15. Chapter 15
Iwas lit up when I left headquarters after being cornered by the chief and his goons, and I felt like I couldn’t get back to the office fast enough to fill Monty in on what had just happened. But, of course, my gas tank was on empty, so I pulled up in front of the nearest gas station and am now fighting with the fucking pump that keeps giving me an error message and telling me to go see the cashier.
After a third failed attempt I realize I’m going to have to go solicit the help of an employee, and head toward the door. Head down, I juggle my keys and wallet in my hands as I crash into someone coming out of the door, hot coffee splashing all over us both.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!” I offer as I throw my full hands up, accepting all fault. I glance up and lock eyes with Knox.
“Lizzie.”
“Knox?” I look around, unsure why. I would ask what he is doing here, but there really isn’t a reason he wouldn’t be at any gas station in the city. “Where’s your truck?” I crane my head around. Surely, I would have seen it.
“Getting an oil change,” he answers, tossing a busted paper cup in a nearby trash can and shaking coffee from his hands. He’s not wearing his work gear, instead sporting jeans and a plain black T-shirt. The bright koi fish tattoo he got a couple years ago to cover up the terrible Joker on his forearm on display. “Are you OK? Did you get burned?”
I suddenly remember the hot liquid that I’m now wearing. “No. I mean, yes, I’m OK. No, I didn’t get burned.”
We stand there like assholes for a minute, then he notices my car at the pump. “Do you need to go pay?” he asks.
I let out a puff of air through my cheeks. “The damn pump is giving me shit. It’s telling me to see the cashier.”
I hear a chuckle from Knox as he starts heading toward the pump.
“I can just get the guy,” I say, but follow him anyway.
“You’re pulling the card out before the chip reader is done,” he says, standing in front of the pump, his wallet now in his hand as he slides a credit card out of it.
“I am not!” I argue. “And I can pay for my own gas.” I try to push him out of the way with my hip but he’s unmoving. Also, that’s a ridiculous statement because we still have joint-everything, credit card accounts included.
“Look.” He inserts his card. “Now just wait a second.” After what seems like an eternity, I hear the machine beep and “PLEASE REMOVE YOUR CARD” flashes across the tiny screen.
“You always pull the card out too fast,” he says as he takes the pump out of the holder and slides it into my tank.
I roll my eyes, and he suppresses a laugh which, in turn, softens me. “Ass,” I say.
We stare at each other for a beat. “I am,” Knox says seriously. “An ass. I am the biggest ass on the planet.”
So not in the mood, I open my car door.
“Wait,” he says, as I hear the pump click off, and he re-holsters it. “Can we get coffee?”
I stand with one foot propped up on the floor of my car, arm resting on the open door. Truth is, I want to. I miss him. And after the experience I just had, I could use his presence. But I also don’t want to, because I hate him.
“Please, Lizzie. I mean, you kind of owe me, since you spilled the coffee I just bought.”
I know I should be kind since he’s trying to be lighthearted, but I can’t be, so I say, “I don’t owe you anything, Knox.”
“No. No you don’t.” He shakes his head. His answer is immediate and appreciated. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shuffling feet, then back up at me.
Damn, I always had trouble saying no to him. I sigh. “Fine.” I jerk my head toward the passenger side of the car. “Get in.”
We end up at a cozy hipster joint not far away. I take my hazelnut double-shot latte with skim milk over to a love seat with oversized pillows and sit on one side. Knox follows behind with his black coffee and, instead of sitting next to me, falls into a bean bag chair right in front of me.
“Really?” I ask.
“Hell, yeah!” he replies. “I haven’t sat in one of these in years.”
He looks ridiculous, with his long legs bent and spread to the sides like a spider’s. He has got to be uncomfortable, but I know he’s trying to respect my boundaries.
“You’re never going to be able to get out of that thing,” I say as I blow steam away from my mug. We sip our drinks in comfortable silence for a moment. The din of the coffee shop swallows each of us up, with acoustic music wafting through varied conversations among nearby patrons.
“So, are you working today?” Knox breaks our silence.
“Yep. I was just coming from the police headquarters.” I wrap both of my hands around my oversized mug.
“Oh, yeah? How is Scotty these days?”
“Douchey as ever.”
Knox locks his eyes on me, picking up the edge in my voice. “What’d he do?”
“He’s just not making things easy for me right now.”
“Story or personal life?”
“Story.”
“Big, holy shit news, or mundane police activity?” Knox knows how to navigate conversations around work intel that is confidential, off the record, or otherwise shouldn’t be discussed.
“Oh, a little of both, I guess.”
“Something you’re currently working on?”
“Um, no,” I look down at my hands around my mug and try to focus on the leaf-shaped foam that is now seeping out into a big blob.
“So, what does it matter if it’s in the past? Is it a high-profile case?” Knox takes a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah. It is still getting some attention actually.”
I see Knox mull that over. His Adam’s apple bobs while he swallows a gulp of coffee. Before he can ask me another question, I decide to give him a little more.
“I think I messed up a story. But other times I’m certain I didn’t. Anyway, I’ve been circling back around to some sources, trying to get answers, and Chief Scott apparently doesn’t like that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That the chief doesn’t like me poking around? Well, he pretty much threatened me today, so—”
“What?” Knox’s reply is loud enough to cause a couple at a nearby table to look over at us. “What do you mean he threatened you?”
We stare at each other, heat creeping up my throat. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to go all protective of me. Not right now.”
Knox runs the hand not holding his coffee over his stubbled chin.
Despite my scolding him, I decide to answer his question. “He tried to offer me a distraction, a lead to another story, in exchange for dropping my current ‘investigation.’” I use one hand to make air quotes for my last word.
Knox takes another sip of coffee and then shakes his head slightly while shifting his body, so his elbows are resting on knees. “I really hate that guy.”
“Right now, so do I.”
“Let me ask you,” Knox begins, and I turn my head toward him, watching him re-adjust his position in the bean bag chair. “Why do you think you fucked up?”
“The story?”
“Yeah. Because, Lizzie, I might not know exactly which story you’re talking about, but I would be willing to bet you didn’t mess it up. You’re really good at what you do.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the truth. So, what gives?”
I take another sip and continue to look down at my drink. “I was distracted when the story broke. We were wrapped up in personal stuff, and I wasn’t in a good headspace.”
I notice Knox still, then. “The Jerome King case?” He isn’t looking up at me.
“Yep.”
“That was right about when …”
“Yep.”
“Awe, shit, Lizzie. I’m sorry. I’m … I don’t know what to say.”
“Not your fault.” I manage to get out.
“The fuck it isn’t.”
Knox puts his coffee cup on the floor and reaches for me. “Lizzie, I’m—”
He can’t quite reach me in the awkward position he’s in. “Wait, screw this thing. This is the most uncomfortable seat I’ve ever been in!”
I laugh as I watch him try to get up, then set my latte on a nearby end table and offer a hand to him. Meeting my eyes first, he places one of his hands in mine, then grabs my forearm with the other and I pull as he hoists himself up. We are both chuckling, and he plops down next to me on the loveseat, causing me to bob up and down.
We are sitting side by side now, my left arm and leg touching his right limbs.
“I really am sorry. And it is definitely my fault.”
To that, I don’t know what to say. So we sit in more silence, this time less comfortably. Then Knox shifts so he’s facing me. “Is that why you asked me about Jimmy and Sanders?”
“Yes. I asked Sanders if he remembered any drugs found on Jerome when they took him away in the ambulance, but he didn’t remember.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. I imagine it’s hard to remember all the details of every call.” Knox turns even more in my direction, bringing his right foot up under him so his knee is hitting my leg while he drapes his right arm along the back of the couch behind me.
I drop my head to the back of the cushion and sigh, and Knox massages my head a little. The action seems instinctual, but it’s too much, so I sit forward, and it’s my turn to put my elbows on my knees. I feel him shift next to me so that he’s mirroring my position, and the nearness is too much. So, I grab my latte and stand up, Knox following suit.
We stand awkwardly, face-to-face, for just a minute before I speak. “Well, I have to get back to work. I can drop you back at the shop to get your truck?”
“Yeah. It’s right next to the gas station.” He swoops down and scoops up his coffee cup, and we both place them on the counter before he follows me out the door.
The short car ride is quiet. When I drop Knox off, he lingers outside the car for a moment. We say nothing in parting, but I know we are both thinking the same thing.
How did we get here?