“I’ve already faced it,” she said. “I’ve witnessed the long hours and coped, I think, reasonably well. I’ve seen him in action, and I’ve seen him hurting. But he won’t let me share his pain.”

Morgan nodded and patted her gently. “In time, he will…I think. Don’t give up on him, honey. He loves you very much, you know.”

Debbie never gave up on something she wanted. She walked away, unable to speak. The pain was too fresh for words.

*  *  *

The key turned quietly in the lock as Cole let himself inside. Raindrops ran off his hair and jacket onto the kitchen floor. He stepped out of his shoes and socks, draped his damp jacket across a stool, and walked barefoot through the house. It had been a long night. The paperwork was finally finished. A review of the shooting would take place, and then everything would go on as before. He had nothing to worry about.

But worry was all he could do. He kept seeing Rick’s body buck from the impact of bullets. He shuddered, remembering the sound they made hitting flesh and remembering emptying his own gun into the man before it was over.

All that he’d feared from his job had happened in the space of one incident. His partner had been shot, and he’d killed a man. He took a deep breath and shuddered again.

I got rained on. It’s only a chill.

But he knew better. It was getting to him, and he didn’t know how to stop it from happening.

He opened the door to his room. The dim glow of a nightlight in his bathroom illuminated the room’s interior, and he saw her. She was curled into a small wad, sleeping in the middle of this bed with her arms wrapped around his pillow. Every emotion he’d buried since the incident had happened came hurtling forward. They slammed inside him with rude, unforgivable force. There was no time to undress. He needed to get to her, and he needed it now. If he didn’t make it to the bed and her arms, he’d come apart, from the inside out.

Droplets fell on Debbie’s bare arms and face and yanked her awake. Cole was unwinding her from his pillow. She could feel his hands. They were shaking.

“You’re home,” she said sleepily. “I tried to wait up…”

“Just let me hold you,” he pleaded softly. Agony was thick in his voice.

“You’re wet,” Debbie said. Her hands moved across his hair and across his cheeks as her breath caught at the back of her throat. It wasn’t rain on his face.

“Come here,” she said, and wrapped him in her arms.

In desperation, he clung to her strength and warmth. Words were not possible…or necessary.