Page 337 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“You lied to me,” I say in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes fall, as does my heart. “I did.” He nods, and the look on his face says he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“It’s hard for me to trust you because of that.”

He laughs, but it’s a short, gruff sound that dies almost as quickly as it begins. “I think your lack of trust has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what you’ve been through, Emerson.”

“How do you know what I’ve been through, Grant?”

His head startles in confusion. At least I hope it’s confusion. “I don’t.”

I don’t relent on my stare because the sudden racing of my pulse has me doubting myself and if I should trust him now.

Hating this sudden unfounded uncertainty, I stand from the swing and jog over to the Merry-go-round. I grab hold of a bar and begin pushing it so that it starts to spin. When I think I have it as fast as it will go, I take a chance and jump onto the rusting heap of metal.

It’s moving quickly and spinning out of control, but when I get on, I lie down. With one foot hooked on one side of the bars and my hands holding on to another over my head, I close my eyes and let the centrifugal force commandeer my thoughts from where our conversation brought them. I let the world spin out of control around me while I hold on for what feels like dear life.

There’s a boost to the spin, and I know that Grant is there. He’s pushing me now. I can feel the platform flex as he climbs on and the heat of his body as he lies beside me. I know that when he closes his hand over mine where it holds on to the bar, he’s making sure not to let go for the both of us.

He brings calm to the chaos spinning out of control around me and within me.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I allow myself to accept that.

To accept him.

To welcome it rather than push it away.

“Do you ever not have that thing on?”

“What? The scanner?” he asks as he turns onto the highway.

“Yes.”

He shrugs. “Does it bug you?”

“Not really. I just don’t understand why you still listen to calls if you’re off duty.” I rub my feet together, and more sand from the playground comes off the soles of my shoes and dusts the floor mat.

“I have a few situations I like to keep an eye on. If a call goes out on one of those, sometimes I like to go so I can make sure what’s going on.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“Sounds to me like someone is attached to—”

“Possible 10-16. 12662 Serenity Court. Officers responding.” The scanner interrupts.

“Son of a bitch,” Grant says as he slams the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.

“What’s a 10-16?” Whatever it is, it obviously isn’t good.

“I jinxed it by saying it,” he mutters to himself.

“Grant? Are you okay?” I stare at his profile and can see the disconcert in his posture.

“No. Yes. Fuck. This is the one case I’m worried about.” He glances my way, and I can see the hesitation in his body language. “I need to . . . shit. My cruiser.”