Why had I brought Jenny home with me? This was a night to down this bottle of scotch until I was too drunk to see Jansen’s wife holding a gun under her chin, her hands trembling so hard I was afraid she’d accidently shoot herself.

Was that how Christine had held my gun, her hands shaking, before pulling the trigger? I’d never know, but now that image was in my head where I feared it would live forever. At least I didn’t have to witness Mrs. Jansen blowing her brains out. I’m not sure I’d ever be right if that had happened.

“Dylan?”

I set down the empty glass, resisting the urge to refill it. What I should do was put Jenny in the car and take her back home. I wasn’t good company tonight, and she didn’t deserve my black mood.

“I need air,” I said, walking past her to the balcony. She followed me out, and as I stood at the railing, my hands gripping the metal, she wrapped her arms around me, resting her head on my back. I sucked in air like a suffocating man, but I didn’t dare close my eyes. When I did, it was Christine’s face I saw transposed over Jansen’s wife’s. As Jenny held me, the warmth from her body slowly seeped into my skin and I could breathe again. Was I a bad man for needing Jenny here with me when I was battling my demons?

For months after Christine had taken her life, I’d had episodes like this, where I couldn’t get air into my lungs. A word that reminded me of her, a picture, a woman with her hair color would steal my breath, and not in a good way. After many sessions with my therapist, the attacks had faded, and I’d hoped they were gone forever. Guess not.

I turned in Jenny’s arms. She was rainbows and sunshine, and I wanted to crawl into her skin and live there. “I should take you home.”

“You invited me to stay with you tonight. You can’t take it back now.” She took my hand, pulling me to the patio chair. “Sit.”

I did. She disappeared into the apartment, coming back with two glasses and the scotch bottle. If she planned to get me drunk, I was onboard. She poured three fingers into both glasses, handing one to me.

“Drink.”

“Yes ma’am.” I liked how she was bossing me around, taking away my making any decisions.

“Don’t pour it down your throat like you did the last one. Sip it.”

I held the glass up in a salute. Obeying her, I only sipped. It surprised me that I was good with her taking over. That wasn’t normally me. I was used to being in control, being the one to lead others. Somehow, though, she knew just what I needed tonight. For that, I owed her some kind of explanation.

“Mrs. Jansen shot and killed her husband tonight after he almost beat her to death.”

“I kind of figured that out.” She reached over, putting her hand on my leg. “Although that’s awful, that’s not what has you so upset.”

She was intuitive, my Jenny Girl. I swallowed the rest of my scotch. Talking about Christine wasn’t easy. The only people I’d told everything, other than my therapist, were my brother and my former captain. But sitting here with Jenny, my owl hooing in the distance and the scotch loosening my tongue, I wanted to tell her.

“Mrs. Jansen still had the gun in her hand that she had shot her husband with. She held the barrel against her throat, threatening to pull the trigger.” And I thought she’d fully meant to, even though I’d begged her to give me the gun, promising her that I would get her help. Finally, desperate to find a reason to stop her, I’d told her about Christine, then I’d told Gertie Jansen that if she made me watch her pull that trigger, I’d see her face every night in my dreams along with my wife’s. When she’d finally held out the gun for me to take, I’d wanted to fall to my knees and weep.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

I turned my hand over, lacing our fingers, and told myself to just spit it out. “My wife did the same thing, only she followed through.” The scotch in my stomach threatened to come back up, and I swallowed hard.

“Oh, Dylan. How awful for you.”

Surprised, I looked at her. “Why do you say awful for me? Shouldn’t you be saying how awful for Christine?”

“Because she’s not here to say it to. Yes, how awful for her, but you’re the one left to live with what she did. My mother’s brother committed suicide. It devastated the ones he left behind who loved him. My grandparents and my mother lived…still live with the guilt that there was something they should have done to prevent it. I know you feel the same way.”

She’d named my problem, and all I could do was nod.

“Did you see her do it? Was that why Gertie holding a gun to her throat upset you tonight?”

“No, I came home to find my captain and some cops in our apartment, waiting for me. She was still in there. They wouldn’t let me see her because she didn’t have a face left.” I was going to be sick and sucked in air in an attempt to settle my stomach.

Jenny stood, put her hand on my neck, and pushed. “Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths.”

I felt like a wuss, but did as she said. After a few moments of deep breathing, the nausea went away. Embarrassed, I stood, going to the railing. “I should have seen the signs,” I said with my back to her.

“Hindsight is always perfect, Dylan. But here’s the thing. She made the choice to do what she did, not you.”

I gave a bitter laugh. “You’re starting to sound like my therapist.”

“If so, maybe you should consider listening to us. Do you know why she did it?”

Yes, because I’d stopped loving her. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.”

Again, she surprised me by not insisting it would be good for me to get it off my chest or some such nonsense. I faced her. “If you want me to take you home, I’ll understand.”

“Oh no you don’t. I already told you that you can’t take back your invitation. Go take a shower while I tidy up. I’ll meet you in your bedroom.” She gave me a push. “Go.”

I gratefully went.

As hot water rained down on my head, I closed my eyes, grimacing that I’d let my guard down with Jenny. She didn’t need my shit dumped on her. I wanted to blame it on the scotch, but I hadn’t drunk enough to get all chatty. It was her, Jenny Girl. It was the way she listened without offering advice or platitudes, the way she’d said what Christine had done must be awful for me. For me! It was the way she’d held my hand and taken care of me. I shouldn’t like that so much.

It wasn’t that I was still in love with my wife. I wasn’t. I would always love her, though, but for the way we’d once been, not how we’d ended. By then, I hadn’t liked her very much. Standing in Jansen’s living room, talking myself blue in the face, trying to convince Mrs. Jansen to put the gun down, it struck me that I hadn’t tried that hard to get through to Christine.

To give myself some credit, if Christine had put my gun in her mouth in front of me, I sure as hell would have found a way to stop her. But she’d waited until I’d stormed out to perform the final act of her life, leaving me to wallow in a truckload of guilt.

The water turned cold, and I ended my shower. With cuddling up to Jenny’s soft, warm body in mind, I decided to shave so I wouldn’t irritate the skin on her neck and shoulder where I wanted to plant my face. The eyes that reflected back at me in the mirror didn’t seem to be as haunted as they must have been when I’d walked out of Jansen’s house.

“Hunka, hunka,” Jenny said, her gaze roaming over my body when I walked out, wearing a white T-shirt and black boxers.

She fanned her face, making me grin, something I definitely hadn’t thought I’d be doing tonight. I’d debated what to wear to bed. I’m a sleep-in-the-nude guy, but that seemed presumptuous for our first night together, especially when sex wasn’t on the agenda.

She’d changed into a pair of yellow girl boxers and a yellow spaghetti-strap top. Her red hair curled around her shoulders and down her back, and she could have been a goddess come to life. Seeing her sitting on my bed in her sexy little nightclothes, her legs crossed under her, was all my dick needed to stir awake. After my meltdown I would have thought nothing could turn me on tonight, but I was wrong.

I’d promised her we would just sleep, though, so I slipped under the covers to keep my erection from being on display. Pushing up against the headboard, I wondered what to say. Should I apologize for my behavior earlier? Pretend it had never happened? While those questions ran through my mind, Jenny reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed, then settled next to me with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk in her hands.

“I nosed around in your pantry and found cookies. They’ll help us sleep.” She handed me a cookie and took one for herself. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it,” she said, giggling. “We’ll share the milk.”

So we sat in my bed munching on store-bought cookies and passing the glass back and forth, telling each other stupid jokes. Yeah, dumb jokes. Her idea. She wanted to see which of us could come up with the most moronic, groan-inducing one.

She took the empty plate and glass, putting them back on the nightstand. “Okay, I got one. Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other, ‘Does this taste funny to you?’”

Her green eyes sparkled with delight at hearing me give her my best groan for that one. “You win,” I said. This had been the best time I’d had since… No, I wasn’t going there. Not after Jenny had managed to bring me back from the edge of a deep black hole.

I turned off the lamp, eased my head down onto my pillow, and patted the space in front of me. “Come here, Red. Put your back to me.” When she was stretched out in front of me, I wrapped an arm around her, resting my hand on her stomach. She felt good here, snuggled up next to me, and she smelled so damn good.

I closed my eyes, breathing her in. “Thank you, Jenny Girl,” I whispered.