Page 59 of The Weight Of Falling
Owen shrugs. “It’s possible.”
It’s clear from Joel’s expression he doesn’t believe it’s teenagers.
Owen turns to me, his brown eyes full of sympathy. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I’ll do what I can.”
I offer a faint smile. “Thanks, Owen.”
He gives Joel a nod, then heads back to his cruiser.
When he drives off, Joel turns to me. “Let me help you clean it off.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he says evenly. “Please.”
Worry is carved between his brows. He looks like he’s blaming himself for the graffiti, though I don’t know why. This isn’t his fault.
“Okay,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “Thank you.”
“I’ll just be a sec,” he says. “Stay where I can see you.”
I watch as he heads into the grocery store. Through the front window, I see him speaking with the manager. A moment later, he returns with a bucket and cleaning supplies.
We work in silence, both of us lost in our thoughts as we tackle the angry red letters. The paint doesn’t come off easily, but Joel scrubs with a kind of ferocity that feels personal. He doesn’t stop until every last trace is gone.
When we finally step back, the word is gone and my windshield is clean, but the ugliness of it still lingers. I feel tainted, like the insult soaked into my skin. All I want is to go home, stand under hot water, and scrub the shame away.
“Are you heading home?” Joel asks.
I nod. “I need to get the groceries into the fridge.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“You don’t have to,” I start to say, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.
“I’m following you home,” he repeats in a tone that invites no argument.
23
Joel pulls in behind me in the driveway, the low rumble of his Jeep quieting as he kills the engine. Before I can even open the trunk, he’s already beside me, lifting grocery bags with ease.
“I’ll help you carry these in,” he says.
“Thank you.”
As we walk up the path to my front door, a yawn catches me off guard. I feel the exhaustion pressing at the base of my skull. “I don’t know why,” I mumble, “but I can’t stop yawning.”
“You’re coming down off the adrenaline,” he tells me gently. “It hits harder than people expect.”
We climb the porch steps. Joel shifts the bags to one arm and holds out his free hand, palm up. “I’ll unlock for you,” he offers casually.
I hand over my keys without argument. Everything feels like more effort than it should be. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it open. But instead of stepping back to let me in, he crosses the threshold first and halts just inside, his shoulders tense as he scans the entrance hall.
“Joel?” I pause in the doorway and frown at him. “What are you doing?”
