “She wasn’t the person I thought she was. When we first met, she accepted that I planned on following in my father’s footsteps to go through the police academy. As time went on, she began to hate it. She couldn’t handle that there were days when I wasn’t able to talk about the things I’d seen. I didn’t have the emotional or mental capacity to process any of it. When I did want to talk, she refused to hear any of it. She’d say it was my fault for choosing that career path. That it was what I signed up for.”
He inhales deeply as his fingers halt their gentle graze against my skin. When he continues, his voice is strained as though it’s causing him physical pain to bring all of this to the surface.
“The night Ryan died…” His hand wraps around me, his grip on me tightening. “She was pissed that I got home late. After the accident, it was hours before I made it home. Between the station-mandated reports and evaluations, I also had to be the one to tell Ryan’s wife. That’s not something that can be done over the phone. I was in such disbelief over what had happened that I didn’t have it in me to argue with her. I don’t remember whether or not I greeted her when I walked through the door. I just remember downing a glass of whiskey like it was a lifeline. All I wanted was to numb every emotion. I didn’t want to feel anything.”
Anger simmers just beneath the surface, twisting the empathetic ache from his loss into something darker. His ex fiancée must be a real piece of work to hold his job against him. Zack was potentially putting his life on the line every single day, trying to make the world a better place, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to support him.
Nothing I say will change the past, but I hope he can feel how much I care about him. I hope he knows I would never hold his position with The Phoenix Legion against him. I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around what all his job entails. If I’m being completely honest, I’m kind of afraid to ask. He told me he’s never killed anyone, and I believe him. Whatever part he plays in the organization, whatever it is that the other members do, I don’t need all of the details. They’re saving people who aren’t able to save themselves and giving them a fresh start. That’s all I need to know.
“What did she do?” I ask, knowing I’m not fully prepared to hear the answer.
“She followed me into the bathroom and threw the bottle of whiskey at the wall as I was getting in the shower.” He's silent for a few moments before he continues. “I don't know whether or not she was aiming for me, but the bottle shattered, and with my back to her, I didn't have a chance to escape the shards of glass.”
The scars on his back.
That bitch.
His gasp is a short, sharp inhale of breath. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss,” he says.
I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but they’re fitting. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way, Zack. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who accepts all of you, even the pieces you think are broken.”
“I used to think that part of me would always be broken.” The glow in his eyes eases the anger boiling underneath the surface of my skin.
My breath hitches in my throat. “And now?” I ask, voice barely above a gentle murmur as a steady pressure begins to build in my chest. Is this what holding your breath underwater for a long period of time feels like? I want to stay calm and hang on for as long as I can, but the pressure is getting worse with each passing second, and I know that I’ll need to come up for air sooner rather than later.
“Now, I have you.”
The pressure in my chest releases as I pull in a deep lungful of air. My teeth scrape over my bottom lip as my eyes flick between his. And then I’m grasping the side of his face and pulling his mouth to mine.
37
Quinn
Thepastcoupleofweeks with Zack have been amazing. I’ve still been posting photo and video content to Frisk, minus the option for private live sessions. As much as I love the boost of confidence I get from all the comments and messages, doing a private session for someone else feels wrong with the way our relationship is going. He’s made it clear he would never ask me to shut down my account, but he can’t hide the jealousy that burns in his eyes or the way his jaw clenches any time I mention it.
He’s given me a ride to work at the bakery almost every morning since I refused to let him buy me a new car. I finally managed to get the funds needed to have my car fixed, and I’m looking forward to not having to rely on other people to get around. Zack offered multiple times to pay for the repairs, but I told him how important it was for me to be able to handle it myself.
Today, we’re both headed to the hotel for work, and even though I was adamant about being able to drive myself, he insisted that his car had plenty of room for everything I needed to bring. I’ve got several boudoir clients scheduled back to back, and with his help, I was able to secure a suite at the Elysian to use as my studio for the day. Before today, sessions have been primarily in each client’s home.
Being able to use a hotel suite and offer additional services provided by the Elysian is going to be a real game changer. It’ll take my boudoir photography to an entirely new level until I’m able to open an actual studio someday. I can build the hotel’s spa services into a premiere boudoir package and sell it as a luxury experience beyond just the photoshoot itself.
“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” I say, reaching for the camera bag at my feet for the third time. I’ve already double-checked that I have my go-to lens, backup batteries, and extra memory cards just in case. I don’t need to check again. But what if I was imagining things and I don’t have as many memory cards in my bag as I originally counted? What if the battery in my camera suddenly dies, I only have one backup, and I forgot the charger?
Zack reaches across the center console and rests his hand on my upper thigh. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re an amazing photographer.”
“I know I’m good at this, but having their sessions in the hotel just feels so… professional. Like I’ve been an amateur until now.”
“These women booked with you because they trust you and they love your work. And they did so assuming they’d be getting the standard in-home session,” he says, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze.
He’s right. The clients I’m working with today all found me through my photography’s social media account. Airbnb wasn’t an option when they booked, but they were all fine with doing their sessions in their homes. They each said they trusted my ability to make the location work. Calling them to offer up a suite at the Elysian as a new location was completely nerve wracking, but the offer was met with nothing butexcitement. The only caveat was that each session needed to be held on the same day.
“I know it’s silly, but I’m always worried that I’m gonna forget a pose or a playlist isn’t going to load and there’s just going to be awkward silence as I direct them through the poses.” My boudoir playlist is filled with a mixture of upbeat, confidence-boosting songs and slow, sensual songs perfect for bringing the right vibe to each session. Of course, I always make sure my clients know they’re more than welcome to play their own music during their photoshoot if they’d prefer. In addition to the playlist, I also have a “Boudoir Prep” guide I send out at the time of booking that goes over everything they might need to know beforehand.
“How much time do you have between each one?” he asks, his fingers trailing over my thigh.
“About an hour. I wanted to make sure I left enough time to reset the room. I already spoke to Hailey, and she said she’d make sure the fridge is stocked with a few drink options and someone from housekeeping will be by after each session to put fresh sheets on the bed and wipe down the surfaces.” It’s important that each person I photograph today gets the same quality experience.
“Plenty of time to come visit me,” he says, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. His breath feathers against the back of my hand until he reaches my wrist. “I can think of a few ways to distract you and relieve some stress.”
