44. Thad
It’s a relief once the police show up, even though I’ve done this all enough times to know that their arrival signals a long night ahead of us. It’s not like the movies, where the flashing red and blue lights mean we can slink off again—“There’s your perp, officer. Good night!”—and this will all be over for us. There are witness statements to give, more than once. Paperwork to fill out. We have to wait until the ambulance arrives to take Molly to the hospital, and console Dean that she’s fine, they just want to check on the baby with equipment the EMTs don’t have on hand before they give her the all clear—and explain to Dean that no, he won’t be going with her. He probably won’t be seeing her again for a very long time, maybe never.
A month ago, I don’t know that I would have been all that sympathetic to Dean. People come and go in our lives, I would have told him, if I’d deigned to give him any words of comfort at all. Best not to get too attached.
Now I can’t help but think about how I’d be feeling if it were Helen they were driving away, Helen who I would never see again. That was almost what happened earlier tonight, what Shane was all but telling us he would do. Maybe he would have killed Dean and me first, or maybe I would have had to watch him take Helen from the room, knowing she was never coming back.
The thought is agonizing. Unbearable. It makes me feel like a caged beast. I know police procedure, I know how this all works, but I’m still restless, pacing, irritated that I’m stuck answering the same questions over and over again, unable to be near her. To check that she’s all right. To comfort her. To comfort myself in the knowledge that Shane didn’t succeed: she’s okay, she’s okay.
When they take us all down to the station, I make sure I keep my eyes on Helen as much as possible. I know when she’s taken into one of the offices to give her statement, and I know how long she’s there, and I check the look on her face when she comes out. She looks tired, but otherwise unharmed. If she’s anything like me, she’ll want to sleep for a thousand years once we finally get back to the hotel.
At one point, I see her speaking to an officer, who brings her over to talk to me. My heart catches in my throat at her sudden nearness. I want to pull her into my arms. I want to hold her. I want…to do things that would not be appropriate to do in a crowded police station. Instead all I do is stand as she draws near, swallowing hard as our gazes meet and hold.
She must be feeling similarly overwhelmed, because for a moment all we do is stare at each other. Then she clears her throat. “They’re going to let me go down to the hospital to check on Molly. I can make some calls from there.”
It’s amazing that after such a short time of knowing each other, we can already communicate so much with just our eyes, a brief shorthand, but I know exactly what she’s telling me. The police know that Molly was one of the people being held hostage in the hotel room, and I’m sure Shane will eventually crack and admit who she is and why he was following her. But these New Orleans police officers have no idea the significance of Molly’s last name, Gallo, and no reason to hold her. Hopefully by the time they’ve figured it out, Helen will have made her calls—to Quinn Sullivan and Dan O’Malley and Alex Greene—and secured Molly safe passage to wherever her new life will be.
I’ll need to stay here, to continue the process of remanding Dean into custody, more complicated than usual since we’ve crossed state lines and whatnot. It will be a long night. But it isn’t the late hour or my tiredness that grates me now—it’s not being with her, at her side, making sure she’s safe while she makes sure Molly is safe. Shane and his accomplice are in custody, but there’s no way to know if there are others lurking around.
I want to keep Helen locked in place, right next to me. But I know it’s important to her, to keep the promise she made to Dean and Molly. And I also know, after seeing her with Shane tonight, that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.
“Be careful,” I tell her. They’re two stupid, insignificant words that don’t nearly scratch the surface of what I’m feeling, but they’ll have to do.
She nods, searching my face. “I will.”
I wish I could take her hand, just for a moment. Touch her hair. Hold her in my arms. I guess I could actually do any of those things, but it isn’t just embarrassment at being in a crowded police station holding me back. It’s the depth of the feeling, how much is at stake. It’s too raw and precious a thing to express, even in part, in front of all of these people.
I was terrified of losing you.
I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.
I…love you.
As much as the sentiment startles me, I don’t resist it, because I know instantly that it’s true. It doesn’t make sense. We haven’t known each other for very long, and most of that time I was pretending to be someone else. We’re such different people, when it all comes down to it. So different that these past few days on the road shouldn’t have had the power they’ve had, and yet…I admire her. I care what she thinks. I want to make her laugh. I want her to trust me, to respect me. I want to make the world be as good as she believes it is. I want to be as good as she believes I am.
I don’t say any of this to her, though. Not now. I just hold her gaze, and nod. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
The words are nowhere near adequate. But I hope they’re enough.
By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s technically morning, though it’s still dark as pitch outside. I’m half tempted to get another room so I won’t wake her, but selfishly, I need to know she’s all right, safe in bed where she’s supposed to be. I need to be near her.
The room is dark when I let myself in, but I can tell instantly that Helen is awake. In the light from the hallway, I faintly make out her silhouette as she sits up. “It’s me,” I tell her quietly, just in case she’s having as hard a time making out my features as I am hers. After the night we’ve had, I don’t want to startle her or make her even in the slightest bit afraid, not even for a moment.
I shut the door behind me, plunging us back into darkness as I fumble for the deadbolt and the latch. No more surprises tonight. No one entering with a key card he shouldn’t have.
Behind me, Helen switches on the bedside light. “You don’t have to,” I start to say. “I’m sure you’re?—”
Tiredis what I mean to say, but I lose my voice as I turn and see her properly. She was asleep, I can see, tiredness still clinging to the corners of her eyes, her hair lightly mussed. She’s put on my T-shirt again to sleep in, but her legs are bare, twisted up in the sheets.
It isn’t just that she looks so incredibly sexy like that, though she does. She looks so vulnerable. I can’t help but think about what would have happened if it had been someone else coming in here with that key card. She’s so good, so trusting, coming along on this trip with me, putting her safety in my hands, but anything could have happened tonight. Anything almost did happen and I was there and I couldn’t have done anything to stop it. I don’t even carry a gun, because I’m an egotistical moron who, before tonight, didn’t really believe anything bad could happen to me.
“Thad.” Helen reaches for me, holding out her hand almost plaintively, like she can sense me spiraling.
I meant to ask her about Molly and how everything turned out. I wanted to tell her about how brave Dean was when it finally came down to it, how relieved he was that Molly was safe and that his mother wouldn’t have to pay off his bond.
All I can do is go to her.
I want to touch her, feel her limbs and legs and fingers, hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes as I ask her if she’s okay, really and truly. I want to kiss her, wrap my arms around her and hold her as she sleeps.
That’s what I’m intending to do.
But as I grip her face in my hands and look into her eyes, I feel the full weight of what was almost lost. It hits me like a wave, threatens to pull me underneath its current. I want to apologize to her, tell her to get as far away from me as she can. Beg her not to leave me. Tell her I think I love her. Tell her she’d be better off going.
“Helen,” is all I manage to say.
Somehow what I’m feeling must be conveyed in that single word, because Helen draws me in. Scooting back against the headboard, she pulls me so I’m half on top of her, my head cradled against her chest so I can hear her heart beating.
For several long moments, we stay that way, until at last, I lift my head so I can capture her mouth in mine. We kiss slowly at first, then more urgently. Our bodies are pressed together, her softness pinned beneath me. There are so many things I’ve wanted to do with her, so much that I’ve wanted to explore, but the urgent need to be inside her is outweighing almost every other impulse.
I push it down, reminding myself she’s a virgin, that this would be her first time, and I’m not sure that’s something she wants. Even if it is, the first time demands some kind of ceremony. It isn’t a frantic, thrusting, needful thing done in the dark. There should be candles and rose petals. It should not follow a day of being held at gunpoint and very nearly killed.
I try to lose myself in the kiss, content to just be near her—until Helen pulls away with a frustrated little growl. “Why won’t you touch me?”
Her hair is mussed, her lips a little swollen, and she’s glaring at me like I’ve besmirched her honor, when that’s the very thing I’ve been trying to avoid doing. I might even laugh at her irritation, if I weren’t also feeling the same frustrating, pressing need. “I don’t want to take things too far. Once I start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
“Then don’t stop,” she insists, spreading her legs wider.
Heat jolts down through me, straight into my cock. “Helen,” I growl in warning.
“Please, Thad. I need you. I need you inside me.”
I capture her lips in mine before she can say anything else, because I honestly don’t know if I’m capable of self-control when she’s begging me to be inside her. This time I do touch her, though, running my hand up her thigh, and hoping that if I help her find her release, she’ll allow me to stay chivalrous and not deflower her before we’ve had a proper conversation about it.
She whimpers and gasps and twists around at my touch. After a few moments of teasing her, I dip my fingers into her panties to find her already soaking. Jesus.
To my surprise, she twists away from my touch. “I don’t need that. I need you inside me. I want to feel you inside me.”
I stare at her dumbly, heart pounding, sending all the blood in my body down to my dick. Struggling to remain coherent, I start running through the reasons why we shouldn’t have sex, out loud this time. “It’s your first time. We shouldn’t rush it.”
“I’m thirty-one years old. I’d hardly call that rushing it.”
I grit my teeth. “We’re both feeling the adrenaline from today. We should wait until we’re thinking more clearly.”
Helen grips my chin, forcing me to look at her. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But please don’t try to come up with excuses for me. I’m a grown woman. I know what I want. I want you.”
For a long moment, I stare at her, trying to remember again why I’ve been fighting so hard against this. Everything in me is urging me to sink into her warmth, feel her wrapped around me, and she is quite literally urging me to do the same.
Rolling off her, I push myself off the bed, shucking off my clothes. Naked, I move to the dresser for my wallet. I’m pretty sure I have a condom stuck in there. After checking the packaging for the expiration date, I tear it open, extracting the condom and rolling it on. It’s been a while, but turns out it’s just like riding a bike.
When I turn back, I see that Helen has also removed her clothes and is lying there, naked, waiting for me. For a moment, it feels like all the air has been pushed out of my chest. She is so Helen in that moment—brave and curious and determined and vulnerable all rolled into one—that it hurts to look at her.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, gently easing her legs open. “Is this still what you want?”
“Yes.”
I step in between her parted legs, encouraging her to wrap them around me, before I ease myself in slowly at her entrance, little by little. She is concentrating hard, her brow furrowed as she stares down at the place where our bodies meet. “Breathe,” I remind her, then push in a little deeper as she does so. “This okay?”
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little. But don’t stop.”
I won’t, but I do pause for a moment, reaching up to take her breasts. Her perfect, voluptuous breasts. I become entranced, watching the way they move, seeing the rest of her posture relax into the sensation. I turn my face up so I can lick and suck and bite at her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, her ear.
This time there’s less resistance as I sink in a little bit further. She gives a little involuntary gasp, her eyes pressing shut, but I’m in deep enough now that I know the best thing is to keep going forward. “Move with me,” I encourage her. “It’ll help it pass more quickly.”
I have only vague recollections from my younger years of this being true, but it seems right as I say it, and Helen obediently begins moving her body with mine. I’ve been so focused on her pleasure that it isn’t until I’ve sunk all the way in that I allow myself to really feel mine. For a moment, I’m blinded by it—her warmth, her scent, her sex clenching around me as her body moves to draw me in even deeper.
I rouse myself out of the sensation, trying to focus on her, make sure she’s all right, that this experience is memorable and meaningful and enjoyable. By now she’s moving at an almost frantic pace, encouraging me to keep up, and I think any pain or discomfort must be gone, or long eclipsed by something else. “Thad,” she breathes, urges, reprimands. There is so much need in that word.
Then all coherent thought disappears, and I’m simply moving, moving, bucking toward the sensation that’s building inside of me and that seems to have possessed her, too. The last conscious action that I take is feeling for that sensitive nub in between us. She gasps, and moans, and pulls me in tighter, tighter, and I finally let go.