I could tell he was trying to distract me.
His hand went to his neck, and I fixated on his engagement ring there, shining in the light. My eyes drifted to the side of it and noticed something white poking out, just a few centimeters out of his turtleneck.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“What?”
I gestured to his neck.
“My shirt?”
“Drop the charade, Adam. You know what I’m pointing at.”
His shoulders sagged, and he looked forlorn. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Let me see it,” I commanded, my voice bossy.
“You don’t need to see it. It’s just a scratch.”
“Well, from the look of that bandage, it doesn’t look like just a scratch,” I mocked.
My voice was getting meaner. I could hear it, and I hated it, but I couldn’t help myself. My fear teased out the worst parts of me.
“Leave it alone,” Adam said.
“No, show me!” I cried, lunging forward.
I was suddenly possessed by a ravenous need to see what he was hiding under his bandage.
“Luke, stop it!” Adam cried, trying to wiggle away.
But I’d pinned him.
I was in control now.
With two of my fingers, I tugged his turtleneck down to reveal the enormous bandage underneath. Part of it was stained red as if the wound was bleeding so much, the cotton could barely contain it.
I tugged the turtleneck back up, horrified, and sat back on the couch.
There were so many emotions swirling within me that I didn’t know what to say.
“Luke…”
“No.”
“Luke, please…” Adam said, leaning towards me like he was approaching a wild animal.
I hugged my knees to my chest and put my head between my legs. That thrumming within me was gone. Everything was quiet, and I was worried that my anxiety was only hiding in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
Adam was pleading with me, trying to explain that he was out doing a routine investigation.
“You didn’t tell me,” I said, finally feeling something inside begin to crack. Tears poured out of my eyes and fell down my face. “I was so worried!”
“Luke, I’m sorry!” Adam said, putting his hand on my leg. “I didn’t want you to worry—”
I stood up suddenly and glared at Adam. “I worry anyway! There is no escape from it! Those sirens today were for you!”
Adam was looking at me with fear like I had turned into a monster.
Hell, I felt like a monster.
“There are sirens all over the city,” Adam reasoned. “All the time.”
“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH STRESS THAT CAUSES ME?” I yelled, whipping myself into a panic.
In one smooth motion, Adam got to his feet and wrapped me in a tight hug.
I tried to push him away, but he held me close.
Then I melted into his arms and began sobbing into his shirt. Ugly tears poured down my face and out my nose, like the ones that only come out when you cry on the shoulder of your mother.
Adam tightened his grip. I felt more secure in it.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” he uttered gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I looked up into his eyes, deep green irises filled with regret. Then my gaze went to the bandage on his neck, drawing me in like it was a magnet.
Burying my head into Adam’s chest, I cried until I didn’t have any tears left.
I felt his gentle hand on the back of my head and then felt something hot on my ear. Something liquid.
Adam was crying too.
I bunched up my fists in the back of his shirt. “I’m so afraid that you’re going to die out there. There’s always a chance you won’t come home.”
Instead of refuting me, of declaring that he wouldn’t die, of leaving me alone in my worry, he said, “I know.”
Even though the truth was scathing, that small validation felt good. It felt like a plaster patch, smoothing over one of the gaping fissures between us.
We sat back down on the couch, our knees touching. The heat from Adam’s body felt like an anchor.
“I want you to tell me everything that happened today. Everything that led up to you getting that,” I gestured to his neck.
Adam looked at the coffee table instead of my eyes, and I could tell he was fighting the urge to avoid telling me about it.
“I wanted to keep you… everything we’ve built here — separate from all of that.”
I pursed my lips and crossed my arms. “Well, it’s not working.”
“I know,” he said sadly.
Then in a steady, almost monotone voice like he was giving some kind of emotionless book report, he told me the story of his day. He told me about how he and Claire went to get donuts, how they followed the skinheads to a house, and how they got into a fight.
I had to take a deep breath, and my eyes fluttered closed when he got to the part about the woman holding the knife.
“That must have been terrifying,” I said, squeezing his hand.
It took a concentrated effort to not react to what he was telling me; to take whatever fear he must have felt and amplify it with the insane Dr. Seuss machine in my head. No, that part would come later.
That part would be private.
“It was,” he admitted stoically. “But we got the situation under control.”
“It’s okay to be afraid, you know,” I said. “I’m afraid all the time. It doesn’t make you any less brave to be afraid.”
“Fear and bravery are different things,” he said, looking down at my hand. Then his eyes flickered up to meet mine. “You are the bravest person I know.”
I furrowed my brow. “Me? I’m scared of my own shadow.”
“You face fear more often than normal people,” he declared, his gaze unwavering. The way he was looking into my eyes was raw and intense as if he wished he could inscribe his words on the insides of my eyelids. It was like his words were lasers, carving the compliment onto my soul. “You face it
