Sharon dozed on her right side. Normally, she preferred to sleep on her left side, but the bruise on her left cheek was too tender to lay on. With his back to her, Andy was doing his best to finish the book he was reading before falling asleep, but he was having a hard time concentrating on the murder mystery. His thoughts drifted from the words on the page to the scene that occurred earlier in the day. He couldn't get it out of his head; the moment the scumbag's fist connected with Sharon's beautiful face played over and over in his mind. Even before Jeffrey Day raised his fist, Andy knew what was going to happen. He was powerless to stop it.
Reaching out to set his book on the bedside table and turn the lamp off, he heard Sharon sigh in her sleep. He set the book down, but left the light on. He needed to look at her before he closed his eyes for the night. He'd see her in his dreams, but that wasn't good enough. Gently rolling over, he studied her soft features from a few inches away. He was grateful she was sleeping because he could take his time to appreciate her without fear of getting caught staring. There was a time he stared at her with contempt in his eyes. In those days, he never dreamed he'd be lying next to her with a heart full of light and a life full of love because of her.
She was helping him heal his heart; his bruised and battered heart. Now she was bruised and battered. Her hair partially covered the bronze, purple, and sienna smudge on her cheek. Before she fell asleep, he told her the colors reminded him of the sunset. That made her laugh, and smile at him with that look that made him question what he had ever done to deserve her. Stifling an instinct to trace the outline of the wound with his finger, he glanced down at her right hand sticking out from under the pillow. Her fingers were slightly curled in, but he could still make out the lines on her palm. The most prevalent line looked like a cut. He slowly traced it, back and forth, with the tip of his index finger. Just this tiniest of connections made him feel calmer. He could let go of a little of the worry he carried. Worry about his health, his kids, his career, and even Sharon's career now that Deputy Chief Davis had brought her animosity and no small amount of uncertainty to their division. He was all too aware that Phillip Stroh was still on the loose as well. That knowledge alone was enough to raise his blood pressure. He had no idea what the future held, but he knew together they could weather any storm.
His finger moved from her palm to trace the blue vein barely visible under the skin covering her delicate wrist. She stirred. He held his breath. His finger stopped moving, and settled on her pulse point. He didn't want to wake her. She needed rest, but he would've loved to look in her eyes before kissing her lips. Instead, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the palm of the hand that had held the gun that killed Dwight Darnell. The hand that had cleaned the blood from Rusty's face after the confrontation with his father. The hand that had stroked the silky cheeks of her children when they were babies. The hand that had stroked his cheek when he'd thought he might by dying. The hand that held his heart.