Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.

A/N: BONUS TIME! I decided we need a doubleheader today. This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, I love and value each of your reviews and comments.

Thank you, misty23y, for your continued work as my beta!

I used Google Translate for all text in Spanish. Translation is provided in italics.

Chapter 11

Date/Time Stamp: Saturday, 15SEP18 0840-1100

Stephanie POV

I groan as I blink back against the morning light. My throat feels raw, and my head is pounding. I unwrap myself from the sheets and stumble to the bathroom, choosing to ignore any interaction with the mirror. I relieve myself, splash water on my face, and drink a couple of glasses of water. Thankfully, I'm already feeling better. I pad back into the room, digging in my bag for toiletries and clean underpants. There is nothing quite like clean underpants to change a girl's outlook.

My stomach growls, but there is no way I'm leaving this room, even for food. My eyes land on the Pop Tarts, and I begin to nibble. Some decisions I make are better than others. Brushing my teeth, I turn on the shower. Shedding my clothes quickly, I sigh in relief under the water. The constant stream acts like a baptismal font, washing away the sins of yesterday. While I don't feel great, I'm ready to begin sorting through my life.

I dress, make a cup of coffee, grab the other Pop Tart and move out to the porch. I settle at the table and take in my environment. The coffee is warm in my hands. The ocean is a dull roar. The air smells salty and fresh. The wind blows lightly and ever so chill in the morning breeze. I steadily breathe in and out. Staring at the waves, I attempt to sort my thoughts.

There have been countless memories flooding me lately, and it's left me completely unsettled. I'm questioning my relationships, decision making, safety, and even my sanity. That's when I'm awake! The night is often worse. I'm exhausted to the core of my being.

The nightmares need to stop. I haven't slept a whole night in months. I'm convinced just sleeping would improve my mental health. The desire to reclaim the night is almost a desperation of its own. As I sip my coffee, I find my hand moving unconsciously to the back of my neck.

As I rub, I think back to last night. Drinking to my limit, throwing up, knowing I was past my limit, and stumbling back to bed. I abruptly straighten my posture, almost spilling my coffee in the process. Son of a bitch. I wasn't alone. He's here.

I'm suddenly furious. Everything I do is tracked, monitored. So much for not having an audience for my breakdown. Nothing I do is private. Nothing! I can't even travel a thousand miles and have a night to myself free from judgment and observation. Enough!

I stride towards my bag and pull out my SW before ripping open the door separating me from the adjacent room. I level my weapon and stare into Ranger's eyes.

He looks surprised for a second, and then the blank face slams into place. His hands are up slightly, his body still, tense, and ready to react.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" I yell. "What do you want from me?"

He never breaks eye contact. "Babe," he starts, then pauses.

"Not good enough," I growl. "Do NOT Babe me right now. What are you doing here? Have you come to take me home? Did you choose to come yourself, or did someone ask you to come? You know what, I'm not even sure it matters. The bottom line is you wasted a trip because I'm not going back until I decide I'm ready." I don't lower my weapon. The king of the one-word answers will need to start talking.

Rangers blank face suddenly disappears, and I'm confronted with more unspoken words than he has ever shown me. There's concern, compassion, and love? I narrow my eyes, not trusting what I see.

"I'm here to be with you. I followed you because there is no place else I'd rather be." Ranger's words are soft, gentle.

I unblinkingly stare at him, but my arms begin to drop.

Ranger continues, "I knew from the moment I read your note something was wrong. I also know I should have been there for you months ago. I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future." He begins to slowly inch towards me, his eyes never breaking contact with mine.

"Babe, let me in. Let me help you."

With that, my anger dissolves, and I collapse in a heap of gut-wrenching sobs, crying as I've never cried before. In a second, Ranger has taken my revolver, and he's on his knees beside me. I pull myself into a ball, my face and fists on the ground. I'm completely overwhelmed; I'm consumed by the force of my emotions. He lifts me up.

We settle onto the bed, and I sob deeply into his chest. Every feeling from when I was six until today, every moment of shame and vulnerability, embarrassment and failure, all the realizations of not being loved are poured out from me. I feel him rubbing my back, stroking my hair, and murmuring in Spanish. The actions ground me, and I begin to feel safer than I ever have.

I make no attempt to speak or justify myself. It's enough to be here. As my sobs lessen, fatigue overtakes me, and I fall asleep in Ranger's arms, gripping his wet shirt. My last thoughts are how grateful I am he is here.

Ranger POV

I'm sitting in the stiff corner chair. My hands are resting at the arms, and I'm considering how my day will go. I know I should let Steph make the first move, but since I've come to realize how much I love her, I'm struggling to keep my distance. I have the door between our rooms open on my side, and it is only through years of highly developed discipline that I'm not currently pushing her door open. I will get one chance at a first impression; I don't want to blow it.

Suddenly, the door I'm staring down opens so hard it bounces off the wall before settling back again. I'm reflexively on my feet adapting combat ready posture. I'm in the process of pulling out my Glock when my brain catches up to tell me it's Stephanie pointing her weapon at me. I pause, deciding not to pull my gun. By the look on her face, I can see she is angry, but beneath it, I see a flash of uncertainty. I don't want to do anything to agitate her mental state further. Regardless, I'm in close enough range where I could physically disarm her in a second if I needed to.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" she yells. "What do you want from me?"

I maintain eye contact. "Babe," I say, then pause. I'm trying to decide how best not to screw this up when she confronts me with direct abandon. It's clear she was hoping to be left alone, but I can also see she is vulnerable and afraid. That's when it hit me. She wants to know she can trust me.

I immediately drop my blank face. I'm surprised she can't figure out why I'm here. I've been nothing if not exceedingly attentive to her physical safety. I know it's more than that. I decide to show her how much she means to me and to trust her with my heart.

"I'm here to be with you. I followed you because there is no place else I'd rather be," I say in a soft voice.

I can see she is beginning to crack. I desperately want to hold her in my arms, but it will be much better for us if she chooses to drop the weapon. I keep talking to her as her arms waiver. I'm moving forward slowly, closing the remaining distance between us.

I'm a foot away. The hurricane churning through her blue eyes breaks my heart.

"Babe, let me in. Let me help you." I'm holding my breath.

At once I see her defenses fall, and she collapses. At last, I'm beside her. I take control of her SW, stow it in my waistband and take a quick glance around her room to ensure there wasn't another immediate reason she would be carrying her revolver loaded. I'm not sure she has ever carried her gun loaded without it being at my insistence before. What have I missed? How did I not see what was going on with her?

Her sobs are so raw they threaten to rip my own soul apart. Anything I have to offer, anything I am I would freely give her to lessen this burden. I hope at this moment my presence is enough. I lift her from the ground, cradling her heaving form in my arms. She's lighter than I remember, and I frown further.

We lay together on the bed, and I try to comfort her. Stroking her back and hair, I softly murmur in Spanish, "Mi amor, ¿por qué te duele? Estoy aquí para ti. Te quiero, y nunca me iré de nuevo. Quiero ayudarte. Espero tenerte como mi esposa algún día. Quiero vivir contigo y ser tu alma gemela. Tuviste mi corazón desde la primera vez que nos conocimos. Querida, calma. Shhhh…."I intend to tell her these words when she will understand them soon. Little by little her sobs lessen, and Steph drifts off to sleep. Even in sleep, she seems to be tense and maintains a grip on my shirt. The grip she has on my heart is tighter.

(My love, why do you hurt? I'm here for you. I love you, and I will never leave again. I want to help you. I hope to have you as my wife someday. I want to live with you and be your soulmate. You had my heart from the first time we met. Dearest one, calm.)