Restraint - Adriana Locke Page 0,28

he hadn’t. Probably not. I’m also unsure if I should take him up on it. Again—probably not.

I get up from the table and stretch my arms overhead. The clock next to the bed shows that I sat down at the desk five hours ago. As I look at the folder stuffed full of notes, I’m relieved at what I was able to accomplish despite the crying baby across the hall again. But, at the same time, I’m not sure how I’m going to find the space to sort through the rest of the evidence and witness statements.

The muscle across the back of my neck tenses as Yancy’s text from a couple of hours ago filters back through my mind.

They’re now saying they expect us to be displaced for five to seven days. Not as bad as originally thought.

“Great,” I mutter to myself.

I walk to the window and peer outside. Groups of people sit on the sand and watch the waves while others kick a ball back and forth. The sky is a brilliant, muted blue. The water shimmers from the sun’s early evening rays.

For the first time in a long time, a heaviness slides into my chest.

Instead of fighting it, I let it sit inside me and burn in its dull yet still piercing way. It’s a pain I know well. It’s an ache I avoid.

I take a deep, shaky breath and close my eyes. The words of the therapist I saw for a few months whisper softly through my brain.

“You have to feel your feelings to heal, Blaire,” she said. “Feel to heal.”

My breathing evens out as I open my eyes again. The weight still sits in the center of my chest—a lump that feels as though it’s tripled in size in seconds. With each bit of growth, it brings back memories, and feelings, that I don’t want to deal with.

The sound of my mother’s laughter. How we would spend all year planning for the long weekends we’d spend in the summer at Lake Michigan and how she’d get so excited about menu planning.

The way my father smelled like engine grease mixed with the Old Spice he’d use to disguise the smell of the cigarettes that he’d hide from my mother. The long talks we’d have while he was under a truck and I was sitting on an overturned bucket. We planned my entire life in the garage.

And then one fucked-up Fourth of July afternoon, everything I’d ever known was gone. It was ripped right out from beneath me with one hysterical call from Lance. Things have never been the same. Things will never be the same either.

I clear my throat as best as I can with a rock resting inside it.

“I have to get my shit together,” I say, turning away from the window.

My brain relies on muscle memory and switches away from all things emotional to all things practical.

“Where the heck am I going to go?”

I perch on the edge of the sofa and consider my options. Going home is out of the equation. Staying in this room is also impossible. I could visit my brothers, but that would equate to me getting zero work done because they equate me coming home to acting like children again. I could stay with Nana or I could get a hotel room in Chicago.

Or I could stay with Holt.

Would it be so awful to stay with him?

I bite my bottom lip and eye the folder on the desk.

He does work a lot, so I’d probably be able to get a lot done. And God knows I need to get a lot done. And would it be that bad to see a little of the city while I’m here?

I grin. It wouldn’t be terrible if I got a little time in his sheets either.

“What did he call it?” I ask aloud. “A multi-night stand? That’s not a bad idea. It’s really no different than dating a guy for a few weeks just to get some action even though you know it’s not going to go anywhere.”

I mull that over. The longer it marinates in my head, the more it makes sense.

And the more I like it.

I grab my phone and call Sienna. She answers on the second ring.

“You’ve called me more since you’ve been out of town than you’ve called me since I’ve known you,” she says with a laugh.

“I’ve called you twice.”

“Exactly.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “How are things back there?”

“Good,” she says sweetly. “Walker and Peck were out late