Thursday, December 29 #4
The logs were warming up for their sure-to-be-heated dance of flying cinders beneath the hearth.
Angelica clenched her hands around a ceramic coffee mug as if it were a lifeline.
Yet the beverage it contained was neither hot nor made from coffee beans.
It was an alcoholic elixir made from apricot kernels and almonds.
The drink wouldn’t dull her senses because they were already numb.
It’s what someone drinks when everything is coming undone.
Her life was beyond the point of crumbling.
If she had broken up with Matt months ago, the chances of a homicide detective showing up at her door would have been nil.
Life would have taken a different path, a simpler one.
Her finances would still be a problem, and Nicky would still be Nicky, but she wouldn’t feel the way she does right now. Her emotions were a three-ring circus.
As much as she disliked Matt, it was unthinkable that he’d be murdered. Maybe arrested, but not killed. They shared a skin-to-skin friendship between the sheets. Lately, though, there had been more irritating moments than good ones. They’d been getting on each other’s nerves.
Lying in bed one night, they tossed around why they were still a “couple.” Mostly, Angelica wondered about that.
With his looks, he could walk into a bar and never leave empty-handed.
He’d have the woman of his choice on his arm and a dozen phone numbers to boot.
Maybe she was just a cheap woman to keep around.
She made no demands, asked for nothing, and wanted less.
But she had the idiotic ability of staying too long at the fair and getting burned each time.
Angelica took a generous sip from the mug. Across the room, Daisy, curled into a furry ball, sneezed. The cat lifted her head, shook it vigorously, then settled back into her lazy dreams in Garrett’s fireside chair. The little traitor had taken a liking to the likable detective.
Who was she kidding?
Her “teddy bear” wasn’t coming back. He claimed they were friends.
Perhaps that’s all Garrett wanted after his wife broke his heart.
He proved it by always being a perfect gentleman.
Can you be too perfect a gentleman? Or was Garrett merely a “perfect” bodyguard? Bodyguard extraordinaire. Nothing more.
But if he wanted more, it wouldn’t be with her. Besides being more trouble than it was worth, her face screamed, Keep going, don’t stop here. She shouldn’t expect anything else. She’s not stupid.
Setting aside the conflict of interest, it was never meant to be, which turned out for the best. This gave Garrett the chance to escape. Either way, she took up too much of his time.
She needs more than friendship. She’s so tired of being alone and fighting her battles by herself.
She needs someone who, besides holding her, loves her—loves her as if the sun rises and sets on her.
Someone who sees her as heaven-sent. Someone who looks past her appearance and recognizes what lies beneath her plainness and ugliness.
Someone who sees her as one of a kind. Someone strong enough not to walk away because she can’t bear children. Someone who appreciates her as a person, not just a warm body. Someone who wants to spend eternity with her, not just one night.
And, in turn, she must feel that this man is her everything—the one she’s waited for her whole life.
Her oxygen, the one she can’t live without.
The one who sets her on fire yet calms her storm.
The one she reaches for in her sleep. The one she wants by her side forever and then some.
The one she loves so deeply that her soul aches at the thought of being away from him for even a day …
No, a minute. When she looks at him, she melts.
Angelica knew that feeling well.
* * *
Garrett may be chugging his fourth Coors, but he vowed that by the time he finished this six-pack, he’d quit before this woman gave him cirrhosis. He didn’t need AA; he needed a psychiatrist.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t blame Angelica. It hadn’t even been a day, and he was already experiencing withdrawal symptoms from her absence.
Garrett headed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
He took out the remaining Coors, yanked the tabs, and the foamy brew gurgled down the drain.
After tossing the empty cans into the recycling bin, their holding place until he filled them with bullet holes, he went upstairs to the second floor.
Cold showers were safer. They wouldn’t land him in an operating room unless he fell. He’d take his chances.
Before stepping into the shower, he unwrapped his hand. The verdict was in—he’d broken it. Would he break it again over Angelica? Without hesitation. But he preferred defending her honor, not out of frustration. Did it hurt? Yep. He might have been too quick to chuck the beer.
As Garrett stood under the showerhead, visions of their rain dance flashed through his mind. Had he ever done it before? Never. Had she? Who knows? Did he see himself doing it again? Yes, but only with Angelica. That was their dance.
He almost drowned her, though. She looked like a kitten plucked from an overflowing storm drain—so innocent, yet so captivating. Hell, what a package.
Come to think of it, add five or six years, and he’d be old enough to be the package’s father. A young father, nonetheless, a father. He’s robbing the cradle.
Then again, Matthew Jenkins wasn’t a spring chicken either. It turns out the sleaze was forty-five. He hadn’t looked it, but that jerk was also a cradle robber. Had Angelica known Jenkins’s age, or had he lied about it? Or did she know and not care?
Garrett re-wrapped his hand with the elastic wrap bandage after showering—well, as best he could with one hand. He’d go to the ER first thing in the morning or after work.
Work! It needs reevaluation. He’d been good at hunting down killers and was dedicated to the job.
In spite of that, being on call 24/7, 365 days a year, has grown stale.
Leave it to the EMTs. His job is ruining his love life, the little he has.
If he hopes for a happy family life, that’s unrealistic.
He can’t come home to a wife and kids to discuss the various stages of human decomposition at the dinner table.
He didn’t want to spend his life surrounded by the dead any longer. It’s time to embrace the joy of living and laughter, and to reject the coldness and finality of death. He’s ready for the death of death.
What options did he have? He might be a sharpshooter, but he’s not joining the SWAT team.
He had the credits and credentials to teach criminal justice at the university, but the position would require relocating to the capital.
Teaching high school American history was a strong possibility if he stayed in the area.
It’s funny how history had piqued Bonnie’s interest. May she never show up in one of his classrooms.
As Garrett got into bed, he decided that sleeping without Angelica in his arms was more than unthinkable; it was worse—impossible. He slept better anywhere in her house.
Speaking of beds, why the hell does he still own this one?
It was the bed he and Carolyn shared. How the hell could he sleep in a bed cursed by that woman?
He needs to buy a new one ASAP. Garrett hopped off the queen-sized bed.
He might have owned a three-bedroom house, but two of the bedrooms didn’t have beds.
They were cluttered with cartons of books, a gun safe, and endless boxes of ammunition.
Even in his own home, he’d be sleeping on the sofa.
At least it was more user-friendly; it didn’t possess the negative spirit of his ex.
Who was he fooling? He couldn’t sleep. Angelica was alone, facing yet another harrowing night. No wonder she cried so often. She never slept—except when he held her in his arms.
Conflict of interest? Not their interests. What if this case dragged on for months? There were dozens of suspects, and nearly everyone hated Jenkins. Could he go even a month without seeing Angelica? Absolutely not! He has to quit this blasted job.
Garrett put on his jeans and sweatshirt and ventured outside. He sat on his back steps and, gazing up at the star-packed sky, reflected as his exhaled breath created white clouds that vanished like smoke up a chimney in the wintry night air.
Did he truly love Carolyn? Regardless of his wife’s motives, he did. But she was only a love. What he felt for Angelica was passion—a passion that could only be called a great love. His first and only great love. A once-in-a-lifetime love. A love for all eternity.
He had never been so consumed by unwavering devotion. Running deep and endless, it burned within him like an inextinguishable flame, searing his heart. He couldn’t release Angelica from his soul, whatever fate allowed. Loving her forever and always would be his luxury.
Garrett then turned his attention to his concerns. There were three questions. The first was ongoing—What would he do with her? Sadly, he added two more to his dilemma—What happened to you, sweetheart, and what could he do about it? But wasn’t it all a moot point now?