Edna’s probe was one of the worst experiences Turner had had to endure, and yet he was grateful to her.

The question was whether he believed her. The telepath had confirmed what she’d said, but perhaps the guy had been influenced by Edna’s spin and what she thought she’d found deep in Turner’s psyche.

How could two strangers know more about him than he knew about himself? It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t dumb, he wasn’t obtuse, and he knew what was going on with him inside and out.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Bridget said as they entered their apartment. “And a steak. You’re pale like a sheet of parchment paper.”

Turner glanced at his reflection in the mirror hanging next to the entry door. He looked like he had during the chemo days. As if a vampire had drained him of his blood, leaving just enough for him to shuffle his feet.

“If you’re offering me a steak, the situation must be indeed dire.”

Bridget sighed. “It’s so dire that I’m thinking of having one myself.”

His eyes widened. “I’m on it.” He was in the kitchen and opening the freezer before she had a chance to bat her eyelashes.

“I was kidding, Victor. But you can defrost one for yourself if you want to.”

The temporary burst of energy left him in a rush, and he had to brace a hand on the counter before lowering himself to the nearest barstool. “Maybe a little later. After the coffee.”

Bridget walked up to Turner and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest as if he was a child in need of his mother’s comfort. “Edna did a number on both of us.” She kissed his forehead.

“Uh-hm.”

“She forced us to confront our fears.”

He nodded.

“Coffee first. And then we talk.” She let go of him and got busy with the coffeemaker.

Good, he needed a few moments to himself. Except, if he hadn’t come up with any earth-shattering conclusions during the drive home, chances were it wasn’t coming.

Damn it, he hated Edna’s psychological crap. That was why he avoided therapists, and had suffered through psych evaluations only because he’d been forced to during his service.

When the machine was done brewing, Bridget poured them two cups, fixed hers the way she liked it and headed for the living room.

Turner was still in the same spot she’d left him.

“Come on, let’s sit on the couch.”

“Do I have to? It sounds too much like an invitation to a shrink session.”

Nevertheless, he shuffled all the way to the thing and sat next to Bridget. “You have no idea how I detest stuff like that.”

Bridget nodded in agreement. “I hear it’s not a pleasant experience when Edna does her probe. Most everyone would rather avoid it.”

Holding the coffee cup between his palms, Turner shook his head. “I’m not talking about Edna specifically. I’m talking about everything that has to do with shrinks and the like. There is no way they know for sure what’s going on in a person’s head or their gut. They are just guessing. Sometimes they are right, but oftentimes they are wrong. No one has the right to tell me what I feel, and what I do not, or try to convince me that I’m hiding from my supposed feelings or any other unprovable crap like that.”

If his words were hurting Bridget, she wasn’t showing it.

Hell, he was hurting her for sure. An hour ago Edna had declared his love for Bridget, and now he sounded as if he was denying it. It was cruel, but not as cruel as feeding her a lie.

“You’re not being logical, Victor.”

“Excuse me?” He thought he was the only one who was. Even Kian had lost his fucking mind for orchestrating that circus.

“You think you are, but you’re not. I can prove it.”

He waved her on. “Be my guest.”

“Let’s start with what brought us here. You discovered that you had cancer, and instead of seeking treatment you sought immortality. Not the most logical move in anyone’s playbook.”

“I wasn’t going out on a limb. I knew about immortals and I knew about Andrew’s transformation.”

“You knew that immortals existed, and you also knew that Andrew had been turned. What you didn’t know was whether you're a Dormant. And although the chances were tiny, you decided to take a leap of faith. Nothing has changed in that regard. We still don't know if you're a Dormant or not." She looked into his eyes. “Faith, Victor, is not rational and it’s not logical. You followed your gut.”

“Where are you going with that?”

She lifted her palm to shush him. “I’m proving that not everything you believe about yourself is true. The will to live is a powerful thing. I don’t blame you for taking a leap of faith on a very unorthodox cure. I’m only showing you that your thinking is skewed.”

She had a point there. His chosen course of action was based only on a few facts, and the rest was based on unprovable assumptions, which were nevertheless critical to the successful implementation of his plan. Basing his decision on such shaky foundation required a leap of faith.

“Do you like being with me, Victor?”

“You know I do. I told you so.”

“Do you miss me when I’m not with you?”

“You know the answer to that as well.”

“When you’re at work, do you think about me?”

“I do.”

“And are you impatient to be done so you can go home and be with me?”

He nodded.

“And if you come home and I’m not here, what do you feel?”

“Disappointed?” He wasn’t sure this was what she wanted to hear.

Bridget smiled. “There is no right or wrong answer. Just say the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Right. She seemed satisfied with his answers up until that point, and he didn’t want to blow it by giving the wrong one.

“Where are you leading with this?”

“I’m proving to you that you love me.”

Turner sucked in a breath, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Whatever he said now, could and would be used against him.

Bridget took a sip of coffee before continuing. “I don’t know what else you expect to feel, but that’s about it. We are not teenagers, and love doesn’t hit us over the head or kick us in the stomach with gut-wrenching intensity. Love washes over us like a warm wave, covering us in a blanket of security. Sometimes love just feels like home.”

Epiphany.

Sometimes love just feels like home.

Turner had never had a home. He had a house, a place to sleep and a place to eat, and a place to stay out of the cold and the rain. But none of the places he’d lived in were home.

He didn’t remember what it had felt like before his grandparents had taken him in, but their house had never felt like a home. The old folks had done their best to make him feel welcome, but he’d always had a sense that he was disturbing their plans for a peaceful retirement and that they would’ve been happier without him.

They had taken him in out of obligation and not because they’d wanted to start raising another child. A very strange child who didn’t fit any of the molds they were familiar with.

But that wasn’t the entire story. As a small kid, he’d hoped at least one of his parents would come for him, and they would live as a family again. Victor never allowed himself to feel at home with his grandparents. When he got older and realized it was never going to happen, he’d closed the door on those childish hopes and moved on.

The connection between love, home, and safety didn't exist for him. It was like expecting a desert dweller to know how to swim when he’d never seen a pool of water larger than a bucket to wash in, or to know what an ocean was.

Victor could have been eating love for breakfast, lunch and dinner but mistaking it for something else.

“Thank you.” He took Bridget’s hand and kissed the inside of her palm.

“For what?”

“For teaching me what love is.”