I also discovered that he hadn’t been joking when he’d said he only slept a few hours here and there. There’d been a few times when he’d gotten up before me, even after falling asleep after me. On Thursday, I’d woken up to find him gone, sitting out on the balcony, his feet kicked up on the railing and his expression far away, focused on something he hadn’t really been willing to share with me, but the shadows in his eyes told me it had to do with that shooting.

It still haunted him, and I hated that I had no idea how to help him with that. Or if he wanted my help. That morning, when I tried to talk to him, it had been a no-­go, so I resorted to one way that I knew put that carefree smile back on his handsome face. I’d gotten on my knees between him and that balcony railing . . . and we definitely broke some public decency laws.

If my dumb nervousness was showing on the way to Jax’s—­which it had to be because I was as twitchy as a tweeker—­Reece didn’t let on that he noticed. Instead, he kept the conversation light, steering away from talk about Charlie, Henry, and the whole angry, creepy stalker dude who may or may not be Henry.

All we did know was that it wasn’t Dean Zook. Colton had interviewed him after the break-­in, and apparently just the sight of a detective showing up at his place had caused the guy to break out in hives. According to Colton, Dean might be persistent and rude, but he wasn’t getting a stalker vibe from him and he doubted that I’d hear from Dean again.

Okay. I wasn’t going to think about that—­any of that. Tonight was going to be normal and fun and all things good.

When we pulled into the parking lot and Reece killed the engine, I felt my stomach drop and land on my feet as my gaze locked with a cerulean one. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful today?” he said.

My lips parted as I nodded. He had. That morning.

“Oh. I’m going to tell you again. You look beautiful.”

Wordless, all I could do was stare at him. He was so handsome, but it was the openness in his steady gaze, the acceptance of me and all my crazy that really undid me.

You’ve fallen, an insidious voice whispered and I wanted to smack that dumb bitch upside her head, because another chirpier voice was pointing out that I probably fell when I was fifteen. It was just a long, slow-­motion kind of fall at this point.

“You got the potato salad?”

“Huh?” I murmured, distracted by the warring voices in my head.