Page 3 of Dare to Love Again

“I haven’t agreed. Give me time.”

“All right, but not an infinite amount. I won’t see you grieve yourself through your thirties and regret not having the family you talked of incessantly for years.”

“That was with Andrew.”

“And you’ll want it with another good man when the right one comes along. Hear me?”

How could she not? His tone had deepened, taking on the stern, unyielding inflection all dominants seemed to have when laying down the law. It dripped of authority and unspoken consequences if you didn’t straighten up and fly right.

Her husband had it, but Pax had perfected it. She had often wondered if Dom 101 was a required course at the academy, or in special agent training for the Bureau.

Something Esme knew for certain. If she ever did what he said and found another man, he wouldn’t be a cop. He would be something boring, like an accountant, a nerdy computer analyst, or a librarian, with an inherently low-risk job, and utterly safe.

“I hear you, Pax,” she murmured to appease him.

“Yeah, but you don’t believe it.” His answer proved he knew her all too well.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“I’ve heard that before. Think hard, Esme. I want you out here with me where I can put my arms around you when you’ve had a bad dream.”

“That would be nice. When weighing the pros and cons, that’s definitely going in the plus column.”

They spoke a few more minutes, about his work and hers, then they hung up. But she wasn’t going back to sleep—not tonight.

***

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, her throat was raw from screaming, and the horrific images still haunted her as she reached for her phone. He answered on the first ring and spoke before she had a chance to.

“Sweetheart—”

“I’m putting in my notice tomorrow. After that, I’m calling U-Haul for a reservation. How big of a truck do you think we need?”

“Thank God,” he uttered softly. “Go to the post office and forward your mail then start packing. I’ll take care of the truck and everything else.”

“California here I come.”

“Was it as bad as ever?”

She knew he referred to the dream. “It’s always the same. I miss him so much, Pax.”

“Me, too, sweetheart, but with us in the same city, at least we can miss him together. Try to get some rest. I’ll call you with the flight information tomorrow. Good night, Esme.”

“Night, Pax.”

She hung up, threw back the covers, and went to the bathroom to get a drink. When she returned, Phineas had made himself at home on her pillow. He didn’t protest when she picked him up, climbed back into bed, and cuddled him close.

“It’s a big move, Phinny. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

He meowed, but she couldn’t decide if that was a meow-yes or meow-hell, no.

Nothing was keeping her here. Unable to live in the home they shared and not be tortured by constant memories, she sold the house within a year after she buried Andrew. The apartment was only a little better. The drugs helped, but walking around like a zombie during the day was a high price to pay. She’d tapered them to Ambien so she could sleep, and the occasional Xanax months ago.

“We’ve got nothing to lose by going, do we, buddy?”

This time, when he meowed, he laid a paw on her hand.

Moving by mid-month meant she’d be gone before the weather turned and the snow came—another mark in the plus column.

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