Page 27 of Doc
“We should go.”I pulled away before I could do something stupid like throw myself into his arms.“I need to pack.”
Doc nodded, his expression returning to the professional mask I’d first encountered.But now I knew what lay beneath it -- a man as determined to find justice as I was.A man who’d stood between me and danger more than once.
A man I was increasingly afraid of losing.
* * *
The apartment looked exactly as it had yesterday, but everything felt different.Mom’s files still covered the desk, my half-empty coffee mug from yesterday morning sat abandoned on the nightstand, and the sweater I’d draped over the chair waited as if I’d be back to reclaim it tomorrow.But the suitcase open on the bed changed everything.I was leaving, running away from the danger I’d brought to people who’d only tried to help me.I folded a T-shirt with mechanical precision, avoiding Doc’s gaze as he leaned against the doorframe, his presence filling the small room even in silence.
“You don’t need to watch me pack.”I didn’t look up as I placed the shirt in the suitcase.“I won’t make a run for it.”
“I know.”Doc didn’t move from the doorway.
I grabbed another shirt from the dresser, focusing on the simple task to keep my hands from shaking.The reality of leaving -- of abandoning my investigation, of putting distance between myself and Doc -- sat like a stone in my stomach.
“How are the wounded?”I asked, needing to fill the silence.
“Stable.Thanks in part to you.”
I finally looked up at him, allowing myself to really see him for the first time since we’d left the chapel.Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a day’s worth of stubble roughened his jaw.His clothes were fresh, but exhaustion hung on him like a physical weight.Despite this, he watched me with an intensity that made my skin warm.
I turned back to my packing, reaching for my jeans and adding them to the growing pile in the suitcase.Each item felt like giving up a piece of myself, admitting defeat in a way that made my chest ache.
When I reached for my mother’s notebook on the desk, my fingers faltered.That small black book contained everything -- her notes, her suspicions, the pattern of corruption and trafficking she’d died to expose.Leaving it behind felt impossible, but taking it meant risking everything she’d discovered.
Doc pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room, his steps measured and quiet.He stopped beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“We should make copies.”He reached past me for the notebook.“You take the original, we keep copies here.”
I nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat.His fingers brushed mine as he took the notebook, the brief contact sending electricity up my arm.We crossed lines that we could never erase, shared heat that branded itself into memory.By morning, under the harsh light of day, we both wore masks and pretended nothing had shifted.
Doc moved to the desk, gathering the scattered files with efficient movements.I watched his hands -- capable hands that had saved lives last night, that had touched me with surprising gentleness hours before.Hands that would continue the work I was being forced to abandon.
“What if they don’t find anything?What if they give up?”
Doc looked up, his blue gaze meeting mine directly.“They won’t,” he said simply.“And I won’t.”
I believed him.That was the thing about Doc -- when he made a promise, it felt like something you could build a foundation on.Something solid in a world that had been shifting beneath my feet since my parents died.
We worked in silence after that, gathering the investigation materials, organizing them into piles to be copied before I left.Our movements formed a careful dance of avoidance -- never too close, never touching, though my body seemed to gravitate toward his like a compass finding north.
When everything was sorted, I turned back to my suitcase, adding toiletries and the few personal items I’d brought with me.It wasn’t much -- I’d traveled light, not expecting to stay long.Even though I’d wanted answers, to find people willing to help, I hadn’t known what to expect.
I zipped the suitcase closed with a finality that echoed in the quiet room.The sound felt like an ending.
“I know this is for the best.”It didn’t sound convincing even to my own ears.“The club needs time to recover.I’ve brought enough trouble to your doorstep.”
Doc stepped closer, his professional demeanor cracking for the first time since we’d left the chapel.He reached out slowly, deliberately, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.His fingers lingered against my cheek, warm and slightly rough.“I’ll make sure they keep digging.No matter what it takes.”
I leaned into his touch without meaning to, my body betraying me.We stood like that for a moment, suspended between what was appropriate and what we both wanted.The space between us seemed to shrink, charged with an electricity that had been building since that first kiss in his truck.“Doc,” I whispered, not sure if I was asking him to stop or to never stop.
His eyes darkened, dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before he pulled his hand away, taking a deliberate step back.The professional mask slipped back into place, though it fit less perfectly than before.
“The Prospect will be here in ten minutes to pick up the files for copying.We’ll leave as soon as that’s done.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.The moment had passed, but the ghost of his touch lingered on my skin.We had bigger concerns than whatever was happening between us -- my parents’ killers were still out there, the trafficking ring was still operating, girls were still disappearing.Personal feelings had to take a backseat to justice.
But as Doc moved toward the door, putting necessary distance between us, I couldn’t help wondering if justice was the only thing worth fighting for.If safety was worth the sacrifice of whatever might have been growing between us.If running away was really the right answer, no matter how logical it seemed.
