NYC, Atlanta
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NYC
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Jack had sensed a change in Audrey over the past few weeks. Last Monday, they had been in Chicago, and she had broken their usual routine of grabbing a drink at the bar before bed, citing that she was too tired.
Last Thursday, Denver, she skipped drinks again—this time, without even offering an excuse. During the day, she seemed distracted, but not in a way that suggested she was in love or seeing someone new. He had looked for the signs: if she was checking her phone frequently, sneaking away to take private calls, looking tired from late nights. But none of these signals were there, save for her fatigue. No happy glow, no secretive phone calls. No new man in her life, as far as Jack could tell.
He wouldn't have disapproved if there had been someone new, of course. His rational mind would have said that he was happy for her. But deep down, it would have hurt a little to see her with somebody new. Audrey had always been a distant dream for him, ever since their one night stand. He never entertained the idea of a life with her, not realistically. His life had hardened him into a realist, not an optimist. Jack knew he could never get a woman like her. He was missing at least two or three zeros in his bank account. The life she was living—partly even in front of his eyes—was one he couldn't keep up with. She was polished, powerful, connected, and living in circles he'd never belong to. Jack had seen the world she moved in: senators, diplomats, and people with wealth beyond his imagination. He'd not even try or dare to dream. Audrey Raines was far beyond his reach, and he knew it.
Last Wednesday, she'd had a doctor's appointment back in DC. Jack had offered to drive her, but she declined, opting for a Secret Service car and driver instead. "Just a regular checkup," she said, urging him to stay in the office and focus on his matrix project, because a status presentation to a Congress subcommittee was about to happen soon.
He had let it go, but the uneasy feeling lingered. Something was off with her, and she wasn't letting him in. But he didn't want to push. They were friends, not anything more. She didn't owe him explanations, and he didn't have the right to demand them. If anything, Jack felt indebted to Audrey—for all the good things he currently had in his life. Being clean, this job, the move to DC, getting away from all the guns and pain. Audrey had made all that possible.
They stood side by side at the hotel elevator, waiting in silence. They had just returned from a long day of meetings. The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped in together. 12th floor, rooms next to each other—standard protocol for security, as always.
Jack glanced at Audrey, noticing how tired she looked. He didn't want to let go of their usual evening ritual just yet. He had grown to love these quiet moments in hotel bars with her. They could talk about anything, lose themselves in conversation, far from the grind of Washington D.C.
As they reached their floor and walked down the hallway, Jack decided to ask casually, "Drinks at the bar?", though he feared already that she'd decline.
Audrey shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm tired."
He could sense there was more to it. Right before they reached their rooms, Jack gently intercepted her, unsure how to start. "Audrey, are you okay?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked, but her response was edged with nervousness.
"This is the third time in a row you've turned down drinks. Is it something I did?" Jack's voice was soft, but Audrey could hear how much their evenings together meant to him.
A tired smile crossed her face. "No, Jack. Everything's alright." It dawned on her that she had been rejecting all his usual invitations lately. She hadn't even noticed.
"You can say it," Jack continued, his voice almost tentative. "I just want to know if I ruined our evenings somehow."
Audrey could hear the affection and care in his words. He cherished their time together just as much as she did. "Jack…" she started.
"Audrey," he said, stepping a little closer. He finally worked up the nerve to ask the question that had been nagging him. "Is there someone new in your life?"
She shook her head, no.
"If there's someone who makes you feel like you can't have a drink with friends, just let me know. I'll set him straight," Jack said, his protective tone showing his concern.
Audrey smiled at his worry. She knew his past made him sensitive to the early signs of abusive relationships—control, isolation. He could sense the beginnings of manipulation from miles away and sometimes he probably even sensed something when there was nothing.
"There's nobody," she sighed, debating whether she should tell him about her pregnancy. She hadn't even realized it for a while that her period hadn't come. Actually, she had no idea about it because she hadn't kept track of it lately. There hadn't been any morning sickness. Well, sometimes that happened. It were only the movies, where women found out they were pregnant because of that. But when she realized – last week – that her period hadn't come in a really long time, she'd started to get worried. She went to her OBGYN and a huge part of her had expected to hear it was some early menopausal symptom. But those ten percent in the back of her head told her it could be something else.
Judging from the last time she'd been with a man, she probably had to be two and a half months along. It must have happened during those few weekens with Paul, right after Jack moved to DC. Their weekend in San Francisco maybe, or the one before that. After years of an emotionally dead marriage they had started playing 'happy couple' again – as Jack had once called it – just because Paul had implored her to accompany him to some business dinners. And that had lead to drinks, some more drinks, the decision that they couldn't drive home and because she'd been following all of Jack's advices on such evenings: don't say sorry, don't bring up the past, let the others do the talking, she'd gotten along really great with Paul.
She hadn't even told Paul about the pregnancy yet. She had convinced herself it would be another failed pregnancy. After two miscarriages, doctors had told her it would be a miracle if she could carry a child to term. But as the days passed, her hope quietly grew. She was almost three months along. That could mean something good. She still hadn't told anyone. Not Paul. Not Jack. No one. It felt safer that way.
"Is there someone new in your life?", Jack's earlier question resounded in her head. Technically, there was someone—an unborn life. But it wasn't the kind of someone Jack thought she was hiding.
She realized right now that she missed the evenings at the bar with him, but her mind had been consumed so much with the pregnancy, the uncertainty of it all. She hadn't realized how much she had been neglecting him, her best friend.
"Okay, one drink," Audrey finally relented. "See you here in 10 minutes?"
Jack's face lit up with a warm smile. "Okay." Maybe he had been imagining things. Maybe there was nothing wrong after all.
Ten minutes later, they met again, heading down to the hotel bar. Audrey noticed Jack had changed into black trousers and a dark blue shirt, his black jacket covering the gun holstered under his arm. Well, she still didn't see it, but one day she'd just asked him how he carried it. Standard Secret Service protocol, he had told her, shoulder holster.
When they sat down, Jack ordered his usual ginger ale. Audrey ordered a virgin colada.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "No Cabernet Sauvignon today?" he teased, referring to her usual drink.
"No," Audrey said quickly, scrambling for an excuse. "I took some painkillers earlier. Don't want to mix."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is everything alright?" Jack's concern was genuine.
"Yeah, just a headache," she lied effortlessly. After years of marriage, she had learned how to fake a headache.
"Was everything okay at your checkup?" Jack asked, his worry still lingering.
Audrey had to pause for a second, trying to remember the lie she had vaguely told him about a doctor's appointment. "Everything's fine," she said, brushing it off. "Did you see Kim last weekend?" she asked, swiftly changing the subject. Jack had once mentioned that trick—get the other person talking when you need to dodge a topic. Standard CIA manoeuvre.
It worked like a charm.
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Atlanta
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Another week passed until Jack and Audrey found themselves on another trip together. This time, it was a small project, something Audrey could've easily handled on her own. In fact, Jack hadn't been involved in it at all and had only joined her for the meeting so she wouldn't have to deal with the Secret Service detail she despised.
They were in Atlanta now, back at the hotel after a long day. Jack had suggested going for drinks, and, to his surprise, Audrey had instantly agreed this time. But something felt off. She had seemed distracted all day, unfocused during the meeting. Jack had even had to jump in a few times to finish discussions she had stalled on, which was unlike her. She was usually sharp, in control.
After changing clothes—Jack wore his cardigan, knowing it was too warm for the season, but needing it to cover his gun—they took the elevator down and found seats at the hotel bar. Jack ordered his usual ginger ale, but what shocked him was when Audrey ordered a Whiskey instead of her usual glass of wine. Double, on the rocks.
His brow furrowed. Audrey had never ordered whiskey before. The look on her face made him worry. There was something deeper going on. This wasn't about a headache, because she wouldn't be mixing pain pills with alcohol. There was pain in her eyes, but it was a different kind—something he couldn't quite place.
Without hesitation, she finished the whiskey in one draught.
Jack stared, his jaw dropping slightly as she shoved the empty glass back onto the counter and immediately ordered another.
"Audrey…" Jack started, his voice low, laced with concern.
"One more," she muttered to the bartender, her tone flat and unyielding.
Jack quickly intervened, turning to the bartender. "No," he said firmly, canceling the order. Breaking the protocol with a glass of wine was one thing, but that just went too far.
Audrey's face hardened, her anger flaring. She was angry at the world - she was angry at Jack for treating her like this. The little part of her who knew that his decision was right, was completely drowned by her anger.
They hadn't spoken a single word to each other until now, the silence between them growing heavier. She debated in her head whether she should stay angry with Jack and sit in the bar with him. Why bother? If she wanted to be angry, she might as well do it alone.
Abruptly, she stood up and walked away, leaving Jack sitting at the bar. He hadn't even touched his drink yet. He hastily gave the bartender his room number for the tab and rushed after her.
As Audrey reached the elevators, Jack caught up, but the look in her eyes said everything: leave me alone.
He stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. "You know I can't leave you alone." He feared Audrey might do something reckless, something she'd regret. Even if she went back to her room now, he would be on alert, listening. If she tried to trick him and sneak out again, to break free, he'd be ready.
The elevator doors slid open, and both Jack and Audrey stepped inside, the silence between them deafening. Jack watched Audrey's back as she stood in front of him, her shoulders tense, her body rigid as though she were holding herself together by sheer willpower. The silk blouse she wore clung softly to her shoulder blades, swaying ever so slightly with the movement of her stifled sobs. He could see the effort it took for her to stay composed. Jack had never seen her like this and it worried him deeply.
"Audrey," he said softly, his voice rough with concern.
The sound of his voice was too much. That gruff, steady voice, calling her name. It was the final straw, the thing that pushed her over the edge. All the walls she had built to contain her emotions, the pretense of control, crumbled in an instant.
She burst into tears.
Audrey's sobs filled the small elevator as she finally let go, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the flood of emotion came to the surface.
Jack stood there for a moment, frozen by the intensity of her pain. His instinct was to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he hesitated, not knowing if she wanted that. Still, he couldn't just stand by. He stepped closer. "Audrey…," Jack said again, his voice low, almost a whisper, filled with the kind of gentleness he reserved only for her, the underlying question was unspoken but clear. He didn't want to push her, but he couldn't stand to see her like this. He wanted to know what was going on. He had never seen her break down like this before. Whatever had driven her to this point had to be something big.
Audrey finally turned around, and without a word, she fell into his arms, her sobs shaking her body. Instinctively, Jack wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling the weight of her pain even if he still didn't know its cause. He stood firm, offering silent support, determined to be there for her, even though he couldn't make sense of it. He had lived long enough to know that sometimes, there were moments he couldn't fully understand—moments when words weren't enough, and all he could do was be present.
The soft chime of the elevator announced their arrival, but Audrey didn't seem to hear it. The doors slid open, then began to close again as Jack quickly stretched out his arm, holding them open. Unsure of what to do next, he gently nudged her out of the elevator, guiding her into the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the hotel.
Audrey was completely consumed by her tears, oblivious to her surroundings, not noticing the small group of people at the far end of the hallway who had started to stare. Her face wasn't widely recognizable, but Jack didn't want to risk anyone snapping a photo or spreading rumors. The last thing she needed was to be seen in such a vulnerable moment, especially by anyone who had attended the same conference.
"Audrey, we should go inside," Jack murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he guided her down the hall, staying close in case her legs gave out under the weight of her emotions.
His room was closer, and he had the key at hand. He quickly unlocked the door and gently nudged her inside. The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the outside world.
They stood in the dark, the lights off, only the faint glow of the city beyond the window illuminating the room in shades of gray. The silence between them stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Audrey's sobs had quieted, but she still hadn't spoken a single word. Jack stood there, still holding her, waiting, giving her all the time she needed to gather herself. He knew better than to rush her. She was hurting, and whatever was going on, he'd be there when she was ready to let him in.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—Jack leaning against the door, Audrey pressed against his chest, her breathing gradually calming down as her sobs subsided. He didn't rush her, didn't ask anything. But his mind spun with concern.
Audrey's thoughts swirled in her mind as she became more aware of where she was—still in Jack's arms, his unspoken question hovering between them: Why? Why had she broken down like this? Why was she so upset? She didn't want to answer that question. She wasn't sure she could. The truth felt too complicated, too raw, and she hadn't told anyone, not even Jack, about the pregnancy.
She felt a knot of guilt twist inside her. What would Jack think if he knew? That she'd tried to mend things with Paul? The first thing he'd said when she'd told him months ago about her occasional appearances with Paul was a warning. He'd been protective, skeptical of Paul's intentions, especially when it came to her. Jack knew too much already—he was her best friend. And yet, she hadn't told him about the pregnancy. Why? Because deep down, it felt like she'd betrayed him by sleeping with Paul. They were only friends, but somehow, telling Jack about the pregnancy had felt wrong.
Telling him she was no longer pregnant felt even worse, because it would show, how long she'd kept it a secret from him.
That morning, just an hour before their meeting, she'd realized it. She'd lost the baby. The cramps had started, subtle at first, and then became more intense, until she knew, without a doubt, what had happened. He must have realized something was going on. Once or twice, she wasn't even able to follow their conversation. She just did her best not letting it show what was on her mind. Bite down the pain. The rest of the day, she'd been in a haze, trying to figure out how to handle it. In theory, there was nothing to do. She hadn't told anyone she was pregnant, so she wouldn't have to tell anyone she'd lost it. But it wasn't that simple. The loss weighed on her more than she ever expected.
It had been nearly a decade since her first miscarriage. Back then, she and Paul had still been trying, still hopeful. But after the second loss, they had given up. And by the time she turned 40, the idea of children wasn't even on her mind anymore. When she found out she was pregnant a few weeks ago, it had been a shock. A miracle, even. Now, she was supposed to feel relief that the impossible weight had been lifted, but instead, she just felt hollow. A failure.
She was past 40, stuck in a marriage that she should've ended years ago, trapped in an apartment she hated because she couldn't bear to stay in the house she and Paul had once shared. And now here she was, in someone else's hotel room, crying in the arms of her best friend.
Jack's hand moved gently, his thumb stroking through her hair in a slow, comforting rhythm. Despite everything, this—being here, in Jack's room—was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time.
Suddenly, the cramps returned, sharp and unmistakable. She gasped, pushing herself free from Jack's arms and bolting toward the bathroom.
Jack stood frozen, still leaning against the door in the dark, watching as Audrey disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing softly behind her. A thin strip of light spilled out from under the door. He remained where he was, listening for any sounds—anything that would tell him what was happening in there. The urge to go to her, to knock on the door or open it, was almost overwhelming. But he held himself back. He wasn't going to invade her privacy. Not unless he absolutely had to.
There was only silence, broken only by the occasional soft sob from her. No sounds of her throwing up. No crash of her collapsing.
After what felt like an eternity, Jack moved over to the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. The dim light cast a soft glow over the room. He glanced around—everything seemed fine, the usual mess of travel. He hadn't expected Audrey to end up in his room tonight. He quickly gathered his used clothes and shoved them into his suitcase, trying to make the room presentable. It wasn't much, but it was enough to occupy his restless mind for a moment. Still, there was no sound from the bathroom. Jack wandered over to the window and looked out at the view. Twelfth floor. The city lights, a beautiful sight under different circumstances. But right now, all he could think about was Audrey.
What was happening in there? His worry gnawed at him as he paced through the room. He pulled off his cardigan, tossing it onto the bed. There was no need to hide the shoulder holster and the gun any longer—Audrey knew he carried it. He didn't like the shoulder holster, preferred the waistband carry, but this was standard Secret Service protocol. That thought was a brief distraction, one that vanished as soon as the bathroom door opened.
For a moment, the room was flooded with bright light from the bathroom before Audrey switched it off, leaving only the bedside lamp's soft illumination. She emerged, her makeup smeared, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
Atlanta was warm, but she couldn't stop shivering.
Audrey felt the warmth of Jack's cardigan around her shoulders before she even realized how cold she had been. Jack's arms circled her once more, pulling her into another embrace, and like last time, she didn't hesitate. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.
The room was small—too small, in Jack's opinion. There was no couch, only one chair, a tiny table, and the bed. He hesitated for a moment, fearing it might be inappropriate, but then he decided to sit down on the bed. The professional distance Secret Service protocols required—well, that hadn't ever really existed between him and Audrey. They had always been closer than colleagues, ever since they had reconnected after his time in Mexico. Tonight, he had to be there for her. Maybe not in the way the law required him to, but in the way Audrey needed it.
Jack leaned against the headrest, trying to find a comfortable position as she lay in his arms, her crying not ended, but not as all-consuming as it had been. He held her gently, not saying anything. He knew this wasn't the time for questions, not yet. Whatever she was going through, he'd be there. No matter what.
For a while, neither of them said a word.
Audrey's tears didn't seem to stop. The weight of everything she hadn't said, was too much. She felt utterly exhausted but, for the first time all day, not alone.
As the last of her tears dried, Audrey wiped them away and took a deep breath. Her eyes wandered to the empty shoulder holster Jack was still wearing, just inches from her face. The gun lay on the bedside table now, placed there sometime earlier. She turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Jack's left shoulder, noticing the black streak of her mascara smeared across his shirt. The stain looked permanent.
Audrey knew she had to tell him. The truth was pressing down on her, suffocating her in its weight. It was better to say it now, to be honest.
"Jack," she began, her voice low and hesitant.
"I'm here," he replied gently, though that much was obvious.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
"Okay," he said softly, his voice encouraging, though quiet.
"You need to promise me that it'll stay between us. You promise?" Audrey's voice wavered, the vulnerability heavy in her words.
"I promise," Jack said, his tone steady and sure.
She took another deep breath, summoning the courage to say what needed to be said. "Three months ago..." She paused, her heart racing. This felt like the hardest part—revealing what she'd kept from him. "Paul and I tried... to make things work again."
Jack felt the sting instantly. A sharp, familiar pain, though he fought to keep his face neutral, his body still. Don't tense up, he commanded himself. Don't let your heart race. He didn't know if he had succeeded. Was she telling him they had gotten back together? Then why the tears? Had they split again? Was that why she cried?
"It was just two weekends," she continued, her voice faltering slightly. "First we were at that fundraiser dinner, and the evening went really well..." Audrey realized she was rambling, stalling, avoiding the crux of the matter. She exhaled sharply, then said it: "I got pregnant."
The realization hit Jack like a wave. Now it all made sense—why she had refused drinks, why she had been so distant lately. His mind flashed to the moment earlier when she had ordered that double whiskey tonight. He understood now. She must have lost the baby.
Without thinking, he tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into her ear, meaning every word. He could feel the depth of her grief, even without her saying it aloud.
But Audrey needed to say it. She needed to get these words out, to release the burden that had been weighing her down since that morning. These words had haunted her all day, and they wouldn't let go until she spoke them aloud.
"I lost it," she said, her voice firm, almost defiant. "I lost it." Her voice cracked, turning into a sob as she repeated the words, and then the tears came again—just as overwhelming, just as unstoppable as before.
Jack held her tighter, his heart breaking for her, feeling her sobs shake through his chest. He had known the pain of loss before, but this—this was her pain, not his, but it tore at him in a way he hadn't expected. He didn't say anything more, because there was nothing to say. He just held her, letting her cry, letting her grieve, letting her know that he wasn't going anywhere and that she could stay here as long as she needed to.
His initial hesitation, the worry that this situation might become inappropriate for them both, began to fade. This was something different. He knew he just wanted to be there for her tonight—holding her as she cried, offering his silent support—it felt like the most important thing he could do.
Audrey's sobs gradually slowed as the flood of tears ebbed. Jack knew there would be more—grief like this didn't just stop. But for now, the storm had passed.
He made the decision not to speak, not to break the quiet that enveloped them. Words could complicate things, and right now, this wordless connection felt fragile but right. So he held her, and they lay in the soft silence of the dimly lit room.
After a while, Audrey stirred and asked, "Are you hurt?"
Jack blinked, confused by the question. "No. Why?"
She nodded toward his right foot. "Your foot," she said, pointing to what looked like a split or a bandage sticking out from the end of his trouser leg.
Jack shifted slightly and lifted the pant leg, revealing the ankle holster holding his second gun. "Oh, that," he said. "Just standard protocol."
Audrey gave a soft "Oh," realizing that, even in this very moment, Jack was armed. Not just the gun on the bedside table—he was carrying more.
"Do you always carry that one?" she asked, a faint hint of curiosity breaking through her exhaustion.
"No, just on trips like these," Jack explained, adjusting the holster back into place.
"Do you want me to take it off?" he asked, his voice soft. It was such a standard for him that he didn't even think about it anymore. The gun was just there, part of him. Guns had been a part of his life for so long, he barely noticed them. But now, lying in bed with Audrey, he wondered if it felt different for her. Was it threatening to her, the fact that she was lying in someone's arms who was armed?
Audrey shook her head slightly, her gaze still distant, but her voice steady. "No, it's okay," she said. "I'm just glad it's you here, Jack." She was really glad it was him. And not Paul.
Audrey felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. She was also thankful it was Jack here with her and not some faceless Secret Service agent whose name she maybe wouldn't even know, someone who would have just escorted her back to the hotel and ensured she stayed in her room. The thought of being alone right now, in this state, made her shudder. There was no one else she could have turned to. None of her friends knew she had been pregnant. And Paul—he would never know. He was the last person she wanted to call.
As Jack watched her, he could see the shift in her gaze. She stared out of the window, her eyes unfocused but deep in thought. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, a thousand thoughts racing across her expression.
Audrey's gaze remained fixed on the window, but Jack could see the internal struggle. She had been holding everything in for so long, and now it was too heavy to carry alone. He watched as her mind seemed to wrestle with the urge to speak, the need to release all that she had been holding back. Earlier, she had tried to brush it aside, thinking that sharing a drink and some small talk with Jack might distract her. But she had been wrong. This wasn't something that could be swept away with whiskey or casual conversation.
This loss was too important. Too personal.
How could she have thought she could just forget? The baby—not much bigger than two inches, according to the books—had been a part of her. She wasn't even sure where it was now. The thought that her child, so small, so fragile, might have been lost in some airplane toilet or swept away in the unwelcoming environment of that bathroom next to their conference room haunted her. It deserved more—a burial, a memory, some kind of acknowledgment. But there was nothing to hold on to, nothing to cherish.
She realized she couldn't just move on, couldn't pretend this hadn't happened.
"I need to talk about it," she murmured, breaking the silence. "I just don't know where to begin."
Jack's hand gently squeezed her arm. "Okay," he said softly. Then, after a moment, he asked, "Had you already picked a name?"
Audrey smiled, a tired and sad smile, her eyes misting over again. "No, not yet. But I bought two books with just names," she admitted, the hint of a wistful laugh in her voice.
"No favorites on the list?" Jack asked gently, wanting to keep her in the present, keep her talking.
"Of course," she said, her expression softening for the first time that evening. "Elisha, Allison, Alice, Sarah. And for a boy, probably Jim... like Dad."
Jack felt his own small smile creep in. "Not Paul?" he teased lightly, his tone careful, not to let this go down the wrong road.
Audrey let out a brief, almost bittersweet chuckle. "No. Definitely not Paul," she said, shaking her head. "It was never going to be Paul."
She settled against his chest, feeling a strange, quiet comfort as they lay there. For a moment, the weight of her thoughts seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of his steady presence. She could even hear his heartbeat. She knew it was irrational to feel guilty about sleeping with Paul when at the same time she and Jack were "nothing" — only friends who had somehow grown to depend on each other. But as she lay there, she couldn't shake the feeling that this connection, however undefined, was more real than anything else in her life.
They stayed in silence for a few moments, with only the dim glow from the bedside lamp illuminating the room. Jack kept his arms around her, holding her as if he could shield her from all the things she couldn't say, all the thoughts that had haunted her since that morning. Audrey's gaze drifted to the city lights outside, sparkling against the dark sky, a reminder of the world that kept moving while hers felt like it had come to a painful halt.
"I feel ridiculous," she muttered, almost to herself. "Falling apart like this. I should be stronger. This isn't the first time this is happening."
Jack tightened his hold, his hand moving gently along her shoulder. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Audrey," he said, his voice low but sure. "It's impossible."
The words settled around her like a blanket. She hadn't let herself fall apart in front of anyone in years. Her friends expected her to be poised, her colleagues expected her to be competent, and even Paul, in his own way, had always expected her to manage the hurt and loss without breaking down. He'd send her off to a therapist. He'd buy her expensive stuff because it was the only thing he could think of, to make her hurt better. He expected her to get over it. Hold herself together, hold back the tears. But Jack — he didn't expect anything from her. His quiet strength seemed to be enough for the both of them – creating a space where she felt she could lay down the armor she'd worn for so long.
Audrey let out a shaky breath. She hadn't ever let herself be vulnerable with anyone, and now here she was—leaning on him, trusting him. It was strange and new, but she didn't pull away. She nestled against him, closing her eyes as the exhaustion from the day finally caught up with her. And as she lay there, in the quiet safety of his arms, she realized how good this felt, not to be alone, not to be judged, not to always have to be strong.
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