Chapter 37

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Ingrid slid off the back of the motorcycle. Glen joined her in the driveway of her parents' house and patted her ass. "Do you have the phone I gave you?"

She lifted her purse. "Yeah."

"Listen to Hanley." He cupped the back of her neck. "Make sure you eat something."

"I will." She wrapped her arms around him, under his vest. "Are you sure you'll be back in time, so I don't have to spend the night alone?"

"I don't know how long it'll take, but as soon as I'm done, I'll pick you up." He kissed her upturned lips.

She pulled back. "Done?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, the search. When we're done."

"You know where the kid is?" She tilted her head.

She'd never heard him refer to a missing person case as done. Reunited, yes. Ongoing, yes. Done seemed so final and negative.

"I don't know the details yet." He turned her and led her to the front door. "I'll know more once I catch up to the others."

She stepped in front of him, blocking him from opening the door. Once she walked into the house, her time with him would be over, and she'd lose him to his club.

"You kissed me in the driveway." She stretched to her toes. "My turn."

He dipped his knees. "Do your damage, Blue."

She flicked her tongue in the slit of his lips. He growled in such a sexy way, her legs vibrated. He hooked his arm around her waist and dragged her against his hard body. She leaned into him, wanting him to stay with her. Lately, this is what she lived for. She woke up wanting him. Craved him during the day. Obsessively clung to him at night.

"Nobody," he mumbled against her lips. "Nobody can tell me this is wrong."

He hungrily kissed her, swiping his tongue against hers. She opened wider, eager to take the attention he gave her. Knowing she came across desperate and needy, instead of rational and mature, she no longer cared. Glen was what she wanted in her life.

Glen plunged his tongue into her mouth. She greedily sucked, taking and taking, feeling calmer after worrying about their change in routine. He lifted her feet off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips and concentrated fully on him.

She thrust her fingers into his hair and held his head, tilting hers, and taking him deeper. His moan told her everything she needed to know. She was doing it right, and he approved.

He stiffened against her, pulling his head back. She blinked against the erotic pull and stared into his beautiful eyes.

"Glen," she murmured. "Be careful."

"Always." He set her on her feet. "Now, get inside and send Hanley out to me."

She stumbled back, almost losing her balance. She clamped her lips to keep from begging him to take her back to his house, to shut out the world, and pretend with her that everything was okay. Her heart cried instead when he whistled under his breath and opened the door and nudged her into the safety of the house.

Her mom seemed to come out of nowhere, and she leaned into a gentle hug. "I'm happy you're going to spend the evening with me."

She bolstered her attitude for the sake of pleasing her mom. "Me, too."

"Let's get you something to eat." Her mom waved her hand behind her as she walked toward the kitchen.

Apparently, her mom and Glen had teamed up to force her to eat. She set her purse on the floor by the front door. Glancing in the living room, she made eye contact with Mr. Hanley and waved. "Hello."

"Ms. Ingrid." Mr. Hanley turned his attention back to the window.

"Glen wants to speak with you outside," she said.

He marched to the door and went out. She raised her brows at his lack of conversation and hurried into the kitchen and whispered, "Is Mr. Hanley always so...on guard?"

Her mom nodded and whispered, "He seems to only say, 'Thank you for the meal, ma'am.'"

"Wow." Ingrid sat at the table. "He was basically calling you old."

Her mom threw the dish towel at her. "Cut that out."

Ingrid propped her chin on her hand. Her mom was the same age as Glen. Her dad was only a couple years older than her mom. The whole dynamics of how she communicated with each one came out differently. Her parents were authority figures who nurtured and loved her. While she had the same blood and DNA as her parents, there was a whole other set of emotions connecting her to Glen.

He was her light in the darkness. Her air she needed to breathe. Her motivation to live. The pulse that ran through her veins. Her moon at night. She rolled her eyes. And, obviously, without him, she was reduced to sitting at her mother's table making up stupid comparisons.

"Are you okay?" Her mom set a bowl of meatballs in brown gravy and lingonberry jam in front of her.

"Besides needing a mental evaluation?" Ingrid picked up the fork and stabbed a meatball. "Just dandy."

"Everything will work out with time." Her mom sat across from her at the table. "You know this to be true. You've seen it happen."

She nodded absently. Taking one day at a time since her dad's accident, she'd learned to grasp on to the littlest things that would make her believe in tomorrow. A good day was all she could hope for at the moment.

"What do you know about Stockholm syndrome?" she blurted.

Her mom choked, covering her mouth and coughing hard. When she finally caught her breath, her mom wiped underneath her eyes. Ingrid took a bite off her fork and raised her brows expectantly. "I once read something on the internet about a girl who was kidnapped at the age of ten and held captive for six years. She fell in love with her abductor. Even when the police found her at age sixteen, she refused to say anything bad about her relationship with the man who stole her childhood. I remember the news saying she even visited the man in jail after he was found guilty and she told everyone that when he got released, she planned to live with him again. Voluntarily."

Her mom's eyes widened. "Well, I don't think—"

"Pretty sick, right?" She cut a meatball in half, not letting her mom answer. "Except, I'm feeling what that girl felt and it doesn't feel sick or wrong."

"Ingrid, baby, you don't have Stockholm Syndrome," whispered her mom.

"I think I do." She placed her hands on the table and sprawled her fingers. "It really shows that somewhere in our psyche, beyond our intelligence to decipher facts and know the difference between right and wrong, love becomes uncontrollable. Like, people who do drugs haven't lost their ability to want to quit, they simply can't."

"Honey, are you talking about—?"

"Look at you and dad." Ingrid stabbed the fork in the air toward her mom. "The life you planned with him stopped immediately when he was in the accident. But, something inside of you continued to love him. You never left him, Mom. Not once did you step away from taking care of him every single day or decide that life was unfair and you deserved more. You never complained about the changes, and they were huge. You probably had a right to your own happiness. But, what did you get in return for taking care of dad? It wasn't the life you wanted for yourself or him."

"Now, wait a minute, Ingrid. What happened—"

"It doesn't matter." She put a meatball in her mouth and licked the corner of her lip. "I'm just thinking out loud."

Her mom blew out her breath and sagged against the back of the chair. "Is this about Evan?"

She jolted, and her gaze snapped to her mom's in shock. "What? No, of course not."

Her mom leaned forward. "Then, where is this coming from and who are you talking about?"

Ingrid set the fork down in the now empty bowl. "I'm falling in love with Glen, and before you list every reason why I couldn't possibly be having these feelings, I'd like you to know I have no control over how I feel. None of it. The same way you can't help loving dad when there is no physical return of his love, or that girl loved her kidnapper or the person who swears she'll stop putting drugs in her body but still reaches for a needle every night."

"You're dealing with a lot and have been living on the streets, Ingrid. Evan put you through a nightmare, and you're still dealing with the aftermath. You lived, surviving each day, with no one to help you. Things are going to feel a little confusing, and your thoughts are going to wander. That's all it is." Her mom reached across the table, grabbed her hand, and fervently blinked the tears out of her vision. "Glen helped you, and I'm thankful for what he's doing...more than you'll ever know, but you're in no position to—"

"That's what I'm saying." She bowed her head and calmed herself. "I tell myself that every second of the day that I shouldn't have these feelings or th-this insatiable need to have Glen, and given time my feelings will probably go away. But there's something inside of me that pushes all sense of reason to the side."

"You can't trust how you're feeling right now," said her mom.

"I think that's the only thing I can trust." Ingrid raised her chin. "I'm in love with him."

"Oh, Ingrid," whispered her mom. "He's too old for you."

"Mom, we've tried to stop what was started. I can't. He can't." Her body gave up and slouched in her seat. "Glen stayed away and told me it's over. He brought me back here, and we were miserable being apart. I-I think he needs me as much as I need him, so explain that to me."

Her mom released her hold on Ingrid's hand and walked to the kitchen. Ingrid studied the silent strength in her mom's spine. A familiar pose over the years that she'd come to respect. Her mom never let anyone down. Not Ingrid. Not her husband. Not their family.

She'd witnessed her mom walk away to compose herself, gather her thoughts, and return to do battle for the ones she loved more times than she could count. Ingrid swallowed hard. And, for the first time, she realized how much she was like her mother.

"I'll be in my room," she mumbled standing.

She pulled out her phone and connected the call to Glen by the time she shut her bedroom door.

"What's wrong?" answered Glen.

"I'm falling in love with you." She left the light off in her room and walked to the window, wishing she could see him at the end of the street, protecting her, and knowing he wasn't there. "I realize I'm throwing this out at you and you have something more important you're doing, but—"

He grunted. "Nothing is more important than you."

His rough, deep voice soothed her. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. "What we have together can't be explained, but I'm going to hold on to it and never let it go," she whispered.

Traffic noise came over the cell phone. She opened her eyes and stared out at the night, warm and safe inside her childhood home. Even with all the comfort surrounding her and Glen validating her feelings, apprehension curled tight in her chest.

"Hurry back to me," she said.

"Ingrid?" Glen paused. "Fight for us. Whatever happens, keeping fighting."

The call disconnected. She folded her arms in front of her and held the tremors from breaking free.