Nothing but the desperation of a man staring down the business end of a gun. Guy knew that well enough.  But all of this added up to yet another scar on the Bell family and they already had enough.  And Chris . . .

The door slammed shut behind him.

He had to fight not to flinch.

Of course she was here.  After the night they’d spent, after everything she’d been dealing with, how could he not expect her to come looking for him?

She always came to him.  It was something that he both needed and hated, because he needed her, more than he needed to breathe, it seemed.  But she didn’t want the things from him that he wanted from her.

She wanted comfort, wanted silence. Wanted a million things, and he just wanted her.

Feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned to face her, leaning against the counter behind him, his hands curling around it so he didn’t give in to the temptation to reach for her as she came even closer to him.

“What in the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

“Taking some personal time,” he said levelly.

It had been his idea to take a few days away from work. Piss-poor timing, he knew, but the sheriff hadn’t been able to deny it made sense.  Fifteen years ago, Guy had been tangentially involved in what was likely going to be a manslaughter case.  They didn’t need him around right then.

He didn’t need to be around right then.

If he could cut the ties that bound him to Chris, he’d just leave Madison altogether.  She was the only thing that really held him here, but those ties were strong, forged of iron and lust and love and need.  To cut those ties, he’d have to cut out his heart.

“Personal time.”  She continued to stare at him, her eyes glinting, sharp and brittle.  “What did you do? Roll out of my bed and just decide you needed a few days away? Just like that?”

“Actually, I’d put the request in the day before the memorial.”  Setting his jaw, he looked at the wall past her.  “I should have mentioned it before that.  This isn’t exactly the best time for me to be around, Chris.”

“Not the best time.”

The wooden tone of her voice was so unnatural, he couldn’t help but look at her and the shattered expression on her face ripped at him.

“Aw, fuck,” he muttered, shoving away from the counter.  “Chris, that isn’t what I . . .”

“No.”  She shook her head, her throat working as she swallowed.  Vivid bursts of ink, those sexy, insane bursts of color that bloomed on her flesh moving as her chest shuddered, a ragged breath easing out of her.  “Fifteen years, I waited for answers.  Now I have some of them, and the person I always turn to just up and leaves.”

He closed his eyes.

“Okay.  Fine.  I get this is hell on you, too.  I thought maybe we could help each other through it.  But you don’t want that.  I’ll see you around.”  She turned and headed for the door.

She was two feet from the door when the threads of his control broke.  Slamming a hand over her head, he shoved the door closed as she went to slip outside.  When she attempted to jerk it open, he simply outmuscled her.

When she spun around and glared up at him, he glared back. “You get that this is hell on me,” he said, echoing her words.  “You have no idea what kind of hell this is.”

Her lip quivered, a snarl forming on her face.  “Poor Guy.” She gave him a look of mock pity and reached up to pat his cheek.

He caught her wrist, pinned it to the door.

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