Or you could just admit the truth, to yourself if no one else. Because she now stood in the little foyer of Rafe’s house, staring at his apartment door. She wanted to knock. She wanted to sit next to him, to breathe in his scent, to feel his arms around her. She wanted to sleep, and he made her feel safe enough to do so. That hour she’d slept in his arms had been more precious than gold.

She’d actually lifted her fist to knock when she realized what she was doing. He was asleep. Waking him up so that she could sleep would be wrong and selfish, and she’d been both of those things enough tonight. Lowering her fist, she surveyed the square footage of the landing, determining it large enough for her needs.

She needed to do more than pace. One of the most valuable takeaways from years of therapy was that pacing burned off energy, but meditation could actually silence the voices. Which, at the moment, were legion.

Ephraim at the airport. Hello, wife.

DJ from her nightmare. Watch, Mercy. Right before he shot her mother in the head.

Her mother, pleading. Find Gideon. There’s something you need to know about Gideon.

They all talked and talked until she wanted to rip her hair out, so she assumed the starting position for the tai chi routine that was her favorite. It aided in meditation, calming her mind when it was going full throttle, giving her the focus to shove the voices into the box and nail down the lid.

She sank into the movements, one flowing into the next, timing becoming irrelevant. When she finished her routine, she did it again. And again. Until her body began to relax and her churning mind was suspended.

Lowering her arms to her sides, she filled her lungs with air, expelling it on a quiet rush. And in the quiet, she could finally think past the panic that had kept her frozen in its grip since she’d stepped onto that airplane in New Orleans.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, then became aware of someone breathing behind her. She spun, pressing her palm to her racing heart when she saw Rafe leaning in his doorway, dressed only in sweats, his chest bare.

“It’ll be okay,” he repeated quietly.

“How—” Clearing her throat, she tried to project calm. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to watch you go through your routine a few times,” he said with a smile. “You’re very pretty when you do that.”

“Do what? Tai chi?”

He nodded. “Elegant and graceful.”

“It’s my meditation,” she said, flustered at the compliment. “One of the ways, anyway.”

“Does it help?”

She nodded. “Except when the life gets scared out of me afterward.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. I was afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to scare you. I should have gone back inside, but . . .” His smile turned a little bashful and it was an endearing sight. “I didn’t want to stop watching you.”