More Than a Hotline Fling

-34-

Damian's POV

Four days had passed since June was taken from me. I got worse every day.

My existence became beyond pathetic. I never left the office since my condo had been turned into a fucking crime scene. After a blood transfusion and wound repair procedure, Bullet stayed in overnight recovery at AMC. Even though we had full facilities in the building, I hadn't showered, shaved, even fucking brushed my teeth.

Barely two bites of food had passed through my mouth. Every time I ate, my stomach heaved it back up. My lips were dry, my hands trembled uncontrollably, and my eyes were burnt out, red with irritation worse than any crack addict busted for possession this week.

My mind wouldn't stop running on overdrive. The thoughts jumbled into an incoherent pile of trails and leads and dead ends and reopened leads.

Possible locations we hadn't checked yet, witnesses we hadn't interviewed yet.

Countless times, I replayed how I yelled at her.

Fuck, she can have every damn stray animal in New York if I get her back.

I'm glad that my eyes glazed over because every look sent in my direction was full of sympathy. I didn't deserve it, June did.

Fuck, I can't -

A cleared throat preceded a gruff, "Go, Damian."

Hernandez kicked me out of sleeping in my office, if nodding off at my desk counted as sleep. I appreciated the fact that he omitted the word 'home,' because I didn't fucking have one anymore. Since our apartment was a fucking crime scene and Bullet was at the hospital, I couldn't go home.

I sure as fuck wasn't staying with Mom or Emma. My superior officer had enough sense that he called Jason, not my mother, for my next of kin.

Celia and Jason opened up their makeshift guest room to me, in the form of a full-size mattress on the floor of their nursery. Surprisingly, they kept it the same light gray as the rest of their place, with white baby furniture. Even more surprisingly, being surrounded by baby shit wasn't as uncomfortable as I expected.

Not that it helps.

Prior to staying with them, I hadn't slept more than an hour consecutively. The first night, I shifted in and out of two-hour spurts, passing out from exhaustion. Given my inconvenience, they were more than accommodating.

Especially since Celia's the size of a house.

Her entire body was swollen, even her hands. Her belly expanded in more directions than I thought humanly possible and limited her mobility to waddling to the bathroom in sweatpants and house slippers.

"It works out," Jason assured between bites of eggs and bacon. "I feel better knowing Celia's with someone while I do these last two runs."

While I appreciated the warm food, it coated sawdust on my tongue. "Where are you driving?"

"First one's in Iowa, second North Carolina." My eyebrows lifted at the first one being halfway across the country.

"I know," he grumbled and finished his breakfast. He blew a breath out pursed lips over his coffee cup. "These are the last two. They're paying double because their normal driver is sick."

Jason looked as tired as me. His skin was gray and sagged on his hollowed cheeks. Dry cracks split his lips and puffy lids sat around his red-rimmed eyes. His movements were slow, as if running on reserved energy.

I appreciated him not telling me which particular organs he was transplanting, almost as much as I appreciated both of them not forcing me to talk.

Celia's lips pulled to one side from where she stood at the other side of the island. Her blonde ponytail shook as she packed up his lunch and drinks into a cooler. Jason shot up from his seat the sound of her labored breathing.