Chapter 21
The drive home was quiet, the city lights blurring past her as she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. She could still feel the warmth of Jay's touch lingering on her skin, the laughter from the night still echoing in her mind. It had been good—better than good. She had felt like she belonged, like she was a part of something real. But that feeling began to fade as she pulled up to her place, an uneasy sensation creeping in before she even stepped out of the car.
Something felt off.
As she slid her key into the lock and pushed open the door, that feeling solidified into a hard knot in her stomach. Her apartment was a mess.
Drawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor, a half-empty bottle of vodka perched precariously on her coffee table. The faint scent of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke clung to the air, a scent that made her body go rigid.
And then she saw her.
Sitting on the couch like she belonged there.
Her mother.
Erin's breath caught in her throat. It had been years. Years since she had seen her. Years since she had let herself think about this possibility.
But there she was—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, wearing a smirk that sent ice through Erin's veins.
"Hey, baby," her mother drawled, her voice slurred but still sharp enough to slice through the moment like a blade. "Miss me?"
Erin didn't move. Her grip on her keys tightened until the metal bit into her palm. Every instinct in her body told her to run—to get out, to not let herself be pulled into whatever chaos had led her mother to break into her home.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Erin asked, her voice flat, controlled—except for the slight tremor beneath it.
Her mother sighed, leaning back against the couch like she was settling in. "Is that any way to greet your mother?" she said, shaking her head as if Erin was the disappointment in the room. "You've done well for yourself, huh? Fancy place. Must be nice."
Erin's jaw clenched. "How did you get in?"
Her mother shrugged, glancing around like she barely remembered how she got there. "You always were too trusting."
Erin's heart pounded. The fear, the anger, the old wounds she had buried deep threatened to claw their way back up. She took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "You need to leave."
Her mother's eyes flicked back to her, something dark flashing in them. "Oh, come on. You're not even going to ask why I'm here?"
"I don't care why you're here." The words came out sharp, a layer of steel beneath them. "You don't get to just show up and—"
"Erin." Her mother's voice dropped, turning softer, manipulative. "I need your help."
Erin let out a bitter laugh. "Of course you do."
Because that was always the case. Her mother never showed up unless she needed something. Erin had spent her entire childhood being the one picking up the pieces, fixing the messes, trying to be the adult while her mother burned everything to the ground. And now, after all these years, nothing had changed.
Her mother stood up then, swaying slightly, but her expression was serious. "I'm in trouble," she said, and for a second—just a second—Erin saw something real in her eyes. Fear. Desperation.
A cold shiver ran down Erin's spine.She didn't move, didn't blink, barely breathed. She had spent years preparing for this exact moment—when the past would come knocking, slipping through the cracks she thought she had sealed shut.
Erin had seen this before. The cycle. The manipulation. The way her mother played victim when it suited her. But it wasn't going to work. Not this time.
"Get out," Erin said, voice low, firm.
Her mother exhaled, shaking her head. "I don't have anywhere to go."
Erin let out a short, humorless laugh. "That's not my problem."
"You think you're so different now, huh?" Her mother's voice turned sharp. "Big-shot writer, rich, successful. But you forget who raised you."
Erin's fingers curled into fists. "Raised me?" She let the words drip with disbelief. "You didn't raise me. You left me to figure it out on my own."
Her mother scoffed, pacing to the kitchen, opening cabinets like she was looking for something. "You always were dramatic."
Erin clenched her jaw. She couldn't do this—not again. "You have five minutes to leave, or I'm calling the cops."
That got her attention. Her mother turned, lips twisting into something almost amused. "You wouldn't."
Erin stared her down, unwavering. "Try me."
For a long moment, silence hung between them.
Then, her mother exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "I just—" she started, softer now, less defensive. "I just need some help. Money. A place to crash for a few nights. Just until I get back on my feet."
Erin shook her head immediately. "No."
Her mother stepped forward. "Erin—"
"I said no," Erin cut her off. "I've been down this road before, and I'm not doing it again."
Something shifted in her mother's expression—something ugly. "Right," she said bitterly. "Because you think you're better than me now."
Erin's stomach twisted. She should've known this was coming. The guilt trip, the accusations, the twisting of reality until she was the villain for not giving in.
"I don't think I'm better than you," Erin said, keeping her voice steady. "I just know I can't save you."
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "So that's it? You're just going to throw me out?"
Erin swallowed down the ache in her chest, the part of her that still, stupidly, wanted to believe her mother meant well. That she could change. But she knew better.
"You should go," Erin said quietly.
Her mother studied her for a moment, then scoffed, grabbing her bag off the couch. "Fine. I don't need you anyway."
She stormed past Erin, yanking the door open. But before stepping out, she glanced over her shoulder, eyes flashing with something cold.
"You'll regret this," she said.
And then she was gone.
Erin stood there for a long moment, staring at the open door, her hands shaking at her sides.
She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply, then exhaled, forcing herself to let it go.
But the thing about the past?
It never really stayed gone.
The second the door clicked shut, silence swallowed the room. It wasn't the kind of peaceful quiet she had grown used to in her home—it was suffocating, thick with the echoes of memories she had spent years trying to bury.
Erin stood in the middle of the mess, heart pounding, hands still shaking. She could still smell the cheap perfume her mother always wore, still feel the weight of her presence lingering like a ghost in the air. And just like that, she wasn't here anymore—she was back there.
Back in that tiny apartment with the peeling wallpaper. Back in the nights of tiptoeing around broken glass, of listening for the sound of footsteps, of trying to make herself small enough to disappear.
She thought she had left that little girl behind. But right now, she could feel her. That scared, lonely kid who had learned far too young that love wasn't always safe.
Her breath hitched, and before she even realized what she was doing, her fingers were dialing the number she always turned to when the past felt too heavy.
It rang twice before his voice came through.
"Kid?"
The second she heard Hank's voice, steady and familiar, the tightness in her chest cracked open.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat. "She was here."
A beat of silence. Then his voice, lower now, controlled. "Where are you?"
"At home." Her voice was small, barely above a whisper.
"Are you okay?"
She wasn't sure how to answer that. Physically? Yes. But inside, she felt like she had been cracked open, like all the walls she had built had been torn down in a matter of minutes.
"I don't know," she admitted, voice wavering.
"I'm coming over," Hank said immediately.
"You don't have to—"
"I am," he cut her off, firm. "Sit tight, kid."
She exhaled shakily, nodding even though he couldn't see her.
Hank didn't say anything else, but he didn't need to. Just knowing he was coming was enough.
As she ended the call, Erin sank down onto the couch, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She took a deep breath, then another, trying to steady herself.
She had come so far. Built a life that was hers. She wasn't that little girl anymore.
But sometimes, when the past came knocking—
She still felt like she was.
Erin sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she tried to steady her breathing. The mess around her—papers thrown, drawers left open, a broken glass on the floor—felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. But it didn't. This was her place. Her home. And her mother had been here.
She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually, headlights flashed through the window, and minutes later, a firm knock echoed through the door.
"Erin, it's me."
She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and got up, stepping carefully around the mess before unlocking the door.
Hank Voight stood there, dressed in jeans and a jacket, his eyes scanning her immediately. Concern flickered in them, but he didn't rush her. He didn't say anything, just waited.
Erin swallowed and stepped back, letting him in.
His sharp gaze moved over the apartment, assessing every detail. His jaw tightened. "She did all this?"
Erin nodded, hugging herself. "Yeah,at least I think so."
Hank let out a slow breath, stepping further inside. "Did she take anything?"
"I don't know," Erin admitted, voice quieter than she wanted it to be. "I—I haven't looked. I just… I found her here, and she was—" Her voice caught, and she shook her head, forcing herself to stay in the present. "I told her to leave."
Hank's face hardened. "Did she touch you?"
"No." Erin hesitated, rubbing her arms. "She—she was high, I think. Kept talking in circles. Saying she just wanted to see me, that she needed help."
Hank exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable. "And you?"
Erin blinked. "What?"
"Did you want to help her?"
It was a question only Voight could ask—blunt, direct, cutting through all the noise.
Erin let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "I don't even know what help means when it comes to her, Hank." Her voice was bitter, but underneath it, there was something else—something raw. "I mean, I thought—after all these years, after everything—maybe she'd just stay gone. But she never does. She always finds a way back, and every damn time, I—" She swallowed, shaking her head. "I just don't know why it still gets to me."
Hank watched her for a long moment, his expression softer now. "Because she's your mother."
Erin scoffed, looking away. "Some mother."
"I know." His voice was quieter now, laced with something only he could understand. Because Hank Voight had seen it all. Had picked her up when she was a scared kid, had given her a home when no one else did. He knew exactly what kind of mother Bunny had been—and what kind she hadn't.
Silence settled between them for a moment. Then, Hank reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. "I'm calling this in."
Erin stiffened. "Hank—"
"She broke into your apartment, kid," he said firmly. "She can't just come and go whenever she pleases. You know that."
Erin swallowed hard, her fingers clenching at her sides. "I don't—I don't want this to turn into something bigger."
"Too late," Hank muttered. But at her hesitation, he exhaled, his voice lowering. "I'll handle it, alright? She's not gonna come near you again."
Erin closed her eyes briefly before nodding. She didn't fight it. She was too tired to.
Hank made the call, stepping aside as he spoke to someone at the station. Erin barely listened, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the mess in front of her.
She hadn't realized she was shaking until Hank's voice cut through her thoughts again.
"You're not staying here tonight."
Erin blinked, looking up. "Hank, I—"
"No argument." His tone left no room for negotiation. "Pack a bag. You're coming home."
Erin hesitated, wanting to tell him she was fine, that she could handle this. But the truth was, she didn't want to be alone tonight.
So she nodded. "Okay."
Erin grabbed her laptop first, fingers tightening around it like it was the one thing keeping her grounded. It was instinct—her work, her words, they had always been her safe place, her control in a world that had so often spun out of it.
She shoved a few more things into a bag, stepping carefully over the mess her mother had left behind. But as she moved, her mind wasn't here. It wasn't in the wreckage of her apartment or in the weight of old wounds reopening.
It was on him.
Jay.
The thought hit her like a punch to the chest, unexpected but undeniable.
God, she wished he was here.
Not because she couldn't handle this—because she could. She always had. But because for the first time in so long, she didn't want to handle it alone.
She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. It was ridiculous, really. They had only known each other for what? Not even two months. And yet, somehow, in that impossibly short time, he had managed to work his way under her skin, into the deepest parts of her mind where she didn't let people in.
She could already hear what he'd say if he saw her like this.
He'd tilt his head, give her that look—the one that was part concern, part stubborn determination.
You okay, babe? And she'd do what she always did—try to play it off, say she was fine. And he'd see through it. He always did.
And maybe he wouldn't push, not right away. But he'd stay. He'd find some way to ground her, maybe with a teasing remark, maybe by just pulling her into him without a word.
And God, if there was ever a moment she could use one of his hugs, it was now.
Because somehow, without even trying, Jay Halstead had become something solid in her life. A presence that steadied her, that made her feel safe in a way she hadn't even realized she was missing.
And now, standing in the middle of her broken apartment, she felt the absence of him like a weight in her chest.
"You ready?"
Hank's voice pulled her back, rough and steady as always. She turned, nodding, forcing the thoughts away.
Later. She could think about it later.
Right now, she just needed to get out of here.
They arrived at her own house as Hank studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the way it always was when he was trying to figure out exactly what to say. Erin shifted on her feet, gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter as she closed the door beside them,her voice quieter this time when she spoke.
"Look, I know you haven't met him… but you're my dad, and…" she hesitated, letting out a breath. "Do you think I should tell Jay? Call him, or—"
Her voice faltered, uncertainty creeping in, and she hated it. She hated that this was still something that had the power to shake her, to make her feel small, no matter how much time had passed.
Hank sighed, his eyes softening just a little as he stepped closer. "Kid, you don't have to tell him anything," he said carefully, his voice low but firm. "Not if you're not ready."
Erin swallowed, nodding, but it didn't settle the weight in her chest. "Yeah, I know, I just… I keep thinking about how if he was in this situation, I'd want him to tell me."
Hank didn't respond right away, just watched her with that same quiet intensity. And then, after a moment, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
"You trust him?"
It was a simple question, but one that cut straight through the mess in her head.
Erin blinked, caught off guard, but the answer came easier than she expected.
"Yeah," she admitted, barely above a whisper. "I do."
Hank nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear. "Then you already know what to do."
She let out a breath, looking down at her phone in her hand. She did know. Because whether she was ready to say it out loud or not, Jay mattered. And if there was one thing she had learned, it was that the people who mattered—the ones who really gave a damn—deserved the truth.
Even when it wasn't easy.
Hank tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady as he considered her words. "Are you?" he asked, his voice even, but there was something knowing in it.
Erin let out a breath, her grip on the phone tightening. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe. Maybe it's just… old ghosts." She gestured vaguely toward the wreckage her mother had left behind, the remnants of a past that still knew how to haunt her when she least expected it. "Maybe I'm overthinking everything, and tomorrow it won't even feel as big as it does right now."
Hank hummed, taking a slow step back, resting his hands on his hips. "Maybe," he agreed. "Or maybe you just don't want to admit that it does matter."
Erin swallowed. "I just don't want to drag him into my mess."
Hank gave her a look, one that held more weight than words. "That's not how it works, kid. If someone cares about you, they're in it—mess and all."
She exhaled sharply, looking away. She knew he was right. Of course he was right.
Still, the thought of saying it out loud—of calling Jay and explaining why she was standing in the middle of her own home, feeling like she was thirteen all over again—made her stomach twist.
"I just don't know how to start," she admitted quietly.
Hank softened, just a little. "Then don't overthink it. Just call him."
She hesitated, staring at the screen of her phone, her thumb hovering over Jay's name. A part of her still wanted to shove the phone in her pocket and pretend none of this had happened. But another part—the part that trusted him, the part that wanted him there—knew better.
So, before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed call.
The phone rang, the noise louder than it felt in the quiet of her apartment, the seconds stretching out as she stood there, her breath shallow. She felt her heart beat faster as she held the phone to her ear, still unsure if this was the right move.
And then, just as she was about to hang up and pretend the call never happened, the line clicked, and a groggy voice answered.
"Erin?" Jay's voice was thick with sleep, the words slurring just enough to make her smile despite the weight she still carried. "It's… late. Is everything okay?"
For a moment, Erin's throat closed up, the words she had rehearsed feeling lost and jumbled in her mind. She glanced at Hank, who was watching her quietly, giving her space, but his presence was like a grounding force she couldn't quite shake.
"Jay," she finally said, her voice softer than she expected, "I… I don't know what I'm doing."
There was a slight shift on the other end of the line, as if Jay had straightened up, the sleepiness clearing from his tone. "Hey, it's okay. You can tell me whatever it is." His voice softened, coaxing her to let the walls fall. "What's going on?"
She let out a breath, feeling the lump in her throat, and the words came in a rush, all the things she hadn't said, all the things she needed to get out. "I'm just… I don't want to pull you into my mess, Jay. You don't deserve that. And I—" She stopped herself, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I don't even know how to tell you, and it's just… a lot."
There was silence for a moment, and Erin closed her eyes, thinking she might hear the familiar sound of him brushing it off, of him telling her to relax and that it was fine. But when he spoke again, his voice was steady, warm, like a hand on her shoulder in the dark.
"Erin," he said gently, "whatever it is, we'll deal with it. You're not alone in this. I'm here, okay?"
Her breath caught in her throat, the honesty in his words wrapping around her like a soft blanket she hadn't known she needed. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill, the tightness in her chest loosening just a little.
"Jay, I…" She swallowed again, the vulnerability there now, real and raw. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
He let out a breath on the other end of the line, his voice softer now, like he was holding her in a way she couldn't physically feel. "You won't have to. I'm not going anywhere, Erin."
It was like a weight lifted from her shoulders, the reassurance filling the gaps that had been left open for so long. "Thank you," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
There was a quiet pause, and Jay's voice returned, still drowsy but more grounded than before. "Now, tell me what's going on. Don't leave me hanging, babe."
Erin smiled despite herself, and for the first time all evening, it felt like things could maybe start to make sense. "It's… it's a long story."
Jay chuckled, the sound familiar and comforting. "I've got time. It's late, but I'm awake now. Besides, you woke me up for a reason, right?"
Erin took a steadying breath, feeling like she was taking the first real step into letting someone else into her life in a way she hadn't allowed in years.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I did."
"When I came home from your apartment I found my house completely destroyed,glass shattered and messed up.I..I don't know...thought about a robbery but then I saw my mom."
Silence hung between them for a second—just one.
Then Jay shot up in bed so fast it made his head spin, his heart pounding like it was trying to break free from his chest.
"Wait, wait—what?" His voice came sharp, urgent, completely awake now. "Erin, what the hell happened?"
She could hear him moving, sheets rustling, like he was already halfway out of bed.
"My house—" Erin started, but Jay cut in before she could finish.
"You came home, and it was wrecked? Your mom was there?" He was piecing it together in real time, but none of it was making sense. His breath was short, adrenaline kicking in, hands gripping the edge of his bed like that would keep him grounded. "Where are you? Are you safe?"
Erin let out a slow breath, trying to keep herself steady. "I'm at Hank's."
Jay barely heard the words before his feet hit the floor. He was already grabbing for his keys, like his body had made the decision before his mind could catch up.
"Jay—"
"No," he snapped, running a hand over his face as he shoved his feet into his sneakers. "No, Erin, you don't just drop something like that and expect me to sit here and do nothing. I'm coming over."
"You don't have to—"
"I do have to." His voice was rough, bordering on something desperate, something he didn't even know was in him until right now. "You think I'm gonna sit here and just sleep knowing that happened to you?"
"Jay." Her voice was softer now, steadier, but it didn't ease the storm inside him.
His chest felt tight, too tight. The thought of her walking into that—alone—made him sick. The idea of her mother standing there, the same mother who had left her wrecked more times than he could count, made his stomach turn.
He didn't know her past in detail, didn't know every scar it had left, but he knew enough. Enough to know that Erin, who could face down any storm, had been shaken tonight.
And that scared the hell out of him.
He didn't even know Hank Voight, had only seen him in photos or mentioned in passing, but that didn't stop him from thinking about showing up at his doorstep just to see for himself that she was okay.
Erin exhaled, and for a second, he thought she was going to fight him on it. But instead, her voice dropped into something softer, something that somehow pulled him back from the edge.
"I called you, Jay," she said quietly. "That's gotta mean something, right?"
His breath caught, his fingers tightening around his keys. Yeah. Yeah, it does.
"I want to see you,I really do." Jay whispered,hands through his hair.
Jay sat on the edge of his bed, fingers gripping his phone so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't cracked. His heart was still hammering in his chest, his breath coming just a little too fast. He felt wired, like his body had already decided to move, to go, before his brain had fully caught up.
Because what the hell—Erin had just walked into her home and found it wrecked, had come face to face with the one person in her life who had done nothing but leave her broken in her wake.
And he hadn't been there.
Jay dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. No. No, he wasn't just going to sit here and do nothing.
"I'm coming over." His voice was rough, unwavering.
"Jay."
"I am, Erin. Don't argue with me on this." He was already pushing off the bed, grabbing his jacket from where it was slung over a chair. "I don't care that it's late, I don't care that I haven't met your dad yet—"
"Jay."
Her voice was firmer now, cutting through his panic just enough to make him pause. He clenched his jaw, his whole body still thrumming with restless energy.
"You don't have to," she said, quieter now. "I promise I'm safe."
Jay let out a harsh breath. "That's not the damn point, Erin."
She sighed, and he could hear it—the exhaustion, the weight of everything pressing down on her. He hated it.
"I just—I need to see you," he admitted, voice tight. "I need to know for sure you're okay."
"I am okay," she said, but there was something in her voice, something softer now, almost like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him.
Jay swallowed hard, his grip tightening around his keys.
"Jay, listen to me," she said, quieter now. "You have to be up early. You've got practice in the morning, and if you drive all the way over here in the middle of the night, you're not going to sleep at all."
"Like I'm getting any sleep after this?" he shot back, running a hand through his hair.
Erin huffed out a breath, something like frustration and understanding tangled together. "Jay," she murmured, softer now.
And somehow, somehow, that pulled him back just enough.
He hated this. Hated the idea of her alone in that mess, hated knowing she had to see it, deal with it, carry it.
But she wasn't alone. She was with Hank. And whether Jay had met the guy or not, he knew one thing for sure—Hank Voight wouldn't let anything happen to her.
Jay's jaw clenched, the fight still burning under his skin, but he forced himself to exhale.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice quieter, rougher.
"I am."
Jay shut his eyes, dragging in a breath. He didn't like it. Every instinct in him was screaming to go, to be there, to fix this.
But Erin was asking him to trust her.
And God, he did.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice low, reluctant. "Okay."
He could practically hear the relief in her exhale. "Thank you."
He shook his head, still gripping the keys in his hand like a lifeline. "Don't thank me for that. I'm still gonna be at your door first thing in the morning."
"I'd expect nothing less."
That almost—almost—got a small twitch of a smile from him.
But then, the weight of everything settled again.
"You called me," he said, quieter now, almost like he was just realizing it for the first time.
She hesitated, but not for long. "Yeah," she admitted, voice softer. "I did."
Jay let out a slow breath, staring down at the floor, his head suddenly feeling too full.
Because shit—that meant something. That meant everything.
"I don't know, Jay. Maybe I'm making this a bigger deal than it is," Erin murmured, and he could hear the uncertainty creeping in.
"No, you're not," he said immediately, shaking his head. "Don't do that, Erin. Don't act like this isn't a big deal."
She let out a breath, and he could feel the hesitation through the phone, like she was still trying to sort through it herself.
"You'll see me tomorrow?" she asked, quieter now.
Jay exhaled, his grip loosening on his keys for the first time since she called. "Yeah," he murmured. "You know I will."
She was quiet for a moment, then— "Good."
Jay swallowed, feeling something settle in his chest, even if it was just for now.
"You should try to get some sleep," she said gently.
Jay huffed. "Yeah, we'll see about that."
Erin let out a soft breath, something that almost sounded like the ghost of a laugh. And somehow, somehow, it eased something in him.
"Goodnight, Jay."
Jay shut his eyes, gripping his phone just a little tighter.
"Goodnight, Erin."
She hung up first.
And Jay—Jay just sat there in the quiet of his apartment, staring at his phone like he could will her back through the screen. Like he could somehow make it better.
Eventually, he forced himself to lie back down, but sleep didn't come easy.
Because the last time he slept in this bed, Erin had been here.
And now—now it just felt wrong.
Jay's mind raced, too many thoughts colliding at once. He lay there, his eyes tracing the lines of the ceiling, but the only thing his brain could focus on was Erin.
The way her voice trembled through the phone, the way she tried so hard to sound okay when he knew she wasn't. She hadn't said it outright, but he could feel it. She was shaken, hurt, maybe even a little scared.
And it gnawed at him—this feeling of helplessness. All he wanted was to be there for her. To fix it. But no matter how much he tried, all he could do was sit here, staring at the screen of his phone like it would magically make her situation better.
Finally, he sighed and tossed the phone on the nightstand. It felt like the worst kind of silence, the kind where he was wide awake but there was nothing he could do. Nothing except the gnawing certainty in his gut. He needed to see her. He couldn't stand the thought of her being alone in all of this, even if she was technically at Hank's house.
Jay turned on his side, staring out the window into the dark Chicago night.
He tried to reason with himself—Just sleep, Jay.
She's with her dad. She's safe.
You'll see her tomorrow. Get some rest.
But it wasn't working. He couldn't ignore the raw urgency in his chest.
This wasn't just about making sure she was okay.
It was more than that. It was about not letting her face anything alone.
Especially not something like this.
Especially when he knew she was pushing him away, telling him not to come, and all he could do was sit in his damn apartment waiting for her to reach out.
But that's not how this worked, not when it was her.
Jay swung his legs off the bed, standing up. His mind was made up. He didn't even give himself a moment to overthink it. He grabbed his hoodie, pulled it over his head, and snatched his keys off the counter.
As soon as his feet hit the floor, there was no turning back. He wasn't about to stay in his apartment for another minute, pacing, wondering if she was okay. No, he was going to make sure. Right now.
Even if Hank Voight didn't approve. Even if it was late.
He pulled out of the driveway and let his instincts take over, heart pounding faster than his car could push forward. His mind flickered back to Erin, sitting there alone, dealing with things no one should have to face, especially not in the dead of night. Jay's foot pressed down harder on the gas, and he cursed the distance between his apartment and Hank's house.
Every stoplight felt like a damn eternity, every second dragging as he pictured her face, the way she'd looked earlier. How could he have just let her handle that alone? He should've gone straight there. He should've been with her, making sure she was okay.
His hands clenched the steering wheel. He couldn't keep waiting for her to give him permission. He wasn't going to sit here and just hope she'd reach out when it was too late. He needed to be there. And tonight, it didn't matter what she wanted. He couldn't be away from her, not now.
Jay drove faster, the lights of the city blurring past him. The weight of the situation settled into his bones, and suddenly, nothing else in the world seemed as important as being by her side.
He wasn't thinking about practice tomorrow or the team. Hell, he wasn't even thinking about his own damn reputation at this point. All he could think about was Erin.
By the time he parked in front of Hank's house, his hands were shaking from the adrenaline. He got out of the car, not bothering to lock it, and approached the front door with hesitant steps. His heart pounded against his ribs, every beat telling him this was the right thing to do, even if it felt completely off-track.
He knocked once. Then twice, the seconds stretching into minutes as the door slowly creaked open. Jay's heart hammered in his chest when Hank appeared in the doorway, tall and imposing as always, his sharp eyes scanning Jay from head to toe with the scrutiny that could make anyone squirm.
"Halstead," Hank said with a raised brow, a mix of surprise and calculation in his voice. "What's this about?"
Jay swallowed, forcing himself to meet Hank's gaze. "I… I know it's late, and I know this probably wasn't the best way to do this, but I needed to check on Erin. I—" He hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I couldn't just let her handle what happened tonight on her own. She's been through a lot, and I—"
His words faltered for a moment, but he pushed forward. "I'm sorry for showing up like this, but I just needed to see her. I needed to make sure she's okay."
Hank's eyes softened for the briefest of seconds, an unreadable expression flitting across his face. Jay wasn't sure if it was approval or just the quiet understanding of a father who had seen too much in his life to let his guard down easily.
"She's in the living room," Hank said finally, his voice low. "Come on in."
Jay felt the weight of the invitation but didn't want to assume anything. He wasn't just Erin's boyfriend—he had no claim over what Hank and Erin shared. But he was here, because Erin needed him. She needed someone who wouldn't leave her alone in the dark.
Jay nodded, stepping past Hank into the warmth of the house. The moment he crossed the threshold, his mind immediately went back to Erin, her fragile voice echoing in his thoughts.
"Thanks," Jay said softly, the gratitude in his tone clear, even if it wasn't entirely about the invitation. It was more about the moment—about understanding that showing up meant something.
Hank didn't say anything, but the shift in his posture—just a little bit of openness—was enough. He hadn't sent Jay away. And that, for now, was all Jay needed.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Jay's steps slowed as he made his way down the hallway, his pulse still racing. When he reached the living room, his eyes found Erin immediately—wrapped in a blanket, looking exhausted, but the moment she met his gaze, there was a softness there, a relief he hadn't even realized he'd been craving.
Jay's heart thundered in his chest as his gaze locked onto Erin. She was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her posture tense. Her eyes, though, softened the moment she met his, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. It was like time held its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.
Then, without warning, Jay was moving toward her, his feet carrying him forward before he could even stop himself. Every instinct he had screamed at him to close the distance, to be there for her the way he should've been from the start. He didn't care about anything else—didn't care about Hank's reaction or how late it was.
He reached her in a few quick steps, crouching down beside the couch, his hand instinctively reaching out to touch her arm. Erin flinched at the sudden motion, but before she could pull away, Jay's arms were around her, pulling her tightly against him.
It was everything.
Her body pressed against his, the warmth of her skin grounding him. She didn't resist; instead, her arms wrapped around him as well, clinging to him like she'd been waiting for this moment, too. Jay buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her, the smell that always made him feel like everything was somehow okay when he was close to her.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice rough, full of everything he couldn't say. Everything he hadn't known how to express until this very moment. "I'm here, Erin. I'm not going anywhere. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. I should've been here."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she pressed herself closer, burying her face in his chest, her breath shaky against his skin. He could feel the tension in her, the weight of everything she'd been carrying—everything she was still carrying. He didn't care about the questions. Didn't care about what had happened before. He just needed her to know she wasn't alone.
He held her tighter, as though he could protect her from everything that had happened, from whatever had hurt her. But more than that, he needed to make sure she felt his presence, his sincerity. This wasn't just about him being here. This was about showing up. This was about making sure she never had to go through anything like this by herself again.
"Erin…" he said again, his voice cracking, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel the weight of the emotions he'd been holding in. "Please… I'm so sorry for whatever it is you're going through. I just… I just want to be here for you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it."
She pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, her eyes a little red but still holding that unspoken strength that always seemed to pull him in. But there was something softer in her gaze now, something that made his heart ache in the best way possible.
"I didn't want to make you worry," she said quietly, her voice unsteady. "I thought I could handle it."
"You don't have to handle everything on your own," Jay said, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. "Not anymore. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever you're feeling—I'm with you. All the way."
Erin let out a soft breath, her lips parting in the faintest of smiles, though it was tinged with sadness. She didn't have to say anything else. He could see it in her eyes—she was glad he was here. She was relieved, even if it hadn't been easy to admit it.
Jay kissed her forehead softly, a quiet promise. He'd never been great at these kinds of moments—never good at showing vulnerability, never good at letting people in. But Erin made him want to do better. She made him want to fight for her in ways he didn't even know he could.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said one more time, his voice firm, unwavering. "I'm right here."
And for the first time that night, Erin let herself relax, fully surrendering to the comfort of his embrace. She didn't say a word, but the way she held onto him told him everything he needed to know. She trusted him. She needed him.
And Jay, in that moment, realized he would do anything to make sure she never felt alone again.
Hank Voight had been standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold before him. His eyes were sharp, every muscle in his body tense, yet he said nothing. He'd seen enough to know the depth of the connection between his daughter and the quarterback standing in front of him. It wasn't just a fleeting moment or some passing infatuation—it was something real.
Jay, holding Erin tightly against him, seemed oblivious to the fact that they weren't alone. The two of them were wrapped up in their own world, a quiet intimacy between them that spoke volumes. It was enough to make Hank pause, enough to make him reconsider what he'd planned to say when he opened the door.
But something about the sight of Erin in Jay's arms—the way her body seemed to mold against his like she'd been waiting for this moment—softened his approach.
He'd always been protective, always kept a guard up when it came to anyone getting too close to his daughter. But right now, there was something in the air between the two of them that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, Jay was exactly who Erin needed.
Hank cleared his throat after a few moments of silence, and that was enough to make Jay pull back slightly, though not fully. He was still holding Erin, though now his hands were resting gently on her arms, his gaze flickering over to Hank with a mix of apprehension and determination.
"Mr.Voight," Jay said, his voice low, like he was just starting to realize how odd the situation might be. He straightened up, releasing Erin just a little, but not enough to make it seem like he was pulling away. It was more like he was giving Hank the space to assess the situation.
Hank didn't move, just studied Jay for a moment longer. There was a flicker of something—maybe approval, maybe something else—before he finally spoke, his tone as steady as ever.
"You showing up at this hour wasn't necessary, Halstead," Hank said, his voice low and gruff but not unkind. "But I get it."
Jay nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure what kind of reception he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't that. He wasn't used to seeing Hank Voight let down his guard, especially not when it came to Erin.
"I—" Jay began, but Erin reached out, her hand resting on his arm, calming him instantly.
"It's okay, Jay," Erin said softly, turning her head to meet Hank's gaze before looking back at Jay. "I'm glad you're here. Really."
Hank's gaze softened for a fraction of a second. Erin might've been his daughter, but he wasn't blind. He could see the way Jay had shown up for her tonight, the way he'd dropped everything without question to make sure she wasn't alone. And for all the tough exterior Hank liked to project, he had to admit, there was something about this guy that made him want to give him a chance.
"I'm not one for sentiment," Hank grumbled, breaking the moment of silence. "But I guess you've got your own way of showing up when it counts."
Jay let out a breath, a little relieved by Hank's words, but still unsure of where he stood in this house, in Erin's life. There was something raw in his chest, a vulnerability he wasn't used to feeling, but he couldn't back down now. Not when Erin needed him like this.
"I just want to make sure she's okay," Jay said simply, his voice steady, even though his heart was racing in his chest. "She's been through a lot tonight. I—just needed to see her."
Hank nodded slowly, his eyes flicking between Erin and Jay. It was clear to him now that Erin was fine—physically, at least. But the look in her eyes, the softness in her expression as she stayed close to Jay, told him more than any words could.
"Well," Hank said with a sigh, as if finally coming to terms with the situation. "I don't have to tell you to take care of her, do I?"
Jay shook his head, his gaze flicking to Erin for a moment before meeting Hank's steady eyes. "No, sir. I won't let anything happen to her."
There was a long pause as Hank seemed to consider Jay's words. Then, with a slight nod, he finally spoke.
"Good. Because if you do," Hank added, his voice a little gruff but not without a hint of a smile, "I'll hold you personally responsible."
Jay nodded once more, a little overwhelmed by the unspoken understanding between them. Hank Voight wasn't one for easy words, but right now, Jay knew the message had been received loud and clear.
"I spoke with Alvin," Hank said to Erin."They're looking at footage from outside your home and the rest of the neighbourhood,okay?She won't be far."
Erin nodded,as Hank continued to speak."I wanted to do a quick round with him down at your neighbour and house,see if she left something there.It is okay kid?"
Erin looked up at her dad, the tension in her shoulders still there but easing a little under his calm reassurance. She swallowed, trying to steady her voice as she nodded again.
"Yeah," she replied, her tone quieter than usual. "I'm good. Just—just be careful. Please."
Hank's gaze softened, just for a second, before he gave her a nod. "I will. Don't worry."
Erin could tell he was trying to keep his usual tough exterior, but there was something in the way he held his shoulders, a quiet protectiveness that reminded her just how much he cared.
Jay stayed quiet, but he was watching Hank closely, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Erin's words, her quiet plea for her dad to be careful, stuck with him. It wasn't easy for Erin to show that vulnerability, and Jay could tell she wasn't letting her guard down easily tonight.
Hank's eyes briefly shifted over to Jay, reading the concern there, but he didn't address it."You staying here till I come back,Halstead?"
"Of course."
Hank's gaze lingered on Jay for a moment longer, the older man's unreadable expression still holding a hint of something—maybe approval, maybe just understanding. Either way, it was clear that Hank knew exactly what was at stake and the kind of man Jay was, even if he hadn't said it outright.
"Good," Hank finally grunted, turning to head for the door. He stopped just before stepping out, his eyes meeting Erin's. "Lock the door behind me."
Erin's smile was small but warm as she nodded, a wordless assurance that she understood. She wasn't planning on going anywhere, not with Jay here.
As Hank left, the door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was almost deafening. Jay stood there for a moment, his hand still resting on Erin's, unsure of what to say or how to act now that it was just the two of them.
Erin let out a deep breath, leaning against the back of the couch. She looked exhausted, her eyes dark with the weight of everything that had happened, but Jay could see the tension in her shoulders start to ease as she stood there, letting herself breathe.
"I-I'm so sorry.You have training early and-"
Jay shook his head before she could finish, stepping closer to her with a softness in his eyes that contrasted the tension still hanging in the room.
"Erin, stop," he said gently, his hand resting on her shoulder, grounding her. "This isn't about training. It's not about anything else." He gave her a small smile, though his heart was still heavy with everything that had happened. "You don't have to apologize for needing me here."
She glanced up at him, her expression full of gratitude and something else—something fragile she wasn't ready to fully show yet. Her lips parted, as if she was going to say something more, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.
Jay could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of the night pressing down on her. He moved to the side, walking over to the couch, and sat down. He patted the space next to him, offering a quiet invitation.
"Come sit," he said softly, not wanting her to feel like she had to hold herself together right now. He knew better than anyone how hard it could be to keep up that facade when everything felt off.
Erin hesitated for a moment before she slowly moved over to him, sinking down beside him. She didn't say anything, but just being next to him seemed to ease the tension she'd been holding onto for so long. Her eyes flickered toward him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Jay. This whole thing… I feel like I'm losing control."
Jay's heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice. It wasn't easy for her to admit when she needed help, and right now, it was clear she was struggling to find her footing in the chaos.
He reached for her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "You don't have to do anything alone, Erin. Not tonight. Not ever."
She let out a breath, looking down at their hands intertwined. It was like she was allowing herself to believe him, to trust in the reassurance he was offering. And for the first time in what felt like hours, the storm inside her seemed to settle, even if just a little.
Jay didn't know how long they sat there in silence, the weight of everything still heavy in the air. But with Erin there beside him, with his arm gently around her shoulders, he knew she wasn't truly alone. And that was something. Something he could hold on to, even as the night pressed on.
"I just..why does she have to be this way?She needed something tonight,she was probably high and my place-"
Jay's heart tightened as he listened to the raw pain in her voice. Erin didn't let many people see her like this—not even him. But right now, she was unraveling, and Jay wasn't going to let her pull away from him. He could hear the anger and sadness in her words, and it felt like a punch to his gut.
Before she could finish, Jay moved closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek as he turned her face toward him. He saw the tear she didn't want to let fall, and without thinking, he brushed it away with the pad of his thumb, his voice low and steady.
"Erin, you don't have to apologize for her. Not for any of this," he said, his grip on her tightening just a little, the urgency in his tone growing. He was so close now, his breath warm against her skin. "You didn't do anything wrong. She's the one who's messed up, not you."
He couldn't help himself—he needed to hold her. To let her know that, no matter what happened, he wouldn't leave her like this. He pulled her into his arms, tight enough to keep her from pulling away, but gentle enough to give her space if she needed it. His heart was pounding, every instinct screaming to protect her, to make everything go away and put her in a safe place.
"She shouldn't have done that to you," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "She doesn't get to make you feel like this. You've been through enough already. You deserve better. You deserve so much better than this mess."
Erin leaned into him, the weight of her exhaustion pressing down on her. Jay's hand was running through her hair now, his grip almost desperate as if he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go through any more of this alone.
"I just…" she trailed off, her voice breaking slightly. "I keep thinking—why can't she just be what I need her to be for once? Why can't she just care? Why does it always have to be like this?"
Jay closed his eyes, breathing her in, feeling the way her body tensed in his arms, the rawness of her pain digging into him like a knife. He couldn't fix her mom, couldn't change the way things were, but he could be here. He could hold her. He could love her in a way that was different, a way that made her feel like she wasn't always fighting for her worth.
"I don't know why she's like that," Jay whispered, his voice thick with frustration. "But I do know that you're worth so much more than this. You're not just some thing she gets to mess with when she feels like it. You deserve peace, Erin. You deserve someone who's there, all the way."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his voice quiet but firm.
"I'm here, okay? I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you alone in this. Not tonight. Not ever."
He felt her body relax slightly in his arms, but the tension in her shoulders still lingered. She was still so fragile, so broken by the things she couldn't control. But Jay wasn't going anywhere. Not now, not ever.
Jay felt the tension slowly leave Erin's body as she relaxed in his arms, her breath coming in steadier, softer waves. He gently kissed the top of her head again, his lips lingering for a moment as he let his hand rest on her back, rubbing soothing circles. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, a steady rhythm that slowly calmed his own racing heart.
"I'm here, babe," he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to her temple. "You're not alone."
Her body felt heavy against him, a quiet exhaustion settling over her as she allowed herself to lean into him more. Jay shifted slightly, adjusting to hold her more comfortably without disturbing her. He could feel her body sinking into the embrace, her breathing becoming deeper and more even. With each kiss he placed on her head, he could see the storm inside her start to quiet, the harsh edges of her worry and fear softening, melting away into something more peaceful.
Before long, her body had gone completely still in his arms, her breathing slow and deep, and Jay knew she had fallen asleep. He could feel the weight of her head resting against his chest, her arms curled up against his body like she was trying to get as close to him as possible.
He stayed there, his own eyes growing heavy, his fingers still lightly tracing the curves of her back. He felt this overwhelming need to protect her, to stay here for as long as it took, even if that meant losing sleep before practice tomorrow. She was worth it—every second, every ounce of energy. Her safety, her peace of mind, meant everything to him.
Jay sighed softly, resting his chin against her hair as he allowed himself to relax, knowing she was safe in his arms. For once, everything else—his worries, the pressure from the team, the expectations of the world—faded into the background. All that mattered was Erin, and the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept soundly in his arms.
He closed his eyes, allowing the calm to wrap around him, just as it had enveloped her, knowing that for tonight, at least, he could give her the one thing she needed most: peace.
Jay's eyes fluttered open, the warmth of Erin's body still nestled against him, her slow, steady breathing soothing him back into the present. The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of a streetlamp outside the window, but the quiet, peaceful air around them was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
He stiffened instinctively, heart leaping into his throat. His eyes shot to the door just as Hank Voight stepped in, looking exactly like the man Jay had imagined he would—a no-nonsense presence, his figure dark against the hallway light.
Hank caught Jay's gaze, pausing for a moment at the door. The air in the room was thick with unspoken understanding, but Hank didn't say anything at first.
"So..turns out she left some kind of messages to her.Not good ones.But..she seems on the run."
Jay's breath hitched at Hank's words, his heart thudding in his chest as the weight of the situation sunk in. His mind raced, thoughts flashing from Erin's fragile state to the new information that Hank had just dropped. He shifted slightly, tension coiling in his muscles.
"So she's on the run?" Jay asked, his voice quiet but edged with concern. His eyes darted to Erin's sleeping form in Hank's arms, the calm and peaceful expression on her face belying everything that had happened just hours ago.
Hank nodded, his face a mixture of frustration and determination.
Jay felt his stomach churn. He wanted to be the one to protect her, to handle whatever threat this was. He wanted to fix it, fix everything, but here he was, sitting on the couch, powerless.
He forced himself to focus on Hank, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward slightly, words coming out slowly. "So what now?"
Hank met his gaze again, and this time, there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes—perhaps gratitude, perhaps acknowledgment of what Jay had done tonight, but it was quickly masked by the tough exterior that never really disappeared.
"I'll deal with it," Hank said. "We've got eyes on her, and we'll keep her in check. But I'm not letting my daughter go through this again. Not alone."
Jay swallowed, his throat tight, but he nodded. He could see the fierce determination in Hank's face—he wasn't messing around, and neither was Jay.
"I'm not leaving her," Jay said, his voice low but firm. "Not now. Not after everything. She needs someone."
Hank didn't hesitate, though his eyes softened slightly. "She does. But you're gonna need to let me handle the mess. I'll keep you updated, alright?"
Jay nodded again, feeling the weight of the situation settle heavily in his chest. It wasn't the easy solution he had hoped for, but it was the reality. And no matter how much he wanted to step in and protect her, he knew that Hank had the experience to handle this.
"Yeah, okay," Jay muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… make sure she's safe."
Hank paused, looking down at Erin for a moment, and then back at Jay, a flicker of understanding passing between them.
"She's safe with us, Halstead. You made sure of that tonight."
Jay let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting back to Erin. The calm in her features, the softness of her breathing, was all the reassurance he needed. For now, she was okay.
But that didn't mean the threat was gone. Not by a long shot.
"I'll stick around for a while," Jay said quietly, his voice more to himself than anyone else. "If that's alright."
Hank's gaze flicked to him once more, his lips pressing into a tight line as if considering his words carefully. But then, after a beat, he simply nodded.
"Yeah, stay. Erin will probably need you when she wakes up."
Jay didn't need any more encouragement. He stayed close, his eyes never leaving Erin's peaceful form as Hank gently rocked her in his arms. The tension in the room hadn't disappeared completely, but for now, the weight of it all was easier to carry.
At least Erin was safe. At least she wasn't alone.
And Jay wasn't going anywhere.
The house was quiet, the kind of deep silence that settled in the dead of night. The only sound was the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance and the occasional rustle of fabric as Jay shifted slightly on the couch. He wasn't really sleeping—more like drifting in and out, his body exhausted but his mind too wired to fully let go.
Erin was curled up next to him, her body warm against his side, and for the first time in hours, she looked peaceful. Jay had barely let himself relax, but seeing her like that—safe, here, in his arms—had made it a little easier to breathe.
Until it wasn't.
It started with a small twitch, a little shift in her breathing. Then her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and her face twisted, brows furrowing as a small, almost inaudible whimper escaped her lips.
Jay's eyes snapped open instantly. He was fully awake now, and his entire body tensed as he realized what was happening.
"Erin," he murmured, his voice low, careful. But she didn't wake. Instead, her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Her grip on his hoodie tightened, knuckles white, and she turned her face slightly, as if trying to escape something.
Jay's stomach twisted. He knew this—he'd been here before. Not with her, but he knew what it looked like when someone was trapped in their own mind, stuck somewhere dark they couldn't escape.
"Erin," he tried again, more urgent this time. He shifted, pulling her closer, pressing a hand to her back. "Hey, baby, wake up. You're safe."
She let out a sharp breath—almost a gasp—and then, suddenly, her eyes flew open.
Wild, unfocused, full of something that didn't belong there. Panic. Fear.
Jay's heart ached.
"Hey, it's okay," he whispered immediately, his hand cupping the back of her head as she tensed in his hold. "You're okay, Erin. You're with me. I got you."
She blinked, her breath still shaky, her chest rising and falling too fast. Jay could feel it—she was still half-caught in whatever nightmare had taken hold of her.
"I—" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and Jay felt her fingers clench against him, as if grounding herself. "It was—Bunny. She—" Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, and Jay didn't rush her. He just held her closer, letting her breathe, letting her know he wasn't going anywhere.
"You're not there," he assured her, his lips pressing softly against her temple, his voice steady even though his heart was still racing. "She's not here. You're safe, Erin. I promise."
She let out a shuddering breath, her forehead pressing against his shoulder as if trying to disappear into him. "I hate this," she whispered. "I hate that she still—" Her voice broke off, frustration mixing with exhaustion.
Jay's jaw tightened, anger flashing through him—not at her, never at her, but at the situation. At Bunny. At whatever words she had thrown Erin's way, whatever memories she had dragged up that made Erin wake up like this.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on her, not the anger. His fingers moved gently through her hair, slow, soothing. "I know," he said, his voice soft but firm. "But she doesn't get to take this from you. She doesn't get to keep doing this."
Erin's grip on him loosened slightly, just enough for her to shift so she could see his face. Her green eyes were still clouded, still heavy with the weight of it all, but she was here now. With him.
"You stayed," she murmured, her voice still hoarse from sleep.
Jay gave her a small, lopsided smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Of course, I stayed. Where else would I be?"
Something in her face crumpled slightly, like she hadn't expected that answer—even though she should have. And before he could say anything else, she curled back into him, her face tucked against his neck, her arms wrapping around him this time.
Jay didn't hesitate. He just held her, letting her settle against him, letting her breathing even out. He pressed another soft kiss to her hair, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along her back.
For a long time, neither of them said anything. The silence stretched, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was warm. Safe.
Jay felt her body relax little by little, felt her fingers unclench, felt the way her breathing grew softer against his skin. And when her weight finally went slack, when sleep finally pulled her under again, he didn't move.
He just held her tighter, making damn sure that if she woke up again, he'd be the first thing she felt.