Smith echoed my sigh. “I hope not,” he replied, but his tone didn’t give me a lot of confidence.
It wasn’t that I thought Lacy wouldn’t do a good job—having worked with both Roger and Lacy since August, I had confidence in both of their work. I just didn’t want to give it up because it felt like somehow I would be able to do more to protect Elliot if I knew everything that was going on. Like the fact that I loved him would somehow give me the ability to see something that no one else could. The opposite was more likely true, and I knew that, but it didn’t change how I felt.
So instead of working, I was left to pace the house while Lacy did what I thought of as my job and Elliot sat at the kitchen island drinking coffee. I’d made two pots so that the two uniforms, Smith, and Lacy could also have some, and Elliot made a third after the first two hours.
As they left, Lacy had squeezed my hand. “I’ll let you know what we find,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “But take the day off tomorrow.”
“I don’t?—”
“Take the day off,” she repeated, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, where Elliot was presumably still sitting at the table, holding an empty coffee mug.
She had a point, so I nodded my agreement, and we said our good-nights, although I had the feeling Lacy wasn’t actually going togoto bed.
I closed—and locked, this time—the door behind her, then went back to the kitchen, where Elliot was still sitting on a stool, staring into his empty coffee cup.
“El?” I wasn’t sure when I’d started calling him that intentionally. He hadn’t corrected me or even given me a dirty look, so I’d figured he didn’t mind.
But now he didn’t look at me at all.
I walked over to where he sat and leaned with my back against the counter, not bothering to pull out the stool next to him. His shoulders were slumped forward, his hands curled loosely around the ceramic of the mug, expression the kind of blank people’s faces get when they just can’t process anything else. I gently nudged his shoulder. “Hey.”
He emitted a soft grunt, which was at least a response.
“We should get some sleep,” I said softly.
I watched him blink, slowly, once, twice, then faster, a handful of times, before a single tear slid out of one hazel eye and dropped onto the back of his hand.
Stomach clenching, I slid one hand over his, covering the drop of moisture. “Come on,” I urged gently.
He let me take the mug from his hands—I left it on the kitchen island—and turn him on the stool, coaxing him down and guiding him into the bedroom.
He immediately curled up on the bed, not bothering, like he normally did, to take off the t-shirt and sweat pants he’d pulled on when I’d called Smith. I smothered a sigh, then pulled the blankets up to the curve of his shoulder and back. And then I pushed off my sweatpants and got into the empty side of the bed in my t-shirt and trunk shorts.
I expected Elliot to ignore me, but as soon as I’d settled myself, he snuggled up against my side, squirming his way under one arm so that he could rest his head on my shoulder, his right arm on my chest.
I pulled him closer, resting my cheek against his black-and-white hair.
I felt him sigh heavily, then nothing else, although the next breath he drew shuddered a little.
I gently kissed his forehead. “Sleep, El,” I whispered against his skin.
He sighed again, softer, but said nothing.
I listened for his breathing to slow and even out, but it didn’t, although he lay still.
“Seth?” he murmured, finally.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I kissed his forehead again. “I’m here for you,” I told him. “Whatever you need.”
He nuzzled up against me, and I both heard and felt a soft vibration coming from his chest. It took me a second to realize what it was—Elliot was purring.
I didn’t say anything, but I smiled against his skin.
30
