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Hailey tossed her damp towel over the arm of the chair in their bedroom. It was a bad habit, she knew—especially when the towel rack was right there—but it was pretty low on the list, and she was too tired to care. She ran a hand through her wet hair as she flipped off the light, and she yawned as she turned on the small bedside lamp on her nightstand.
Jay was flopped on his stomach on top of the covers, his head on his arm, his eyes closed, and his freckled skin bathed in warm light. His sweats rested low on his hips, and she ogled him a bit—she was allowed, the ring on her finger said so—as she climbed onto the bed. She settled cross-legged next to him, close enough that her folded knees bumped his back. He hummed a bit when her movement jostled him, but he kept his eyes closed.
Hailey began trailing her fingers over his bare back, tracing long-familiar lines between his freckles with a feather-light touch. He hummed again, goosebumps breaking out over his skin in the wake of her fingers.
“Did you find out anything?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing that helped,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbly. “I still can’t get a read on this kid at all.”
It was Hailey’s turn to hum a response. She stayed focused on her fingers as her anger from earlier once again flooded her veins. She couldn’t believe that no one had told Jay about their suspicions before sticking Torres in the truck with him. She tempered those feelings and centered herself by tracing the oblong star of freckles on his lower back.
“He lied about his address,” Jay added. He cracked open one eye and peeked down at her.
“That could mean a lot of things,” Hailey mused. She trailed her finger down the ridges of his spine. “Vanessa didn’t have an address to list when she got bumped to Intelligence, remember?”
“He’s not coming off a stint in undercover, though.”
“True.” Hailey traced his spine the other way. “But just because he lied, doesn’t mean he’s in a gang.”
Jay rolled onto his back, but he didn’t move away. He actually scooted closer. His hand settled on her knee when she continued trailing her fingers over his skin, but he now looked far too troubled for her liking. She hated the furrowed crease between his eyebrows, the way the tendons in his neck went taut.
“I hate that IAD is making me do their dirty work,” he said, bracing his other hand behind his head.
Hailey scoffed. “And that they tricked you into doing it—backed you into a freaking corner.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, but he returned his hand to her thigh quickly. Almost absently, it seemed, he began mimicking her feather-light touches—his eyes were far too unfocused for it to be a conscious movement.
“Do you think…” she began haltingly, redrawing his attention, “that the reason you can’t get a read on him is because you thought he was a good kid? Quiet and surly, but good. And now you have the Chief in your ear telling you otherwise and it’s throwing you off?”
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
He went quiet for a long time after that, just staring at the ceiling. Hailey brushed her fingers over his skin the whole time he stayed silent, not just tracing his freckles, now, but the ridges of his abdomen and the scars bisecting his skin.
She had never minded the silence when she was sharing it with Jay. It never made her anxious or nervous or uncomfortable, and there were times when she needed his kind of silence because it was never really silent, just calm.
Hailey flattened her palm against his stomach and smoothed her hand up his chest. She leaned over her folded legs and rested her cheek on his sternum. He began rubbing small circles on her back, and he propped his head up a bit, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“You’ll figure out what to do,” she assured. He toyed with the ends of her hair, the locks frizzy from air-drying. “You always do.”
“Thanks,” he whispered, dropping his head back to his pillow.
She pressed a quick kiss to his chest in response, and he smiled at the ceiling, rubbed his hand down her back.
“Wanna sleep?”
“Yes, please,” he replied, his voice still low.
Hailey kissed his chest again—she couldn’t help it—before sitting up, turning off the lamp, and crawling under the covers. She’d already settled against her pillow by the time Jay began yanking the blankets out from under him. He always did that, just wiggled around on his back until he was under the duvet. It didn’t matter that it was ten times quicker to just get up and pull the covers down. She couldn’t explain why, but it was one of his things that made her smile—something about him that reminded her he was her husband and not just her partner.
He pulled her into his chest as soon as he got settled, and Hailey tangled her legs with his with a contented sigh. She’d never been much of a cuddler before Jay—had always needed her space, had always been jumpy when jostled during the night. But she’d never been with anyone she trusted as much as she trusted him.
She still sometimes woke up when he moved in the night, but it was always to press herself closer, not to shift further away.
“I love you,” she said, unable to hold the sentiment in.
He pulled her closer, his hand a comforting, warm weight on her hip. “I love you, too.”
Something else tugged at her as she lay there, her head on his chest and his heartbeat loud in her ear. It took her a moment to settle on the feeling—to decide what, exactly, it was. When it dawned on her, she sat up, but she wanted to stay close to him, so she swung a leg over his waist and braced her hands on his chest.
His left hand stayed on her hip, his fingers tucked under the hem of the big t-shirt she wore to bed. “Are we not sleeping?” he teased.
“No, we are,” she said, biting her lip.
“What’s wrong?” He rested his right hand over hers and squeezed.
“I’m worried,” she said.
“Hails…”
“No, listen,” she insisted. “I’m worried about you with this recruit. I know you’ll figure everything out, and I want to give Torres the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t want anything to happen to you while you’re piecing it together.”
“Everything’ll be fine.” It was hard to see his expression in the dark, but she knew he’d be the picture of reassurance—of determination.
“I know,” she said, because she’d accept nothing less. “But I’m worried anyway.”
He sat up and wrapped both his arms around her. She kept her hands on his chest, and she stared down at them as she felt his gaze on her. He leaned in and brushed his nose against hers, nudging her head up and placing a kiss on her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips. She melted into the kiss, into him, and she slid one hand into his hair, his buzz cut tickling her palm.
“And,” she murmured, pulling back only slightly, “I’d like my partner back.”
He pulled her back down to the bed, shifting so they rested on their sides but staying close enough that they shared his pillow. He kissed her again, slow and gentle and warm. “Me too.”