“I knew you would,” I emphasized.

I wanted to ask. To show him I was interested and paid attention. But what if the news wasn’t good? I wasn’t sure what the right move was, so I stood there.

Frozen.

Thankfully, Eddie answered my unspoken question. “I got the promotion, honey.”

When he set the award down on the catch-all table and held his arms wide, I threw myself into them. I jolted when his hands came down hard on my ass. He used both to lift me, pressing my back against the wall as I automatically wrapped my legs around his hips so I didn’t fall.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said.

“More money. Better shifts. More time with my soon-to-be wife and our baby. I did this for you.”

His mouth took mine in a demanding kiss, and his body pushed tight as he rocked himself against my core. The buttons on his coat dug into my flesh. The fabric scraped at it, rough and chaffing.

I needed to stop him. Dinner would be ready any minute. But when I tried to shift away, his body and hold tightened.

I turned my head, his mouth dropping to my neck. It took everything in me to force the words out. “I need to check dinner.”

“No, you need me.” His teeth dug into the sensitive flesh where my neck met my shoulder. His hands moved under me, working at his slacks.

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

I jolted awake.

The hazy echo of the beeps sounded in my head.

My heart pounded.

Everything was so fresh. So raw.

I couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t slow my racing pulse. Couldn’t breathe.

Bolting out of bed, I ran for the back door. My shaking fingers struggled to put in the passcode, my vision going spotty. I needed air. Needed space. Needed to ground myself. The cold hit me like a wall, but it wasn’t enough to clear the panic. The emotions.

The memories.

Fighting to inhale, it took me a few moments to smell it.

Barefoot and barely dressed, I moved on instinct. I opened my gate, expecting to have to break into the other one, but it was already open.

I stepped inside the backyard and stopped.

Frozen.

“Mac?” Ward called, standing from the couch on the other side of the fire pit. Rather than his usual tee and leather vest, he wore a dark, zippered sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. A red ember burned from between his index finger and thumb, but it wasn’t the smell of tobacco that filled the air.

He looked wicked.

Shrouded in darkness and lit by the flickering flames.

He set his joint in a nearby ashtray. “What’s—”

But I moved.

Not to my bed.

Not to my house for leftovers and midnight reruns.

Not even to one of the multitude of chairs available.

I moved to Ward.

And he moved to me.