It was dark when I opened my eyes.

The room was dark, yes, but outside was also dark. I knew Iwas in my own bed. In my own bedroom. Knew I was home. I felt a wave of reliefand gratitude. I was never going to get over being grateful for normalcy. Icould see stars shining through the window. See the pinpoint reflected gleam inFreyja’s eyes as she gazed toward the closed bedroom door.

There was a band of light beneath the door, and now that Ilistened, I could hear Raleigh’s deep voice speaking quietly.

My hearted started to pound in instant anxiety.

Which didn’t make sense, because everything was okay.

Everything was better than okay—unless something hadhappened while I’d slept, unless the D.A., the chief, Raleigh had changed hismind again—

The frantic, frightened drumbeat in my ears drowned out thesound of Raleigh’s hushed tones. I felt like I was smothering beneath theweight of fear. That was not survival instinct. It was PTSD. And it was goingto take me a while to get over it even as I reminded myself of the last fewhours.

Hours so lovely they felt like they had to have been a dream.

Never mind believing in Santa Claus, I was having trouble believingin happiness.

Freyja’s tail stirred on the comforter, the door openedcautiously, and Raleigh was briefly silhouetted in the doorway, before the doorclosed again.

I pushed up on elbow, said softly, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said quickly, apologetically. “I was tryingnot to wake you.” He climbed into bed, blocked Freyja’s enthusiastic greetings,and slipped his arm beneath my shoulders, pulling me toward him. I locked myarms around him, buried my face in his throat.

“My mom wants to know if you’d want to come to Christmasdinner.” He still sounded apologetic.

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. I was fighting tears.Trying to conceal my reaction. So much reaction to every little thing. It wasexhausting. Draining.

Freyja noisily snuffled the back of my neck, my ears.

“Freyja, don’t.” Raleigh bent his head lower to mine. “Youokay, Caz?”

I nodded.

“Tell me,” he said gently.

I said thickly, “Just…reaction.”

After a moment he said, “Yeah, of course. That’s normal.” He kissed the top of myhead, my ear, nudged my face so he could kiss my nose and then my mouth. Thenmy mouth, wet from the silent tears, again. “It’s going to be okay. I promiseyou.”

I nodded.

“I won’t ever let you down again.”

“I know that.”

He had to stop apologizing. I had to stop having panicattacks. It was all going to take time. But we had time. That was the important thing to remember. That was the thing to hold onto. Second chances.

I said, “I just want things to be normal again.”

“They will be.” His throat moved against my face as heswallowed. “It’s going to be a new normal that’s all.”

Freyja seemed to feel progress was not being made fastenough. She thrust her muzzle between my face and Raleigh’s, snuffled loudly, suspiciously,and then suddenly sneezed. Everywhere.

“Jeez, Freyja,” Raleigh protested, letting go of me, wipinghis face.

I rolled over, laughing unsteadily, and Freyja, seeming to feelher work was done, settled against me and sighed.

I tugged gently on her silky ears. “What do you think of allthis, Freyja?”  

Raleigh said, “Dogs live in the moment.”

I thought about that. “Sometimes in the moment is the lastplace you want to be.”

Raleigh resettled, pulled me closer.

I knew what he was thinking, and I said, “This is goodmoment to be in, though.” I tilted my face up, and in the moonlight, he lookedso serious.

Raleigh said in that gruff voice he got when he was afraidhis voice would shake, “This is the best moment.” It took him a moment beforehe could add, “I didn’t think there was a chance in hell of ever having amoment like this again.”

“Same.”

Like one of those schmaltzy tchotchkes: Forgiveness is agift you give yourself!

True, though.

Very true.