He caressed my jaw, his other arm pinned firmly around my waist. "There are cameras everywhere. When you didn't lock the deadbolt…” He took a deep breath as if recalling what he’d imagined, as if it had been the worst. And then when he’d looked, he’d actually been faced with the worst.
“It's tied into the security system,” he explained after a minute. “It sends me a message. You always slide that bolt when you're home.” The pain in his expression was unbearable. “Forgive me. I worried."
It was almost laughable. He was apologizing because his overprotective obsessing had saved me from sexual assault and possibly saved my life? How could he be sorry for that? I was fucking out of my mind with gratitude. I was hysterical with relief.
And then I remembered how I’d left him last.
It was a gut punch in slow motion. I could feel every part of the blow. The renewed awareness that we were in a fight. That he’d betrayed me. That years ago he’d stolen my dream in order to make his life more comfortable. That what he’d ministered as love for a decade had merely been retribution for what he’d taken from me.
I felt like a stone sinking slowly through the mud. My mind was sludge. I’d been in danger and all I wanted was Donovan, all I thought about was him. I’d turned to thoughts of him for safety, and he'd been the one to save me in the end. If he didn’t really love me, would he have looked at those screens? If he didn’t really love me would he have even cared about that years-long retribution at all?
I wasn’t sure.
But he was here, holding me when I wanted him to hold me. That seemed bigger than anything else happening between us at the moment, and to be honest, if being here when I needed him wasn’t the very definition of love, I didn’t know what was.
"Thank you,” I hiccupped. “For worrying.”
We stared at each other, our eyes locked. He swiped at my tears again with his thumb. I grabbed his hand and brought it back to my face, pressing my cheek into his palm. I was never not going to love him, I realized. No matter what happened between us from here on out—I was never not going to love him.
And maybe I could survive that. With him at my side.
Perhaps he felt the weight of the moment too. The lines at his eyes pulled down and the creases by his mouth tightened. “Sabrina, I—"
He was cut off by the bustling of the officers escorting Theo out of the apartment. I refused to look as he was taken out. I kept my face buried in Donovan's shoulder until he was gone, concentrating only on the feel of Donovan’s hand as it rubbed smooth concentric circles over my back.
Once the perpetrator had left, all the attention shifted to me. An officer came over to speak to me about what had happened, along with a paramedic, to determine that I was indeed unharmed. Donovan was taken a few steps away to be interviewed as well, and while I wanted to hear him, to listen only to him, my attention was mainly on the questions being asked of me—Does it hurt here? Have you had a tetanus shot?
I didn't miss hearing the policeman though, when he asked Donovan about the cameras, and when he did, I stopped listening to the people talking to me and focused only on that.
"I'm not clear on why you have surveillance on Ms. Lind in the first place,” the officer said.
"I own the building," Donovan said, clearly trying to dance around the answer.
"It's consensual," I called from where I sat on the couch being treated. Both Donovan and the officer turned toward me. "It's complicated and private,” I went on, “but all that should matter to you is that it's consensual. And it is."
I caught the exchange of glances between the officer and his partner that clearly said they thought we were into some kinky shit—which, I supposed, we were. Under her breath, the paramedic whispered, "Hot."
"Damn straight," I said with a smile. I snuck another glance at Donovan and my smile settled into something more somber when I found him already watching me. I really did love this about him too. I really did love all of the parts of him. I really did accept all of it as us.
I would forgive him for what he'd done all those years ago. There would be scar tissue, but we'd work through it. Because this thing we had, whatever it was, it was stronger.
Then why did I still feel like there was such a chasm between us?
Probably because there were so many people in the room, and still so many loose ends to tie up before they left. I was worked up and fragile. A million people kept asking what I needed. What I needed was to be alone with Donovan. He was the only one who could fix this restlessness inside me.
It took hours, literal hours, to go through everything with the police, but finally sometime after midnight they had everything they needed and were ready to go.
"Are you going to be okay staying here tonight?" one of the officers asked before he left.
I hadn't thought about it before then. I looked at the room, testing how badly it might haunt me later. I couldn't deny that my stomach tied up in knots just thinking of being alone in my living room, sitting on my couch. Would I have to move? That was silly. Or it wasn’t. I didn’t want to decide tonight.
I turned to Donovan, seeking guidance.
"I can take you to my place. Or a hotel.” He was gentle and concerned. “Or I can stay here with you. I can sleep in the guest room or on the couch."
My brow rose at the suggestion that he wouldn't sleep with me. Did he really think I was still angry with him after all of this? Or maybe he was being respectful of how I'd feel after a near rape. I’d fix that when we were alone.
"Would you stay here?" It felt weird to ask him outright, even when he’d just offered.
"Of course."
I told the policeman I'd be okay, and after they left, Donovan watched while I triple checked the deadbolt.
Then they were gone, and my apartment was empty of everyone but us and my ghosts. Donovan leaned against the back of the couch and studied me intently. "What do you need? A drink? Something to eat? Would you like a change of clothes?"
I tightened the belt of the robe I was wearing. The officers had taken the damaged sweater as evidence, and Donovan had thoughtfully brought my robe from the bathroom when they had.
I didn't want any of the things he’d mentioned though. I didn't know what I wanted, exactly. I felt restless still, and irritated that he didn't know what I needed. He always knew what I needed.
And why was he so far from me? Physically. Emotionally. Why was he so distant?
"You’re blaming yourself," I said, suddenly. It was a guess. A blind shot in the dark and it might be so far off that he'd laugh, but that would be better than this weird tension.
But he didn't laugh.
And he didn't say anything, and he didn’t move closer. He just stood there.
I’d hit the nail on the head.
I sighed, walking toward him. "You can't blame yourself for this,” I said gently. “I'm okay. I didn't get hurt."
"You could have."
"And I didn't because you got here in time."
"I wouldn't have had to get here in time if I had handled him differently."
I was face to face with him, my hands curled up in fists at my side so that I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him before he was ready to be touched. I wasn’t going to coddle him.