Chapter 32
I told the officer standing watch outside our door that I needed to use the bathroom.
When his back was turned, I darted down the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Nick’s room was on the first floor. I’d seen the number printed on the back of his lanyard when he’d stood over me that morning in the maintenance closet, and I’d committed it to memory for reasons I hadn’t been ready to think about.
I checked to make sure the hallway was clear as I slipped out of the stairwell and searched for Nick’s room.
I rapped on the door, starting when it opened almost immediately.
His hand was braced against the doorframe, his eyes shut and his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was fighting a headache.
“I told you, Sam, I’m fine. Losing perps is just part of the job, and I really don’t feel like talking about—” Nick’s hand fell away.
The collar of his dress shirt was loose, unbuttoned to his sternum, the rumpled fabric framed between the leather shoulder straps of his holster.
He frowned down at me, the bright light of the hall casting harsh shadows under his eyes.
I swallowed my nerves. “If you’re not up for company, I can go.”
“No, I just… I wasn’t expecting you.” He glanced over my shoulder, as if he was waiting for his commander to pop out from around a corner. “You probably shouldn’t be down here.”
“Probably not.” I pulled Sam’s pint of whisky from under my sweat shirt and held it out to him. He took my wrist and pulled me into his room, checking to make sure the hallway was empty before closing the door behind us.
Nick’s room was dimly lit by a small lamp on the desk beside his bed.
The confined space smelled like him, like soft, worn leather and the spicy musk of his cologne.
The faculty accommodations were nicer than the student dorms, more like a cheap motel room.
The warm lamplight, his partially made bed, his shower towel slung carelessly over the open closet door…
it all felt intimate, and suddenly I understood his hesitation to let me in.
We did an awkward dance, maneuvering around each other in the tight space as he scooped his jacket and cane off the bed, tossing them onto his open suitcase on the floor to make space for me to sit.
I perched on the edge of his mattress, watching him as he peeled two Styrofoam cups from a stack beside the coffeepot on his dresser.
He opened the whisky, pouring a generous splash into each cup.
“How’s Joey?” I asked.
Nick’s eyes pinched at the corners as he passed me a drink.
“He’s fine. Just a concussion and some stitches.
The hospital’s keeping him under observation tonight.
They’ll probably discharge him tomorrow.
” He downed most of his drink in one deep swallow, his jaw clenched against a wince as it went down.
He pulled out his desk chair and turned it to face me, favoring his leg as he eased down into it.
He stared into his cup, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I thought you were coming to take our statements,” I said between sips.
“I thought I was, too. But then the hospital called and said Joey was asking for me, so I went to see him.” His eyes lifted to mine. “He wanted to give me his statement.”
I swallowed a gulp that left my voice hoarse. “Joey hit his head pretty hard. Did he remember much?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you remember first?”
“Are you asking for my statement?”
“I’m asking for the truth.”
A week ago, I’d told Vero she should face her fears and speak her truth.
That anyone who assumed the worst about her wasn’t good enough for her in the first place.
But now, as I sat on the edge of Nick’s bed, looking into his eyes, I understood why she would circumnavigate an entire state just so she wouldn’t have to.
And yet, what kind of future could I hope to have with Nick if I couldn’t do it?
“Ask me anything,” I said cautiously.
“Why did you suspect Joey of trying to kill Steven?”
I licked my lips, willing the liquor to make it easier to speak.
“Do you remember the night you were shot, when I left the Westovers’ house, right before they put you in the ambulance?
” Nick’s brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth between mine.
“I went to find Steven. His business partner told me Steven’s vehicle had broken down on his way to the Westovers’ house.
I knew the killer was still out there looking for him, and I wanted to get to him before anything happened.
I found him stranded on the side of the road a few miles away.
As he was getting in my car, someone pulled over and started shooting at us.
” Nick tensed, his frown deepening as he straightened in his chair.
“We managed to escape without seeing who it was. All I knew was that the shooter was driving a sedan, they were reasonably skilled with a gun, and that Joey wasn’t with you at the Westovers’ that night because he was supposed to be out looking for my ex-husband. ”
“Why didn’t you tell me when you came to see me at the hospital?”
“Because Joey was your partner. And because I couldn’t be sure it was him. I had no proof.”
Nick was quiet as he took it all in. “Did you know he’s with Internal Affairs?”
“Not until tonight. Feliks said he thought Joey got himself assigned here as part of some revenge scheme. That Joey was trying to blackmail him. Was he?” I asked, watching Nick for a reaction.
His hand rasped over his stubble. “I asked Joey the same thing. He denied it. He swears it wasn’t him.”
“Do you believe him?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what I believe, Finn. I thought the guy was my partner, but he’s been keeping secrets from me for months. How do you trust someone after that?”
I looked down into my cup, wishing I knew the answer. “What else did Joey say?”
“He said you saved his life tonight, and if it wasn’t for you, he’d be dead.”
A thick silence blanketed the room. It was the truth, and yet it only skimmed the surface. There was so much more buried in the murk underneath. “Joey wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t suspected him in the first place.”
“That wasn’t your fault and Joey knows it.
He told me about the bug in Vero’s phone.
You didn’t do anything wrong.” Nick downed the last of his drink.
He set down his cup, his eyebrows knitting together as if he was searching for the right words to say.
“Joey said you’re not here doing research for a book.
That you only came this week to find the person who tried to kill Steven. ”
“That’s not the only reason,” I argued.
“I’m not judging you, Finn. After everything Steven put you through, I think it’s admirable that you want to protect him.”
“He’s my children’s father. Of course, I want to protect him, but that’s not the only reason I’m—”
“I know.” Nick rose from his chair, blowing out a long sigh as he limped across the room.
His hands were heavy on his hips, his voice rough when he finally spoke.
“When Steven was here to pick up the kids, he told me you two are trying to reconcile. That you’re going to start seeing a marriage counselor. ”
My jaw dropped. I set down my cup to keep from crushing it. “He told you that?”
“I feel like such an asshole for not seeing it before. I was so wrapped up in how I feel about you that I didn’t stop to think that maybe you wanted something else. It all makes sense now, the way you pull away every time we’re alone together. Like something’s holding you back.”
“That’s not it,” I said, launching to my feet as he paced. “I didn’t pull away because of Steven!”
“You don’t have to explain, Finn. I get it.
He’s Delia and Zach’s father, and this is about them as much as it is about you.
You had a house and a family and a life together before Theresa came along.
And now she’s out of the picture and you feel like maybe the two of you have a chance at working things out, and I don’t blame you one bit for wanting to protect him, or for wanting to have your family back.
” He turned to face me, his hand on his chest. “I just wish you’d been honest with me about how you felt. ”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Nick thought I was here at the academy because I was still in love with Steven. Because I wanted him back. Nick couldn’t be more wrong about that. But he’d been right about one thing—I hadn’t been honest with him about how I felt.
“You’re right,” I said in a steely voice.
“I am here to find the person who tried to murder my ex-husband. Because he is the father of my children, and for that reason alone I will always want him to be safe. And maybe even happy. But I have no plans of going to counseling with him, and I would rather rip my own toenails out than welcome Steven back into my bed.” A spark lit in Nick’s eyes as I took a bold step closer.
“But Joey was wrong if he told you that was my only reason for being here. I did come to do research for my book. I have writer’s block,” I said, confessions spewing out of me like a dam had finally broken.
“Sylvia says my manuscript sucks, and my publisher is refusing to pay me because I can’t write a goddamn sex scene. ”
Nick frowned. “You lost me.”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with this book!
” I said, throwing up my hands. “The cop and the heroine are supposed to be together—I know that—but every time I put them alone in a scene, I freeze up and I can’t finish it.
” I looked up at the puzzled creases around his eyes, struggling to figure out how to explain.
“The last book was different. The heroine’s romance with the lawyer was easy,” I admitted.
“There were no strings attached and she had nothing to lose, because she could never picture a future with him anyway. But with you…” My mouth went dry at the intensity of Nick’s stare.
“With you, the stakes feel higher, because this feels like it could be something more. And I think I’m holding back because I’m terrified of ruining it. ”
His voice was husky. “What are you saying?”
What was I saying? That I was done waiting for everything to be perfect.
For me to be perfect. I was done trying to contort myself to fit everyone else’s expectations of who I should be.
I was done feeling guilty for things that weren’t my fault.
Mostly, I was done denying myself my own happy ending.
I wanted dessert, to hell with the consequences.
I took Nick by the straps of his holster and kissed him. His body went still.
I drew back, afraid I’d gone too far. That maybe, after everything I’d confessed over the last twelve hours, he didn’t want this anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” He slid a hand through my hair and pulled me close, his breath whisky-sweet on my face, our foreheads almost touching. Eyes closed, he said, “Don’t apologize for this.”
His mouth sank into mine, a teasing brush of five o’clock shadow and soft lips. He deepened the kiss with a maddening patience, the slow sweep of his tongue achingly thorough as I curled my fingers into the front of his shirt and drew him to me.
My body hummed with the buzz of whisky and adrenaline.
With the warm leather smell of his clothes.
Maybe it was this room or this place or the near-death experience I’d had only hours ago.
Maybe it was the way he’d looked in a shower towel, with my son pressed to his chest. Or the way I’d thought about him every single night since he’d left me standing under the mistletoe.
But when Nick kissed me, I felt it everywhere.
My fingers fumbled over his buttons.
“You sure about this?” he asked as I pushed his holster over his shoulders and dropped it on the floor.
“Uh-huh.” Our breaths started coming fast. All the frustration that had built over the last two months was cresting like a tsunami inside me.
“Finn…” I nipped his bottom lip and he swore under his breath.
His muscles tensed under my fingers, his skin hot, his chest pebbling with goose bumps as I pushed his undershirt over his head.
“Maybe we should set up some ground rules so we don’t get carried away.
I can wait as long as you need. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for—”
“Please stop talking.”
The sound that came from him was almost feral. He backed me to the wall, pinning me by the hips, our kisses becoming fevered and desperate. I grabbed on to his shoulders, my palm brushing the raised scar there, a remnant of the shoot-out at the Westovers’ house.
A vibration started somewhere in his pants. “Your phone,” I panted as his mouth moved down my neck.
“Not answering.”
“But what if it’s about Feliks?”
“Don’t care.”
I worked the button loose on his pants.
“You okay with this?” he asked, gripping the hem of my sweatshirt.
“Definitely, completely, totally okay with this.” He tugged it over my head as we limped backward across his room. My heel connected with the bed and I fell into it. Nick fell with me, every gloriously solid inch of him landing between my legs.
“Oh, wow,” I said, a little breathless at the thought. “That’s… a lot of research material.”
He grinned against my ear. His hair tickled my collarbone, then the rise of my chest as his mouth moved down to my bra, teasing me through the fabric. “We don’t have to cover it all tonight.”
“I wasn’t objecting.” I arched against him, the sensitive skin of my belly jumping at his touch. I felt his fingers unfasten the button on my jeans. Felt the zipper hum down. Felt Nick moan against my navel as he realized, the same moment I remembered, that I didn’t have any underwear on.
“Ground rules?” His voice was strained and urgent, his hands still where they gripped my jeans, waiting for me to decide how far I was willing to go.
But I was so far beyond caring about the rules anymore.
It was only a month into the new year, and I was throwing my third resolution into the fire like a cheap champagne flute.
“No rules,” I said. I was only destined to break them. And I refused to feel guilty about any of this.