"I know I wasn't imagining that," I say, tucking my knees up to my chest. "But do you think someone was in here?"
He walks off again, and is gone for another few minutes, searching through the apartment before returning and standing in front of me, looking down. "There doesn't seem to be any sign of forced entry."
My heart plummets. So am I losing it then? Was I seeing things? God, I could swear someone was standing in my doorway. I could swear it as surely as I breathe.
Ace must see the expression on my face, because he says carefully, "That's not to say you didn't see someone, it's just however they got in, they're a pro at it."
I feel like he's just trying to make me feel better now.
"Ace?" I ask, looking up.
"Mmmm?"
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
His brows knit together, and he says in a low, gruff tone, "Absolutely fucking not."
I don't know why, but that makes me start crying again. Big ugly tears roll down my cheeks and I feel stupid for being so weak. My mind is a jumbled mess, and I'm tired, and I'm trying to make sense of everything. Ace is silent for a moment, so long I wonder if he's still in the room, but then he squats down in front of me and surprises me by taking my chin in his hands, forcing my head up just enough so that he can make eye contact with me.
"This is a lot to take in and I know you're probably questioning everything right now, but don't question yourself. You're not crazy. You're being messed with, and I'm goin' to find who is messin' with you, and make them fuckin' stop. Do you understand me?"
///
My bottom lip quivers.
"I'm the best in my field, Hartley. Now, I ask again, do you understand me?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good. How do you take your tea? I'm going to make you one and then you're going to get some sleep."
It isn't a question, but a demand.
And I don't argue it.
Having him here makes me feel safe, so there is no way I'll continue to argue with anything he's willing to give me.
I need him here.
* * *
"How did you lose your husband?" Ace asks, sitting at one end of the sofa. I'm tucked up the other end with a blanket wrapped around the lower half of my body and a cup of tea resting between my hands.
"He died in a car accident," I tell him, and I realize it's been a long time since I've really told anyone about Raymond. "It's the age-old story, really. He was driving home and it was raining, a car lost control and ran him off the road. His truck flipped and he was killed instantly."
Ace studies me. "I'm sorry. It's never easy to lose someone you love."
He sounds like he knows.
"No, it wasn't easy. I struggled for a long time. I loved him, wholeheartedly. He was a great man, the best. He was the kind of husband you read about, the kind everyone envied. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, that something would come along and rip it from me so easily."
He nods. "He sounds like a good man."
"He was." I nod. Talking about him out loud feels good. "What about you?" I ask him before sipping my tea. "Have you ever been married?"
His eyes flash, and he looks to me. "Yeah."
Oh.
Oh my.
There is something in his eyes. I can see it so clearly, because I've seen it in my own eyes thousands of times in the last four years when I have looked in the mirror. It's an emptiness, a sadness most would overlook. But I can see it so clearly. He's been hurt. In a big way.
So I ask in a soft tone, "Is your wife still around?"
Pain flashes across those depths, before he roughly shakes his head. "No. She passed away. Breast cancer."
So he does know how it feels, I was right. He does understand the pain I felt. The kind of pain no words in the world could ever describe. The kind of pain that rips into your soul, and lodges itself there, until nothing you can do will remove it. It hangs around like a constant ache, a growth you can't remove. Even on your best days, you can feel it, just thrumming away, reminding you of what you lost.
"I'm so sorry, Ace," I whisper, and my voice is soft and genuine. "I know exactly how much it hurts."
"Yeah," he mutters gruffly. "I know you do."
"Was it long ago?"
"Two years."
Poor guy. Two years, in the grand scheme of things, seems like a long time, but when you lose someone you love, it passes in the blink of an eye and you feel like nothing has changed, like nothing is moving forward, like you'll never be okay again.
"I'm really sorry," I say again, because, what else is there to say?