Chapter 27 #2
I was curled up in my beanbag when I heard the knock on the door, my tablet in my lap, although I hadn’t been paying attention to the show I’d put on. I barely had any sense of what it even was.
I ignored the knock.
“Hey, kid,” I heard Hart say, loudly. “You don’t have to let me in, but at least get over here and listen, okay?”
I really didn’t want him to be yelling in the hallway, so I dragged myself out of the beanbag and opened the door.
I didn’t bother saying anything, but Hart took it as an invitation to come inside. He closed the door behind him, but stayed standing as I sank back into my beanbag, the action of walking across the room and back having drained me of energy.
“Okay, here’s the fucking deal,” the elf said, shifting his weight back and forth. “I know he was almost certainly being an overbearing shit, but you can’t just leave it like this.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
Hart sighed. “He’s miserable,” he said softly.
“Looks like he hasn’t slept in two days.
Probably hasn’t, honestly, because I’m pretty sure he’s in the same fucking shirt he had on on Tuesday.
” It was either late Thursday night or possibly early Friday morning.
I wasn’t sure. “I haven’t seen him eat, either, come to think of it, and I know he’s gonna need to do that at some point, because a shifter’s metabolism gets real fucked up if they go too long without enough food. ”
He was right. I felt tears slip from my eyes, but I didn’t move. And I didn’t say anything.
“Tell me he was a complete and utter jackass and deserves this,” Hart said.
“N-no,” I managed. Overbearing, yes. But he hadn’t deserved what I’d done to him.
“Then whatever the fuck happened, if it isn’t his fault, or only partly his fault, or, fuck, even if it is completely and entirely his fault, if you don’t think he deserves to be punishing himself, then get him to cut it the fuck out.
” He paused, cleared his throat. “We’ve been trying,” he said softly.
“Brought him food. Water. Coffee. He’ll drink, but I couldn’t even get him to throw the box of Frosted Flakes at me, much less eat them. ”
Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t say anything, emotion too tight in my throat.
“Please, kid. At least text him.”
I stayed in my beanbag, guilt roiling in my intestines.
“You know he loves you,” Hart said then.
“No, he doesn’t.” You can’t love someone if you treat them like a pet.
Another sigh. “Yeah, he fucking does,” he argued.
“You think this is what happens when you don’t love someone?
” he barked out a laugh that was more bitterness than mirth.
A lot more. “Trust me, kid, been there, eaten that shit. If you care about him, please, for the love of all that is holy or unholy or whatever the fuck you believe in, put him out of his fucking misery. Tell him it’s over or tell him what to do to win you back or whatever the fuck it is you want, but don’t leave him like this. ”
“I—I can’t,” I told him.
“Why the fuck not?”
I hadn’t expected Hart to argue with me. “Because I’m…” I didn’t know how to explain. Not really. “I’m a killer.”
“Fuck, kid, so am I. So’s he. You think you get to be a federal fucking field agent without firing a gun? That shithead’s killed with his paws. More than once. Does he like doing it? Fuck, no. But he’s done it before and will do it again when he has to.”
I heard footsteps as he came over, then the creak of joints as he squatted beside my beanbag.
“You want to know something? Nobody who matters gives a rat’s ass that you killed your uncle.
Or that shitheel Mulrooney. Or, I’m guessing, the guy who had a heart attack and hit the light pole.
Or any of those shitheads from the Church of Unholy Judgment.
” He paused for a moment. “Anybody I’m missing from the list? ” he asked.
I shook my head, only a little surprised that Hart knew about the man in the car. But he was already moving on.
“Great. If you’d given me a dozen orderlies or some shit from Tranquil Brook, I wouldn’t have wasted two fucking seconds worrying about their sorry asses, either.
My point, kid, is that sometimes you have to kill or be killed, and nobody—especially not Rajesh Parikh—is going to judge you for that, got me? ”
“I—hurt him,” I whispered.
“Well, yeah. We do that sometimes, to people we love—”
“No,” I interrupted him. “I mean…” I wiggled my fingers.
Hart was silent for a beat. “On purpose?” he asked, his voice soft, controlled.
I shook my head.
“So then that’s a you problem,” he replied mildly. “Not a him problem.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“So work on your fucking magic, kid. I don’t know how it works and I mostly don’t fucking care, but I do know that you can control it—but I also know that sometimes shit gets real and the sparks start flying, literally or figuratively.
” He shrugged. “But since Raj is still very obviously breathing, you didn’t do anything irreparable, so decide whether you’re going to end it, or suck it the fuck up and let him give you a tongue bath or whatever fucked-up shit you do that I don’t want or need to know about. Got me?”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open.
“Got me, kid?”
I nodded, more out of reflex than anything else.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” He pushed himself to standing, grunting a little, then turned to go.
“Hart?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“How?”
He let out a strangled laugh. “Fuck if I know, kid. Not my relationship. The box of Frosted Flakes was my best idea, and it failed.” He ran his hand over his braid.
“Seriously, kid, I don’t know. I wish I did.
But we’re all worried to shit about him, and from where I’m sitting, you’re the only one who can fix it before the stripey dumbfuck does something monumentally stupid and gets himself shot. ”
“Shot?” Worry sliced through me.
Hart sighed. “You have a bad day in some jobs, you spill coffee on your crotch. At our jobs, you get fucking mangled by a ghost or cursed or fucking shot. So yeah. If he doesn’t get his shit together and something goes sideways? Shot is a very real possibility.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
Hart nodded. “Don’t wait too long, kid, okay?”
It took me almost twelve hours to get up the courage to do anything, mostly because I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do.
I felt like my whole relationship with Raj was built on me doing unforgivable things that he kept forgiving me for, and that felt awful.
So I started with an apology text.
I’m sorry.
Are you okay? came back almost immediately.
Not really, I told him honestly. Are you mad at me?
I’m worried, not mad.
You should be mad. He should be furious.
I miss you.
That made me tear up, which was a bit awkward, since I had to try to make sure the client sitting over on the couch didn’t notice, although I suppose that’s what I got for putting this off until I got to work the next day instead of just sucking it up and texting him at eleven p.m. the night before, which was about when Hart had left.
Come over after work? I sent back.
I’ll bring dinner.
I hesitated, then typed, I want to cook.
I don’t know why, but it just seemed more appropriate if I made him dinner.
Of course, that was stupid, considering that I wasn’t really a very good cook at all, but I did have a few packages of Sam’s family’s Italian Stallion hot Italian sausage and some slow-cooked tomato sauce from a few weeks ago in the freezer, so I could do something with those that wouldn’t be terrible.
What can I bring? Raj texted back.
Nothing, I sent. Just you.
And then I very deliberately shut off my phone.
The apartment smelled pretty good by the time I got the text letting me know he’d arrived. I hit the buzzer for the door, holding it for the required four seconds that it usually took people to yank the door open.
My heart pounded the whole time it took him to either take the stairs or ride the elevator up to my floor.
The knock on my door was gentle, but I still jumped. I made myself take Mason’s advice before leaving the kitchen. I counted to ten, drawing in slow, deep breaths. Then I went.
I opened the door, knowing my eyes were wide and my hands shaking.
Raj had been looking down, and he lifted his head to look at me through thick, dark lashes. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. His lips twitched slightly, and he reached out a slow hand to brush his thumb across my cheek.
I sucked in a breath.
He turned his hand to show me the red on his thumb.
I felt my face flush. “Tomato sauce,” I muttered, embarrassed.
He stuck it in his mouth. “Good tomato sauce,” he said softly. “Rayn, I—”
I stood on my toes, grabbing the front of his rumpled button-down shirt with my good hand—a soft butter yellow—and pulled his lips to mine.
One big hand slid into my hair, cupping the back of my head as he pushed me into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him, his tongue taking possession of my mouth as his other hand held me up with his palm pressed against my spine.
My back hit the wall, and that hand slid down, over my hip and under my ass to lift me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing a growl from him as I pulled our hips together.
“Fuck, Rayn,” he gasped against my lips.
I wrapped my good hand behind his neck, pulling his mouth back to mine.
In the kitchen, a timer went off. Probably the garlic bread, although I didn’t particularly care.
Raj pulled back. “Do you—”
I kissed him again, the feel of his body’s reaction sending electricity through my nerve-endings.
The timer beeped again, having not been shut off in the last thirty seconds.
I felt Raj laugh against my mouth, and I let out a faint sound of protest.
“You should get that,” he said gently, putting me back on my feet.
I glared at him, only half-serious.
“We wouldn’t want to burn the apartment complex down, would we?” His eyes sparked, and his lips were both swollen from kissing and curved faintly upward.