Chapter 5 — Dean #2
Her eyes meet mine and I see tears on her cheeks. Not sobbing. Not hysterical. Just silent tracks running down her face that she's not bothering to wipe away.
"I was so scared." Her voice breaks on the last word. "I sat here for seven hours and I was terrified the whole time. Every time I heard a siren I thought it was for you. Every time my phone didn't ring I thought it meant you were dead and no one wanted to tell me yet."
I pull her against my chest. She comes immediately. Wraps her arms around my waist and holds on.
The wound pulls but I don't care.
She's shaking, I can feel it through my whole body.
Something in me breaks. Something that's been locked down since Perry died. Since I walked into that warehouse knowing I was going to kill people tonight.
"I'm sorry," I say into her hair.
"Don't apologize." She pulls back enough to look at me. The tears are still falling but her jaw is set. "Just don't die. I can't handle you dying."
"I'll try."
"That's not good enough."
"It's all I can give you." I cup her face. Feel the wetness of her tears under my thumbs. "This is the life. People die. I can't promise I'll always come back."
She stares at me. Her brown eyes searching my face for something. "Then I guess I have to decide if you're worth being this scared."
My chest tightens. "And?"
"You are." She covers my hands with hers. "But you need to know what you're asking me to live with. The waiting. The fear. Not knowing if you're coming home."
"I know. And you need to know what you're asking me to live with. If something happens to you because you're with me, I won't survive it. That's not drama. That's fact."
Her breath hitches. "Then we're both terrified."
"Yeah."
"And we're still doing this."
"Yeah." I wipe her tears with my thumbs even though new ones are already falling. "I'm still all in if you are."
She nods. Takes a shaky breath. "I am. I'm in."
She reaches up and kisses me. Soft at first. Then harder. Like she's trying to convince herself I'm real and here and alive.
When she pulls back she says, "You need to shower."
"I know."
She takes my hand. Leads me down the hallway to the bathroom. Starts the water. While it heats she helps me strip. Careful around the tape. My shirt smells like smoke and gunpowder. My jeans are stiff with dried blood that isn't all mine.
When I'm naked she pulls my t-shirt over her head. Steps out of her underwear. Then we're under the spray together.
The water runs pink at our feet. She washes my hair. Her fingers gentle on my scalp. Cleans the soot from my face and neck. When she gets to the tape on my ribs she's cautious not to disturb it.
I just stand there and let her take care of me. Let myself be taken care of for the first time in longer than I can remember.
When I'm clean she turns in my arms. Presses her back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her. One hand splayed across her soft stomach. The other across her collarbone.
We stand like that for a long time. Just breathing together under the hot water.
"I killed two people tonight," I say.
She doesn't pull away. "I know."
"Perry's still dead."
"I know that too."
"And I'd do it again. All of it. Because that's who I am."
She turns in my arms. Looks up at me. Water runs down her face. "I know who you are. I'm not asking you to be someone else."
"You should."
"Maybe." She touches my face. Her palm against my cheek. "But I'm not."
I kiss her. Slow and deep. Not urgent. Just necessary. A reminder that I'm alive and she's here and we chose this.
When I pull back I say, "I love you."
"I know." She smiles a little. Sad but real. "You told me before you left."
"I'm telling you again now that I'm back."
"Good." She kisses me again. "I love you too."
We stay in the shower until the water starts to cool. Then she turns it off and we dry each other. She changes the tape and gauze on my ribs. Her hands steady now.
In my bed we lie facing each other. Both of us still damp. The gray light of pre-dawn coming through the window.
"What time is it?" she asks.
I glance at the clock. "Almost seven."
She's quiet for a moment. Then, "We have to tell my dad today."
"I know."
"He's going to be so angry." Her voice is small. "You're his best friend. Twenty years. And I'm his daughter. He's going to feel like we both betrayed him."
"Probably."
"He might not forgive you."
"I know."
"Are you still okay with this? Knowing what it'll cost?"
I look at her. Really look. Her dark hair spread across my pillow. Her brown eyes watching me. The soft curves of her body under my sheets.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm still okay with it. Are you?"
She moves closer. Presses her forehead against mine. "I'm terrified. But yeah. I'm okay with it."
We lie there as the sun comes up. Neither of us sleeping. Just holding onto each other.
Around seven she says, "I should get dressed."
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves for another five minutes.
Finally I sit up. The wound pulls but the tape holds. "We should go now. Before I lose my nerve."
She sits up too. "Together."
"Together."
We dress in silence. She borrows clean clothes from my dresser. Jeans that are too big and a t-shirt she has to knot at the side. I pull on jeans and a clean black shirt. My cut.
At the door she takes my hand. Squeezes hard. "Whatever he says, we're solid. Right?"
"We're solid."
She takes a breath. Lets it out slow. "Okay. Let's do this."
I open the door and we walk out into Sunday morning.