37. Cant stop. Wont stop
Chapter 37
Can't stop. Won't stop
TOMER
K lein stops at the doorway to the lair, bobbing his index finger in front of his eye like a windshield wiper. “Doth my eyes deceive me?”
Overdramatic idiot.
“Yes. I’m here.” I spread my arms to the sides. “Eat your heart out.”
I took yesterday off to keep searching for Yev. He’s proving to be a slippery fucker. But when I see Shep this week, we’ll figure something out. He’ll have to go see Yuri. If he’ll let me, I’d like to go along too. For one, someone needs to hold Shep back from Yuri. And for two, if Shep’s going after him, I need to get a few punches in before he kills him.
Kidding.
Probably.
Klein bounds into the office, effusing glee from every pore. “Good morning. Nice to see you, man.”
Clearly.
After setting his shit down on the desk, he grabs my shoulders, squeezing and shaking me vigorously. Although I’m happy to see him—which I’ll never admit—I might punch him in the throat if he doesn’t calm down.
“Does this mean your back? Or is this another random pop-in like the other day when you saved our asses?” He straightens both arms toward me. “To be clear, either is fine. No rush. We’re handling everything without you. You be wherever you need to be.”
My eyes go for a roll around my skull. “Tone it down a notch or two, Captain Compassion. I’m back. Leave it at that.”
Mostly. I reserve the right to leave if the need arises.
Specifically, if Lettie needs me, or if I get a lead on Yev or Viktor that’s too good to pass by.
Klein’s shoulders roll back, and he wobbles his jaw. “Hmm. I like that.” Making a fist, he bends his arm, bringing it close to his midsection, and looks toward the ceiling in a superhero pose. “Captain Compassion. Bringing emotional support to the masses.” He relaxes his posture, laughing at himself before settling into his chair.
“Nice. I’ll have Sawyer put it on a door sign for you.” I sip my coffee, angling my head for a better look out the door into the hallway. “Where’s Mia?”
“She took yesterday and today off to recover. Perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see how she’s feeling.”
“I thought her injuries were superficial.”
“The way she was bound to the chair caused some delayed onset soreness of her muscles and joints. And she ended up with a fair amount of bruising. Some ligature marks.” He leans closer. “I get the feeling she doesn’t want people to see her weak or wounded .” He puts up air quotes.
My brow furrows instantly. “What? She’s the farthest thing from weak.”
“Agreed.” He pats his chest. “Preaching to the choir. But I get it. She’s a woman in a male-dominated field. And she’s still new here. She doesn’t want to appear frail or soft. I told her there’s nothing about what happened that would make her look inadequate, but...”
“If anything, it’s the opposite,” I offer.
My gut twists at the idea of Mia in pain or battered. Not to mention her thinking of herself as being perceived as lacking.
“Exactly.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Women, am I right?” His body tenses. “Pretend I didn’t say that. It was an errant thought. My mother would kill me if she heard that.”
“How is your mom?”
With his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, he freezes. “Tomer Stillman. Are you taking an interest in... personal matters?”
“Fuck you. I take it back.”
“Too late. You care.” He playfully punches my arm, jostling me some.
“Whatever.”
I can see him watching me from the corner of my eye. “What?”
“You seem different.” He shakes his head, bringing himself out of whatever moment he’s having. Perhaps it’s an emotional stroke. Too many feelings. Poor sap.
“Times. They are a-changin’,” I mutter, refocusing on the mountain of emails I need to handle.
“Anyway. About my mom. I get the feeling you heard about the uh... um... Alzheimer’s diagnosis, right?”
Solemnly, I nod and meet his eyes. “Yeah. I was here when we sent Henderson to watch her after Mia was taken. That must have been scary for her.”
“Scary for all of us.” He closes his eyes, seemingly steadying himself. When he opens them again, his strength is fortified. “Mom is doing okay. Yesterday wasn’t great, but last night was better. This morning was fine. She likes Mia.” His face transforms into a widening grin. “Thanks for asking.”
We make small talk for most of the morning in between work tasks. He catches me up on our new cases and small fires they’ve put out that had nothing to do with the fallout from the trafficking house bust. I get him up to speed on the capture of Kadin Dean, aka: Skidmark, leaving out some of the shit we did to him that night. But not all of it. Klein can handle it.
After a while, his curiosity catches up to him. He puts an elbow on the desk, angling his body toward me. Quietly, he asks, “How is Lettie?”
Perhaps it’s been enough sharing today, or maybe it’s just not a subject I feel like discussing, but I shut him down. “It’s a touchy subject.”
He cups my shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know. It’s gotta be hard for her.”
I guess the news of Lettie’s departure hasn’t made it all the way around the office yet. Nice of Big Al, Leo, and Josh to keep that shit quiet.
A few hours later, Klein excuses himself to pick up lunch.
“Why don’t you swing by the house and check on Mia and your mom while you’re at it?” I offer.
He pauses at the doorway, hand resting on the frame. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks, T. Back soon.”
Once he’s gone, I pull out my personal phone where a text is waiting from my sugar bear. I saw it come through earlier but didn’t reply since I had an audience. Problem solved for now.
Fine. You caught me. My suggestion for Klein to take some extra time away wasn’t entirely altruistic. So fucking sue me.
He and Mia have their own offices in addition to our shared space in the lair. I don’t. This is all I have.
As much as I like those two, some privacy every now and then is appreciated. Like now, for example. So I can talk to Lettie in peace.
Well, talk as in text . Lettie’s preferred method of communication. Same difference.
Yesterday, she messaged me to let me know she was moving into the women’s shelter. Then she followed that up with a bratty joke about how she was sure I already knew since I’m stalking her.
Snarks aside, I love that she’s keeping our lines of communication open. It gives me hope.
And who am I kidding? I fucking love her snark too.
Sugar Bear:
Do you have cameras in this place?
Me:
I designed the system and oversaw the install.
Sugar Bear:
Sounds like a big fat yes.
Me:
Affirmative. It’s a Redleg system. I could access them. But we have a team who monitors the common areas. And it’s recorded.
Sugar Bear:
Have you accessed the cameras since I’ve been here?
Me:
Actually, no.
Sugar Bear:
Gasp. Am I not entertaining enough for you?
Me:
Giving you privacy. I want to be a better man for you. I’m trying, sugar bear.
Sugar Bear:
Hmm.
Me:
What does that mean?
Sugar Bear:
I guess I’m unsure how I feel about the privacy thing.
Sugar Bear:
Did I just admit that? Hush my mouth and bless my heart.
Me:
Screenshot acquired.
Sugar Bear:
Oh please. Like you don’t have a log of all our communications saved anyway.
Me:
That’s a great idea. I’ll have to look into that.
Sugar Bear:
Rolling my eyes so hard. But you probably knew that, huh?
Me:
No. I didn’t. I can picture it in my mind’s eye, though.
Sugar Bear:
Why imagine it when you can see the real thing?
Me:
Sugar, do you want me to watch you or something?
Sugar Bear:
That would be insane. And while I’m currently in a facility with mental health care, it’s not the grippy sock type with a seventy-two-hour mandatory hold.
Me:
You didn’t answer my question.
Sugar Bear:
Didn’t I?
Me:
No. I’ll ask again. Do you want me to watch you?
Sugar Bear:
So I had therapy today.
Me:
Oh? How did therapy go? (I’ll pretend you didn’t change the subject to avoid answering.)
Sugar Bear:
It was interesting. She’s a wily one. I’ll need to watch her. She tricked me. Led me right into a trap. (Thank you for pretending.)
Me:
What kind of trap? (I need to go back to the other thing. Are you implying I have consent to watch you?)
Sugar Bear:
A sneaky therapist trap. She was asking innocuous questions, but they weren’t as innocent as they seemed. She was evaluating me. And I think I failed her little test. (Maybe)
Me:
Innocuous. That’s a fun word. If you can spell words like that, how could you ever fail any test? (Let me know when it’s firm)
Sugar Bear:
She caught me avoiding talking about the “bad stuff” and figured out I wasn’t comfortable eating or drinking prepared food. My lunch was a sealed frozen meal. Yummy. But at least they heated it up for me. (I bet if you were watching around 8pm tonight, something would be “firm.”)
Me:
Fuck the parentheses. Do they have visiting hours?
Sugar Bear:
Why?
Me:
You know why.
Sugar Bear:
Not a good idea.
Me:
Your vagina still isn’t mad at me?
Sugar Bear:
It misses you. Traitorous thing.
Me:
There’s a simple fix for that.
Sugar Bear:
Vibrator?
Me:
Fucking hell. You’re killing me, sweetness.
Sugar Bear:
I need to go. It’s arts and crafts time. Later, we’re going to roast marshmallows and make voodoo dolls of all the men who wronged us. I’m sure you’ll feel some random pricks and pains by bedtime, assuming I can figure out how to cast the spell properly.
Me:
You’re joking, right?
Sugar Bear:
Of course.
Me:
Thank fuck. I don’t believe in voodoo, but I don’t wanna push my luck.
Sugar Bear:
Oh we’re doing the voodoo dolls. I was joking about the marshmallows.
Me:
I’m proud of you for getting help. I wish I could have been there for you.
Sugar Bear:
You were there when I needed you most.
Me:
It’ll never be enough. I fucking miss you, Lettie.
Sugar Bear:
I can imagine. I’m pretty fantastic. What’s not to miss?
Me:
I know you were probably saying that jokingly, but I see you that way. I honestly do. Fantastic. Strong. Badass. Formidable. All those things. You’re a lot like him, you know?
Sugar Bear:
Really?
Me:
Yes.
Sugar Bear:
Is he a klutz too?
Me:
No. You must have gotten that from your mother.
Sugar Bear:
I’m jealous of you.
Me:
Me? Why?
Sugar Bear:
Because you know him.
Me:
He’s gonna love you, Lettie. And you’re going to love him. He’ll probably murder me, though. Will you mourn me?
Sugar Bear:
Unsure. Ask again another day. But... is he violent?
Me:
No more than the rest of us. He won’t really kill me. That was me, not knowing how to tell a joke.
Sugar Bear:
I’m glad we have these little talks. Even if I want to stab you most of the time.
Me:
If you’re wanting to stab me, might I suggest using your fingernails? Up and down my back. Really dig in there and scrape me all up to let out your frustrations. That’ll show me.
Sugar Bear:
Your flirting game has improved substantially since we broke up.
Me:
I don’t have any of my go-to moves to seduce you since you won’t see me. So I have to try new things. Broaden my horizons.
Sugar Bear:
Are you really trying to get me back? Or is this just a post-break-up loneliness thing?
Me:
The fact that you even have to ask that tells me I didn’t do a good enough job showing you how fucking perfect I think you are for the last year. I will never stop trying to get you back. And when I do, you’ll never doubt for a second how much you’re loved.
Sugar Bear:
Stop it.
Me:
I will never stop.
Sugar Bear:
You want me to give you another chance?
Me:
More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
Sugar Bear:
Go see a wily therapist of your own to figure out why you thought it was okay to lie to me for a solid year. Come back and tell me once you figure it out. Depending on the answer, we’ll see.
Me:
I never thought it was okay.
Sugar Bear:
And yet you did it anyway.
Me:
I’ve earned the voodoo doll. Make it painful, sugar.
Sugar Bear:
See you at 8pm. Well, actually I won’t see you. Whatever. You know what I mean.
Me:
You really want me to watch you, don’t you? This isn’t a joke?
Sugar Bear:
For someone with such a high IQ, you often have the emotional intelligence of a lava lamp. Nice to look at. Not all that bright.
Me:
Ah yes. Another inanimate object comparison. How perfectly sugar bear of you.
Sugar Bear:
Can you send me a lock of your hair for non-voodoo-related purposes?
I’m still smiling when Klein returns to the lair a while later. There’s a solid chance I’ll be smiling the rest of the day.