Chapter 39
The rest of the day passed without another incident.
She tried to ignore the fact she kissed him–ignore the surge in her chest every time she looked at him.
She wanted to chalk it up to a mistake, a lapse of judgment, over-exhaustion, anything that would prove it wasn’t something she actually wanted.
Unfortunately for her, part of her remained rebellious to all of her reasoning.
Her logical excuses couldn’t quite prevail over the desire to kiss him again.
He fell asleep much faster than she did, and the sound of his breathing frustrated her even more. It wasn’t fair he could sleep so easily on the floor (he said she could have the bed; she decided picking a fight wouldn’t end well), and she couldn’t fall asleep no matter how she tried.
After tossing and turning for a few minutes, she slipped out of the room. With no direction in mind, she ended up in the kitchen and decided a cup of hot tea might help enough that she could sleep.
She filled the kettle and turned the stove on. Then she leaned over the sink, stretching her shoulders and wondering what was wrong with her. After everything, how could she still care about him as much as she did? Because that was the damning reality.
She still cared. She still loved him. Somewhere under all of the callouses. Under all the bad memories of the last few years. That flame had never gone out, and now he was here. The proximity was stifling, causing the debris to be pulled away and proving that the fire was still there.
“Can’t sleep either?” She hadn’t heard the footsteps behind her, but years of practice still kept her from startling as Marsh entered the kitchen.
Clara turned, “Long day.”
“That’s an understatement.” Marsh slid into a chair at the table, her robe untied as she leaned back and relaxed. “Boil enough water for me to have a cup as well?”
Clara nodded, and when the kettle screamed, took it off and poured the two cups of tea.
“So,” Marsh gingerly took a sip of tea, “You and Carver.”
“Me and Carver, what?” Clara asked calmly, hoping this conversation wasn’t headed the direction it seemed to be.
“You have history?” She asked the question gently, nosy but pretending not to be.
“That’s an understatement.” Clara smiled lightly, and Marsh did the same at the reference to her earlier phrase.
“What happened?”
“Ah, you know. Men and their commitment issues.” Clara tried to shrug it off, but even those words felt like salt in an open wound.
“Really.” Marsh deadpanned. She leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea. “He doesn’t read like the one who would have commitment issues.”
“What are you implying?” Clara’s defenses rose, and though part of her knew it wasn’t fair, the other part was shouting that Marsh had no right to ask her any of these kinds of questions.
“I’m not implying anything.” Marsh shrugged, “No offense, but you seem far more likely to be the one with commitment issues. You walk around with like a million walls up; I don’t even think I’ve seen you smile outside of when you’re ‘in character.’”
“I’m an assassin.” Clara deadpanned, “What do you expect me to smile about?”
Marsh took another sip of tea, and for a moment Clara wanted to strangle her. Who was this woman to act like she knew her? “So he ended things then?” Was all she said.
“He did.”
“Huh.” Marsh let them slip into silence, and Clara couldn’t help but feel like she was being judged.
“What?” She blurted, irritation coating her voice.
“Just confuses me a little.” Marsh replied casually, adding absolutely nothing to the conversation.
“What does?”
“He is absolutely obsessed with you. Why would he end things with you?”
Clara tried to make sense of the words, “What do you mean ‘obsessed with me?’”
“Well, don’t hate me, but when he came down the other day I was definitely flirting with him.” Clara wanted to lash out, but knew any movement or expression on her part would only prove Marsh’s point, so instead she put the tea to her lips, watching Marsh from over the rim of her cup.
“He didn’t even notice. All he could talk about was you.
How amazing you are on this assignment, the plans you both had for breaking in, the brilliance he’s witnessed.
” Marsh paused as she downed the last of her tea, but Clara wouldn’t show whether or not the words hit home.
They did. “I don’t know what you did to that boy, but you’ve got some kind of hold on him. ”
Marsh set her cup in the sink, and left Clara alone in the dim kitchen. She didn’t mean to have a hold on him. She didn’t mean to be anything at all. “He’s obsessed with me.” She murmured to the darkness trying to wrap her mind around that idea.
There was no way to reconcile it. She couldn’t understand him obsessing over her and him ending things with her.
His insistence that she was weak, while bragging to others of her strength.
He had become two different people in her mind, and she didn’t know how to bring them back together.
Which man would he be today? The one she kissed in the alley? She grimaced at that thought.
Or the one she almost slapped when he said he wouldn’t be her crutch?
She closed her eyes and let herself relive that moment.
She felt the excitement from having been assigned to special ops.
The joy of wanting to celebrate it with the person she loved the most. Her heart was pounding as she ran down the hallway to reach him.
She threw her arms around him, practically jumping into his arms. And he sat her down and pushed her away.
Her heart sank at his stern look. Then he tore into her.
He said she was weak. He said he wouldn’t be a crutch for her.
“You need to grow up! Stop being so weak. It’s pathetic.
I can't do this anymore.” His final words and he walked away without looking back.
He didn’t give her a chance to interject.
Didn’t give her a chance to change his mind, to explain her choices.
Just walked away down the hallway she couldn’t follow.
She had stood there for what felt like hours.
Too numb to even cry. Too upset and shocked to process anything beyond the fact there was no longer a person in front of her.
When she finally found the strength to walk back down her own hallway, she resolved within herself that she would never be weak again.
If he ever saw her again, he wouldn’t recognize her.
Did she accomplish her goal?