Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
OLIVER
As soon as I see Shea, it’s like I’ve been thrown back in time.
She’s standing by the security desk near the entrance, her gaze glued to the double glass doors, and her face lights up with pleasure as she sees me come through them. In a light-blue button-up shirt and tailored gray pants, she looks professional, but still effortlessly sexy, just as she always has.
Shea doesn’t need clinging clothes or daring necklines to show off her curves, just like heavy makeup and elaborate hairstyles aren’t necessary to emphasize her beauty. Not that there’s anything wrong with all the extras, but Shea is stunning all on her own.
With a little wave, she starts across the lobby towards me, her lips curving into a tentative smile. Several men turn to stare at her as she passes, but she’s oblivious, her attention solely focused on me.
It’s so much like how things used to be, when I’d pick her up after work at her office in Bethesda. She would wait downstairs in reception, her face brightening when she saw me, like it was the very best part of her day. Reserved at her workplace, she’d wait until we got outside to give me a huge hug and a long kiss before proclaiming how much she missed me.
It didn’t matter how long we’d been apart—an hour, a day, or a month—Shea always told me just how she felt. That she missed me. That she had been thinking about me all day.
That she loved me.
But obviously, there were things she held back, because I had no idea she was going to break up with me until it happened.
Not ten feet away, Shea hesitates, her pace slowing. The smile on her face dips. A shadow dims the light in her eyes.
Then I feel the muscles in my jaw clenching, and I realize my face must have given my emotions away. Not the wistful reminiscence of pleasant memories, but the frustration and hurt that still resurges whenever I remember how things between us ended.
“Oll?” As she approaches, her bright blue eyes widen with concern. In a soft voice, she asks, “Is everything okay?”
Shit.
Is it possible Shea’s even more beautiful than she used to be?
Despite the bruise still marring her delicate features, she looks like a fairy-tale princess, like the ones in the stories Maya used to make me read to her when she was little. Like Snow White, really, with glossy dark hair and creamy skin and those gorgeous eyes that shift from Atlantic blue to a deep sapphire depending on her mood.
Am I just opening myself up for more disappointment?
On my way over, I rationalized why it was a good idea to meet. Closure. Maybe I’ll get answers that will help me finally move on. And with Niall working for Blade and Arrow now, it’s likely I’ll run into Shea again.
Now I’m not so sure.
Gruffly, I reply, “Everything’s fine. Are you ready?”
She bites her lip. Her gaze drops to the floor. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay. I can call B and A. Ask them to send someone to pick me up.”
Guilt fills my chest. I didn’t have to come. But when Shea texted me, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. To suggest meeting today, no less. I offered to pick her up from work, for Pete’s sake. And here I am, acting like I don’t want to be here.
The sad look on Shea’s face is because of me.
No matter what happened between us, I don’t want to hurt her. Maybe I was bitter in the beginning and said some harsh things, but who wouldn’t have in my situation?
“No, I haven’t changed my mind.” Gentling my tone, I touch her arm before adding, “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
Her gaze jumps to mine, understanding in her eyes. “If you’re too tired, we can do this another day, Oll. You must have a rough schedule. I should have thought of that before?—”
“Shea, I’m the one who suggested meeting today. My schedule is fine.” With a smile, I add, “I noticed a coffee shop up the street. Do you want to go there? Or would you prefer to go home to change first?”
What I don’t mention is I actually got here fifteen minutes early so I could scope out the safest place to take Shea. Even though I’m confident in my skills—I might not be former Special Forces, but I’ve done my fair share of training for the CIA at the Farm and the Point—I have no intention of going anywhere with Shea without surveilling it first.
And the coffee shop one block down looks like the ideal place. I can get Shea there quickly, it has booths along the back wall with full visibility of the front entrance, and there’s an exit to the back alley right nearby, if we need to make a quick escape.
Not that I think anything is going to happen, not in broad daylight, on one of the busiest roads in White Plains, but I’m not taking any chances.
“The coffee shop is fine. And I don’t need to change.” Uncertainty flickers across Shea’s face. “Unless you think I should?”
“No. Of course not. You look great.”
Her cheeks go pink. “So do you.”
We stare at each other for a second, a frisson of something moving between us.
No. Shea made her choice.
Ruthlessly shoving down the burgeoning emotions, I work to keep my smile steady. “Okay, then. The coffee shop it is.”
Once we step outside, I rest my hand lightly at the small of Shea’s back, not in an affectionate move, but one of protection. Her muscles tighten beneath my fingers, and she sucks in a small breath. “I need you right beside me,” I explain quickly. “I’m sure it’s safe here. But just in case.”
“Oh.” She glances at me. “Right. That makes sense.”
It does.
But that doesn’t change how it feels to touch her again.
How familiar it is.
How the heat of Shea’s skin seeps into mine, bringing with it sizzles of electricity.
No. Remember. This meeting is about closure. About making sure things are cordial between us. It’s not supposed to be a reminder of everything I lost.
But it’s hard to keep perspective when we’re sitting across from each other in a tiny booth at Common Grounds, our knees bumping under the table every time we move. It’s hard when Shea’s so close to me I can see the flecks of silver and green in her eyes and the tiny freckle just above her left eyebrow.
And it’s really hard to remember why I’m here when she licks a spot of foam from her upper lip, and my mind jumps to how I would have kissed it off in the past. How I would have leaned across the small table and captured her mouth with mine. How I would have cupped her cheek, stroking my thumb across her satiny skin. And I would have?—
“So, how do you like being a cop?” Shea sets down her mug and props her elbows on the glossy wood, resting her chin on her enfolded hands. “It must be a big change from the—” She cuts herself off. “From what you used to do.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that she remembered to keep my old career quiet. Having a brother who used to be Special Forces, the whole confidentiality thing isn’t new to her.
Shoving my thoughts about kissing Shea to the side, I think for a few seconds before replying, “It’s different, yes. In a small town like Sleepy Hollow, everyone knows who I am. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Going from something so… private… to a position so visible.”
“Yeah, I could see that.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Do you miss it?”
“Not really.” At the surprised rise of her brows, I continue, “I think I was getting tired. Always traveling…” Shit. Now I’m veering dangerously close to breakup territory. “Anyway. Maya got hurt really badly. I don’t know how much you know…”
Sympathy darkens her gaze. “Niall told me the basics. Poor Maya.”
“Yeah. I wanted to be closer to her after that. Not out of the country all the time. So I worked on getting transferred back to Langley. Then Maya got married, she and Cole started trying for a baby, and I didn’t want to miss it. Being an uncle, you know?”
Shea nods. “I get it. Niall and Jade just found out—” Her mouth snaps shut.
“Just what?”
Blushing, Shea leans towards me and whispers, “Jade… she’s pregnant. It’s still early, so they’re not telling other people yet. But I know you won’t say anything.” With a pleased smile, she adds, “So I’m going to be an aunt. Which is so exciting. It’ll be tough with them in Texas, but I’ll visit lots, and I have plenty of vacation time…”
Oh.
Now I get it. Really get it.
That’s why Shea was so fierce at the Hop-less Horseman. The Shea I knew years ago would have done anything to protect the people she loved. And with Jade being pregnant, I could easily see Shea risking her life to protect her. To protect her unborn niece or nephew.
Shea never thought she was brave. She’d go on and on about how amazing I was, insisting that what I did was so important. So courageous. And she’d say the same things about her brother. But whenever her job would come up, or her hobbies, Shea brushed them off like they meant nothing.
They did, though. Shea loved to write, and she was good at it. Really good. When I met her in Virginia, she was working as a technical writer, but her dream was to get into journalism. To tell stories that would help people.
I know Shea works at a company that provides writing services, but she mentioned something about remote work, so maybe she does journalism on the side. Living so close to New York City, this would be a good spot for it.
Realizing she’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer, I say, “That’s really exciting, Shea. Congratulations on being an almost-aunt.”
“Thanks.” She beams. “I know it shouldn’t matter, but I hope they have a girl. All the cute little dresses and when she gets older, I can take her shopping…”
“With Niall as her dad?” I chuckle. “Are you sure he’ll let her leave the house?”
“True. He’s already so protective. I can only imagine how he’ll be with a daughter. The poor girl won’t get to date until she’s at least thirty.”
Silence hangs for a moment after that.
Dating. Another topic to avoid.
Although, Maya said Shea’s single.
No. It doesn’t matter.
“So how is work?” I ask. “When I looked up the address for your company, I saw they do technical writing. But are you doing any other writing? Journalism?”
Her smile freezes, and the enthusiasm drains from her eyes. In a carefully light tone, she says, “Just technical writing. It’s not the same as Pulitzer Prize winning journalism, but it pays the bills.”
“Oh.” It’s not that what she does is bad. But in the years we dated, it was only supposed to be a stop-gap, something to do until she got a job doing what she really loved. “Well, that’s important, too.”
“It’s okay, Oll. I know it’s not exciting. I had all these plans, and then… they just didn’t work out.”
Grabbing her coffee, Shea takes a long sip, hiding her face with the oversized mug for a second. When she puts it back down, her expression is composed again. “So. How do you like living in Sleepy Hollow? It seems nice.”
I know she’s trying to change the topic, so I go along with it. “It is. I’ve met a lot of great people—some of the firefighters, the paramedics, guys at the station, and I’ve gotten to know the B and A guys better, of course. Plus, there’s actually a lot to do there. Great restaurants, a nice gym, lots of local events… And it just has this comfortable feel to it. Considering how close you are, I’m surprised?—”
Shit. Of course I know why Shea hasn’t spent time in Sleepy Hollow.
Because I’m there. She’s been trying to avoid seeing me. We only ran into each other because of a fluke. A collision of coincidences.
If not for what happened at the Hop-less Horseman, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Shea would be blissfully living her life without a single thought of me.
My jaw clenches. Slivers of pain shoot through my teeth and down my neck.
“Oll—”
“What?” My tone is hard. Bitter.
“I…” She sets the mug back down and meets my gaze. After a deep breath and exhale, she says quietly, “I’m sorry, Oliver.”
“Sorry about what?”
“How I handled things. Hurting you.”
“You didn’t.” It’s quick. Defiant. Completely untrue.
Sorrow darkens her eyes. “Okay.” A pause. Then, in a tiny voice, “Well. I’m sorry. However you felt. I just… I’m so sorry.”
My heart twists.
But the hurt, resentful part of me snaps at her instead. “You didn’t seem very sorry when you refused to talk to me. When I showed up to talk to you and you wouldn’t even answer the door.”
“I… I wasn’t in a good place back then. I know it’s not an excuse. It’s just?—”
“And you think I was?” Anger bubbles up. “My girlfriend breaking up with me while I’m thousands of miles away? Not even giving me the courtesy of an explanation? I was trying to keep cover, and I was distracted. By you .”
“Oll—”
“What is this all about, Shea? Meeting up. Talking like things are normal after almost four years of radio silence. You didn’t care back then. Why now?”
Instead of answering, Shea stares down at the table. Though the coffee shop is a buzz of activity, a heavy silence falls between us.
Then she looks up at me.
Tears are in her eyes.
Chin wobbling, she whispers, “You’re right. This… I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me. I…”
And she slides out of the booth. No. Not slides. More like lunges out of it. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I shouldn’t have… It was selfish.”
As Shea starts to rush off, I catch her hand. “Shea. Where are you going?”
“Home.” She won’t look at me now. Her gaze is skittering everywhere else.
“You can’t.” I stand up from my seat. “It’s not safe.”
“I’ll call a cab. Or an Uber. Or… I’ll go back to work and call B and A.”
“No.” Reaching into my pocket, I take out my billfold and slide a few bills out of it, then toss them onto the table. “I said I’d bring you home. So if you want to leave, I’m taking you.”
Shea clutches her laptop bag, her face downcast. “Okay.”
All the way to my car, she doesn’t say a word.
And on the drive back to her house, she stares out the side window, arms wrapped around herself, looking smaller than I ever remember seeing her.
Guilt settles in.
Digs deep.
Shit.
She reached out to me. Extended an olive branch. Apologized.
And what did I do?
I snapped at her. Made her cry.
Shit.
That’s not the kind of man I want to be.
If Maya knew I made Shea cry, she’d be pissed at me.
I’m pissed at myself.
When we finally get to Shea’s house, she has the car door open before we even come to a complete stop. No doubt eager to get away from me, and for good reason this time.
“Shea, stop.” As she turns to look at me, I add, “I need to walk you to the door. Make sure it’s safe.”
With each minute that passes, I feel even worse. Even guiltier. Especially when I spot the lone tear trailing down Shea’s face while she’s waiting for me to unlock the door.
I made her cry.
Once I clear the house, I end up back at the front door, with Shea waiting silently for me to leave. Finally breaking her silence, she says quietly, “Thanks for taking me home. And checking the house.” A beat, and then, “I won’t text you again, Oliver. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Oh.
It’s a sledgehammer to the chest.
Fuck.
I can’t leave things like this.
“Shea.” She won’t look at me, so I gentle my voice as I ask, “Can you look at me? For just a second?”
Reluctantly, she meets my gaze. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
“It’s okay. It’s… nothing I don’t deserve.”
Oh.
Instinct wants me to pull her into my arms. Hug her. Do whatever I can to take away the sadness in her eyes. To make her smile like she did when she first saw me in the lobby.
But instead, I say, “No. I was wrong. You apologized and I should have accepted it. Not been an ass about it. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Oll.” She gives me a wobbly smile. “I understand.”
But once I’m back in my car headed home, I’m not sure I can say the same thing.
Not about any of it.
There are too many things not adding up.
How sad she looked. Not just sad, but devastated.
Why did she give up on journalism when she was so determined to make a go of it? Back in Virginia, I’d help her edit her pieces so they’d be ready to send out as samples. She had a whole plan. Get a job at a small publication in DC and hopefully, one day, work her way up to the Washington Post.
What happened?
Why did she move to New York so soon after we broke up?
Why does she still keep the things I bought her on display in her house? Right in her living room, where she can see them every day?
Just as I’m about to turn into my own driveway, another thought strikes me.
For years, I’ve thought she was hiding something from me. Some unknown reason why she ended our relationship so abruptly.
But I wasn’t there. Towards the end, I was gone for weeks, even months at a time.
Shea always claimed she was fine. That she could handle being apart. She would say, “ I love you, Oll. I’m not going anywhere. Just stay safe and come back to me. ”
But things obviously weren’t fine.
And maybe if I’d prioritized Shea over my job, I would have noticed.
Maybe it was something I could have fixed.
Shit.
I can’t go back. Can’t be there for Shea and Maya like I should have been.
But.
Shea wouldn’t have reacted like that if she didn’t still care.
Just like I do. Even after all these years.
I need to fix this. Somehow.
Once I drive into the garage and turn off the car, I grab my phone from the console.
And I send a text.
I’m really sorry. I don’t like how we left things. Can I please see you again?