They were doing a number on him, and he was nearly thirty.
When she didn’t seem to slow down, Graham took matters into his own hands and picked her up, carrying her to her bedroom. The couch might have been closer, but he sensed they needed privacy for whatever was bothering her. Because, while he had no problem letting her cry on his shoulder, giving her some space to get the worst of the emotions out, there was no way he was leaving without hearing the issue so he could help. He had to help her, damn it.
Settling back against her headboard, he cuddled her in his lap and let the tears run their course. After another five minutes, she sniffled and sighed, hand clenching in his shirt.
He smoothed back a few strands of hair stuck to her temple. “Better?”
“Sorry,” was her watery, muffled reply.
“Never be sorry. You’re allowed to cry when you need to. If you don’t let it go sometimes, it makes you sick. I have a feeling you haven’t been letting it go for some time now.”
“Who has the time for a weep session when you’ve got a son to raise?” Though they could have been, the words weren’t spoken bitterly. Simply said with the practical curtness he knew she took on when attacking a task at hand. “I’ll be better in the morning. Thanks for letting me cry on you.”
“No way. We’re not done.” When she lifted her head to glare at him, he smiled and kissed her between her brows. “The whole mean mug loses its effectiveness when you do it with red, puffy eyes.”
She gasped at him, then slapped at his chest and hopped down. He watched while she walked to the tiny attached half bath and closed the door. He’d give her another few minutes to pull it together, and then they were going to discuss what the hell was going on with her. And because he didn’t believe in keeping people he loved in the dark—and hell, yes, he loved her, and Zach—he’d tell her about the brick. She might have insight on who could have done it.
When she opened the door a few moments later, Kara was pulled together. Or as pulled together as she could be in sweats with dried paint flecks, red eyes and a red nose. Her hair had been tamed though, and her jaw was firm.
“Don’t even try to send me away,” he warned before she could speak. “I’m here, and I’m going to hear your problems, then you’re going to hear mine. That’s what people in a relationship do. Then we’ll talk about what I’d wanted to discuss with you this evening before all the other shit went down.”
That pulled her up short, and she sat on the edge of the bed, not touching him. “Was that part good?”
“Yes. So let’s take our medicine now so we can have our treat as a reward after. You first.”
She shook her head, and he sensed she might need a little more distance before she was ready to go into it. “You first, please. I’m . . . I need a minute.”
“Okay.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he settled back. If he had his way, she’d ask him to stay the night. Had, in fact, packed a bag so he could run straight to practice in the morning. But being the smart man he was, he’d left it in his car. “My car was vandalized today. No, not quite right. My car was attacked.”
She stilled, all motion halted, not even a blink. Then she was beside him like a shot, cupping his cheeks in her palms. “Oh my God. Graham. Please tell me you’re okay. Are you okay?” She ran her hands down his shoulders, his arms, his torso. “How fast were you going? Where was this? Was anyone else hurt?”
“Not a wreck, I wasn’t driving. I’m not hurt.” He didn’t mind her stroking and searching hands, though. She could keep that up all night. “It was in the gym parking lot. Someone heaved a brick through my windshield. Badly, at that.”
That made her rear her head back to stare at him funny. “How does one throw a brick through a windshield badly? Isn’t it always bad?”
“It didn’t go through. The result is the same, I guess, in that I had to have my car towed so the damn thing could be replaced, but overall the interior was saved.”
“Who would do something like that?” Fire heated her eyes, and her hands fisted against his chest. Gone from memory was the woman fighting to maintain composure. “What kind of sick person throws a brick?”
“Good question. We’re still trying to figure that out. Any ideas?”
“It fits with the same profile of the vandalism from the gym.” She tapped her lip a moment, then scooted around to sit beside him. “Was yours the only one hit?”
“Yes, which only adds to the confusion. When the guys’ tires were punctured, it was everyone’s car who was parked at the barracks. Why only mine? Simpson’s car was there, too. Was it an attack on me, personally? Or was it another act of vandalism by the same person or people who have had it out for the boxing team from the start?”
“Pissed anyone off lately?” she teased.
“No, I—damn.” He beat his head against the headboard a few times. “Nikki.”