Twenty-Seven
I ’d been working on looking into this Salvatore Rizzo guy all day, and what I found was unnerving, but not what Reacher had been expecting. It was going to be an issue though. I gathered up my shit and headed back to his office, to look for him.
He was just on the phone, so he waved me in to sit down, while I listened to his side of the conversation.
“Don’t worry about it, brother. You look after you right now. We’re all fine here.”
I frowned, but stayed quiet as he listened to whoever it was. It was clearly a member of the club, and my mind raced as I tried to figure out who it was.
“No, don’t you dare. Recovery means fucking recovery. Let her look after you, and don’t you dare get on your fucking bike until they say you can. I mean it, brother.”
He cursed quietly. “Results first, man, then we’ll talk. Don’t make any rash decisions, please.”
He ended the call, and ran his hands over his face.
“Jesus. Just give me a minute, Ice.”
He left the room, and I listened as I heard him cursing outside the door. It was quiet for a while, and then he returned, taking his seat again. He looked upset. While he’d been out there, I’d reached over and grabbed his phone, checking the call log, before the screen locked. He’d been talking to Stitch .
“Pres?”
He nodded. “Go on, what have you got?” Fine. I’d play his game for now.
I filled him in on what I’d found out about good old Salvatore. He could decide whether or not to report his embezzling skills to his boss. He cursed a bit, but set it aside.
“At least he’s not looking like the leak. Still means we have one somewhere though. Thanks, brother. I appreciate this.”
I nodded. “Anything else for me? Must be busy with Stitch away, yeah?” Reacher’s face fell again.
“Yeah…”
“Is he okay?”
He glanced at his phone instantly.
“You sneaky bastard. I should have taken it with me.”
I shrugged. “We both know I could get your call logs pretty easily anyway. What’s going on? I know you’re struggling with trusting me right now, but you need to talk to someone. If not me, who? I’d recommend a good therapist, but someone got her fired recently.” He flinched. God, I can be a real bastard sometimes. I opened my mouth to apologise but he cut me off.
“Touché. You’re right. I do need to fucking talk to someone, but first I need his permission. Give me a minute.” He sent a text, and sat back staring at me.
“How are you doing, anyway? Getting back to work helped, I hope?”
I shrugged.
“It kept me busy for a while. Quite a few hours actually. Uh… on the subject of my kit. Nobody went snooping through all my shit, right?”
Reacher frowned, and then his cheeks reddened slightly.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“You asshole. What did you see?”
He sighed. “Just what you had on the screen when you left it all that night, but we talked about this already, didn’t we?” I hadn’t intentionally left that fucking page on my screen that night, but I barely remembered anything about that night except how fucking done with everything I was.
“Who else saw it?”
He checked his phone, like he didn’t want to tell me.
“Reacher, come on.”
“Ally, Ryder… nobody else. You hinted at it being a fucking suicide note last time we talked about this. Was it? Do we need to worry about you doing something else fucking stupid?”
I shrugged, wondering why it felt like the last thing I’d try now, when I was so sure back then that I had no way out.
“I dunno. I wasn’t in a good place at the time, and writing how I felt seemed to help, so I did it a few times back then. I didn’t mean for it to be seen though. I’m not in that place anymore, Pres.”
He nodded, and his phone buzzed. He read the screen and sighed. Was it a no?
“Okay… he’s okay with you knowing, but I’m swearing you to the highest level of fucking secrecy. This is his personal business, but he gets it too. I do need to talk about it.”
Yikes. It was gonna be something big.
Lissa
C ammy stayed for dinner, and it helped so much more than she realised, to not be alone for the entire day. And the horrifying thought was that there was still tomorrow, and every day afterwards, stretching out ahead of me like endless hours of boredom. I needed something to do with my time.
When she left, I went to bed. I was tempted to drink some of the wine I had in the wine rack, but I knew I’d feel worse if I did. I’m not one of those happy drinkers. I don’t get all buoyant and excitable and happy. I had a tendency to sink into a pit of loneliness and despair and who the hell did that willingly? Sometimes I might drink a glass more than I meant to, but not tonight. I couldn’t.
I wanted to speak to Ice. I wanted to hear his voice, and I wanted to see his face. I wanted to watch his lips move as he talked. I wanted to be with him, dammit. I shouldn’t be yearning like this for a man I’d barely spent any time with, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe I’d just not had a chance to get him out of my system.
I grabbed my phone and opened up the chat with Has-Been. He wasn’t who I wanted, but I needed someone to talk to.
Me: Hey, I know this is a lot to ask, but any chance you can get Ice to call me? I really need him right now.
Wow, that was all kinds of desperate and needy, and pathetic, and I couldn’t unsend it. It was out there now. It was something I couldn’t take back.
Minutes passed, long agonising minutes, before my phone buzzed again.
Has-Been: You okay, darlin? I’ll try, but he’s a stubborn fucker. If not, will you settle for second best? I can be a good listener.
I almost wished it was Has-Been I’d fallen for. He was so available, and kind. Was that all there was to it? It was more than that. He was considerate. He thought about others, and he worried about others. He was a former addict himself, but he was proof that there was life after drugs. Was that another reason he and Ice didn’t get on? I had no idea.
My phone rang then, and I grabbed it more eagerly than I liked to admit to myself.
“Lissa?” It wasn’t Ice; it was Has-Been. My heart sank, and I felt my stomach clench with disappointment, or was it sickness? Was it that I was so lovesick that I actually felt ill when he rejected me? How many more times could I take his rejection?
“Hi.”
He laughed quietly. “Oh, don’t sound so happy to talk to me, I might get the wrong idea.”
My god, I was being so rude.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it like that.”
He laughed again. “Look, don’t ask me how we managed it, but I’m bringing him to your place. He wants to see you, and I like helping my brothers out. We’re actually on our way already, but he’s in a pissy mood as usual. Hey, fuck you too. “ I raised my eyebrows, but I’d heard muttering before he said that.
“That wasn’t aimed at you, darlin’, but I’m guessing you already figured that out though.”
“Give me the fucking phone!”
The phone went dead, and I sighed. They couldn’t even get on for five minutes, and there had to be a reason for it.
I only had to wait a few more minutes and a vehicle pulled up outside, a door slammed, and then a fist was banging on my door. I wrenched it open, desperate to see him, and I was immediately crushed against his chest as he stepped inside.
I dimly heard the van leaving, but all I cared about was the fact that he was here, he was in my house. He moved slightly, pushing the door closed with his foot, but he wouldn’t let go. I found myself crying quietly, now that I had him with me, now he was touching me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Lissa. I missed you so fucking much.” He sounded upset too, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, I saw that his were red and wet, even as he reached up and rubbed at them.
“You’re really here.”
He grinned, sweeping his thumbs under my eyes, drying my tears for me.
“If I get my way, I’ll never be away from you again.”
I wished that could happen.
“I… want that too. I wish I didn’t have to leave.”