Page 7 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Seven

JAZZ

The moisturizer Doc gave me made my fingers slippery, so I sat on my bed, cross-legged with my hands turned palms upright on my knees, ensuring the sticky stuff dried on my skin and didn’t get wiped on my pants.

I’d slept last night—fitfully, not quite relaxed even though I’d shoved the chair back under the door handle and dragged a cabinet against the doors to the small yard.

Sleeping rough in Chicago, I’d found myself in places I never imagined I’d end up. Some nights, it was an alleyway off Lower Wacker Drive, where the city noise was a constant hum, and the chill from the river seemed to seep into my bones. Other nights, I tucked myself into the shadows of an abandoned building in Englewood, where the silence was more unsettling than the cacophony of downtown.

On the rare occasions I got a bed in a shelter, like the one on the outskirts of the Loop, it didn’t provide the respite I’d hoped for. Surrounded by dozens of others, each of us wrapped in our own stories of despair, the air was thick with the weight of shared misfortune. The constant coughing, the restless shuffling, and the occasional outburst from someone lost in their own nightmares, made sleep elusive. The proximity to so many others, all of us in various stages of coping or not coping, was a stark reminder of how far I had fallen.

I remember one night at a shelter near Halsted Street, lying on a thin mattress that did little to cushion the hard floor beneath. I’d found myself wedged between two strangers, and the air was heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and cheap disinfectant. Someone nearby had been muttering in their sleep, a low, continuous drone that filled the room, and I couldn’t sleep. The irony didn’t escape me. Out there, I was alone, but I was unseen, unjudged, a ghost drifting through the night. In the shelters, I faced the reality of my situation through the eyes of others, a reality I wasn’t ready to accept.

Doc hadn’t stared at me in judgment.

Neither had Alex.

I pressed my fingers together—the tackiness of the ointment had eased—and as my belly rumbled, I wondered if maybe it was okay to venture out and see if there was food.

How many other people would be out there?

Would Alex be with them?

I moved the chair from the door, hoisted my backpack over my shoulder, then put it back down on my neat, corners-tight bed.

Then, I picked it up.

And put it down.

Why am I taking it with me? I have a key to the door.

Who else had a key to the door? Did Alex say it was just me? Why can’t I remember?

A knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts, and I hesitated. “Hello?”

“Morning, Jazz! It’s Doc,” came a voice from the other side. “Breakfast is out here if you feel up to it. Or I could bring you something if you’d rather eat alone?”

The offer caught me off guard. It wasn’t just the mention of food, but the underlying gesture, the implication of care I hadn’t felt in a long time. I stood there, frozen, unsure how to respond. The idea of stepping out, of facing others over a meal, seemed daunting. Yet the thought of Doc bringing breakfast to me, acknowledging my isolation, felt equally hard.

I cleared my throat, my voice sounding rough to my ears. “I’ll come out,” I said, a compromise between my desire for solitude and the pressing need to not alienate those trying to help me—even if one of them was Alex.

I unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “No one else has a key to my room, right?” I asked, and Doc smiled at me.

“There’s an emergency key for me.” He thumbed in the direction of the medical room. “It’s locked away.”

I glanced back at the bed, the bag sat there, torn for a moment. Then, I stepped out through the smallest crack I could manage before locking the door. Doc waited and walked with me to the kitchen, a couple of people inside, but not the heaving mass I’d expected.

“Elena,” Doc said, gesturing to a woman in her late forties with a calm, motherly demeanor that seemed to fill the room. She was at the stove, flipping pancakes, a stack already piled high on a plate beside her. Her smile was warm, inviting, and she offered a gentle nod in my direction, her eyes crinkling in a way that made me feel seen, yet not pressured. “She’s one of our amazing support team, comes in for breakfast. Elena, meet Jazz.”

“Hi, Jazz,” Elena said and waved the spatula.

“Hi, Elena,” I replied after a pause.

“That’s Tom,” Doc said. Tom was a young man with a shock of unruly hair and an easygoing grin. He was at the table with a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee.

“Hey, Jazz,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back. Doc said nothing about Tom working here, so I assumed Tom was one of us.

“And that’s Raj,” Doc finished, gesturing at a tall man at the kitchen island nursing a cup of coffee. Raj was older, perhaps in his early sixties, with a thoughtful expression and a gaze that seemed to take in everything with a quiet intensity. He lifted his cup in a silent salute when Doc mentioned his name, his acknowledgment more reserved but no less welcoming. I nodded in return and didn’t have to see the scars knotting the back of his left hand to know he’d served. I could see it in his eyes.

“Coffee?” Tom asked as he rinsed his bowl and placed it in the dishwasher, and I nodded. “Black?”

“Please.”

He poured coffee into a mug that announced Liquid Wisdom Inside and placed it within my reach, but didn’t get closer himself.

“Peacekeeping Afghanistan, Sergeant, Army.” he said and crutched out from behind the counter, my gaze drawn to his legs, where one was missing from the knee down.

“Master Sergeant, Army,” I blurted.

Tom sketched a cocky salute with his free hand.

I shrunk in on myself. “Please, no,” I said, and he seemed to get it, offering me a fist to bump instead. No reminders of rank, or what we’d done or seen. Just no.

“Pancakes? Cereal?” he asked instead. “We have muffins, or we do unless Raj got there first.”

“Sorry,” Raj said. “I just ate the last one.”

Tom winced. “No muffins then.”

“Cereal is good.” I edged to the main table, keeping my eye on everyone, then awkwardly poured sugary cereal into a bowl and splashed it with milk. Spoons were in a jug to one side. Then, I settled at the table where Tom had placed my mug.

“Morning,” Alex said from the door, moving past me to get coffee and take a plate of pancakes from Elena. Did he still pour syrup all over them? Why did I even care? And why was there a buzzing in my ears?

He took a seat down from me. “Hi, Jazz,” he murmured.

I nodded and went back to my cereal. If he’d asked me how I slept or whether I needed anything, I might have just left, but he said nothing.

“Want me to show you around?” Doc asked.

I grabbed my mug and headed straight over to him—anything to get away from Alex. I glanced back and caught my old friend staring at me. His expression was… sad, maybe, or confused? He offered me a smile, but I hurried out after Doc, nearly spilling the contents of my mug and stopping in horror at the thought of messing things up.

“Shit.”

“Okay?” Doc asked.

“I never asked—is it okay if I take this with me?”

“Sure, it’s your home for as long as you want, so coffee can go everywhere,” he said and grinned.

I almost smiled back, but the comment about the staying here part sounded almost pointed. Or preachy? Or was that me overreacting?

He stopped at a board way past the medical room and gestured at bulletin photos, each image part of a larger circle. “So, this is the team. The other doc, Louisa.” He thumbed back at the kitchen. “You met Elena; she’s a therapist here, also your best contact for all things legal; and this is Lucas, therapist, web expert, all-around good guy. Plus, Carl, accountant.” Doc chuckled. “Then, of course, Alex, who runs the place with me.”

Alex.

Alex was smiling in his photo. Welcoming. Non-threatening. Normal. I could almost see the boy I’d once known—only grown up, bigger, stronger—and my heart skipped a beat.

Doc guided me through the entire building with a sensitivity that nearly brought me to tears. He didn’t require me to interact with anyone; he simply showed me where everything was, from a small gym and therapy room to the attic, which housed a yoga space, and then we made our way back downstairs.

When we’d completed a full loop and were back outside the medical room, he asked, “If you have a few minutes, can I check you over?”

“Sure,” I said. He did some basic checks, then told me the rest of the day was mine. He didn’t ask me to stay another night, suggest I talk to a therapist, or say I should get advice on what to do next for myself. He let me be, and with a wave, he relocked the medical room door and headed away from me.

Outside of my room, alone, I froze. Now what?

“Jazz,” Alex said from behind, but I didn’t jump because I knew he’d be there. I turned to face him, my back hard against the door. “Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” I managed, noting how tired he seemed, with dark smudges under his eyes and his hair a tangled mess. Instinct made me want to say something, to ask if he was all right, and if there was anything I could do. It would have been the right thing to do, the human thing, if I had any of that human side left in me. But the words seemed to stick in my throat, held back by a wall of pride and stubbornness.

“I’m glad you stayed,” he said, but didn’t move toward me, or expand on that comment with reasons about how I needed to stay longer.

I still wasn’t sure I was staying another night.

What else would I do?

As I fumbled behind me for the door handle, I remembered it was locked, and I had the key in my pocket. As if Alex sensed I needed to get away, he took a few steps back as he smiled encouragingly.

“I have to go…” He excused himself. “… things need doing.” Then, he went in the opposite direction to where Doc had gone, heading into an office space near the front entrance. I’d noticed the computers in there and wondered if I could get online to message Harper, missing my daughter more than anything right now. Maybe before I left. Maybe today? Or if I stayed, perhaps tomorrow.

I unlocked my door, slipped inside, and locked it again.

Checked it just in case.

The room felt too quiet. If I were outside, I’d be walking to keep warm, searching for a new place to sleep, or trying to find work. In here, everything was so damn nice, but prickles of unease made me shudder at the silence.

I switched on the TV, more for the noise than anything. I heard the gentle buzz of a home renovation show, and I sat down on my bed.

Should I stay one more night? My chest was already looser from being out of the cold, and my hands were softer, the cracks not bleeding.

Just one more night.

I didn’t have to see or speak to Alex.

Doc said so.