Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

the corners of his eyes, a wedding band claiming his left ring finger. Taking his
kids to soccer practice, passing Goldfish bags and juice boxes to the backseat,
singing loudly to Disney music on the stereo. And then, stupidly, I see myself in
the exact seat I’m in, somehow belonging in that picture.
Honestly, Francesca.
Snapping my glance away, I focus out the window. After a long spate of
comfortable quiet, I clear my throat and tell him, “Thanks again for the ride.
Sorry to take you out of the way.”
“It’s no problem, Frankie. I’m always happy to give you a ride home.” He
takes the right off El Segundo Boulevard onto Inglewood.
Minutes later, we pull up to my house, and Ren unloads my stuff as I fish out
my keys from my bag and walk up to the door. I slide my key into the deadbolt
first, freezing when I turn and don’t feel the bolt slide back. It’s unlocked. I test
the handle. That’s unlocked too.
“What is it?” Ren sets my suitcase gently between us.
“My door…” It comes out hoarse and threadbare. “My door is open.”
“Frankie.” The urgency in Ren’s voice makes my head snap up just in time
to realize he’s sweeping me up off my feet, holding my entire body easily in one
arm—holy shit—and carrying my suitcase in the other.
I’m stashed in the van, Ren sprints around to the other side, and he drives
quickly down the road, before parking and opening his phone. I watch his
fingers dial 911.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask him.
Ren glances up at me as the phone rings. “Calling the police. Most violence
related to burglaries happens during break-ins, when the homeowner walks in on
the intruders. If someone’s still in there—Hi, yes…”
I stare at Ren as he speaks calmly with that composed, even voice he uses on
the ice, the one that he used after Maddox got drunk and stupid on me.
I always find it fascinating to watch people like Ren in action during a crisis.
People whose stress response isn’t shutting down their ability to function. Ren’s
the guy who thinks analytically and keeps his shit together when the world’s
burning. I’m the one who sinks to the floor and forgets how to breathe.
He tells them my address, explains the situation. I should be helping.
Talking. Doing anything to take control of the situation. But instead, I sit there,
staring down the road at my little rented bungalow that I’ve worked so hard to
make feel like home. It’s been broken into. Invaded.
A cold numbness sweeps through my body.
Ren’s voice rushes over me, a warm breeze that pulls me from my frozen
shock. “Frankie. Police are coming. It’s going to be okay. Do you have your