Chapter Four Karmen
I know I’m the last person Benson wants to see right now, but here I am, standing in front of his apartment door.
I still can’t get over the way he looked at me today, with so much anger and resentment.
But how can I blame him? After the way I treated him, I’d hate me too.
But he doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know the real reason I ran from the cabin that day, and I’m not sure it even matters now.
My stomach churns, a wave of nausea rolling through me as I summon the courage to knock. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he tells me to leave and slams the door in my face?
Collecting a deep breath, I roll the cylinder-shaped fidget between my palms, the sharp metal biting into my skin.
The small sliver of relief it offers is enough to stave off my anxious thoughts, so I slip it into my jacket pocket.
I discovered the small device one night while scrolling on the internet.
I’d been struggling with the intense emotional distress of our break-up.
My spiraling thoughts were often hard to manage, and the bite of pain helped to ground me and keep me present, instead of constantly drowning in the past.
I’ve carried it ever since.
My fingers tingle as I raise my hand to knock, and a few moments later, the door swings open.
The air freezes in my lungs, pulse racing just like it did the first time I laid eyes on him.
He was off limits then. Like he is now. We can never go back to the place we were before.
Not because I don’t want to. I would give anything to be back in his arms. In his bed.
In his heart.
But I know he closed that door forever the day I walked away from him.
The day I walked away from us.
He’s still wearing his uniform, shirt unbuttoned, revealing his hard, chiseled abs. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his muscled forearms. Heat coils in my lower belly, and my mouth goes dry.
He narrows his eyes at me, mouth twisting in anger. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, voice low and rough.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, hating the ire in his voice. “We need to talk.”
His blue eyes are glacial. “You lost the right to talk to me a long time ago.”
He attempts to slam the door in my face, but I extend my arm, stopping it with the palm of my hand. His eyes are cold and hard. Bloodshot.
“I want to help you.”
“Bullshit.” His sardonic laugh is a slice to the chest. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You proved that to me a long time ago.”
“Look, I know you’re angry, but—”
His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Oh, I’m feeling a lot of things right now, sweetheart, and anger is just one of them.”
The contempt in his voice stings, but I hold my ground. “Fine. You hate me. I get it. But I know you didn’t do this.”
He stares at me for what feels like an eternity before he finally releases the handle on the door, allowing me to come inside. “You don’t know shit about me.”
Five years may have passed, but there was a time when I knew this man better than anyone. He’s right. I don’t know him now, but I still know who he is at his core.
He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at me. “You know, once they find out I fucked you, they’ll throw your ass off the case.”
My heart twists painfully. His cruel words are a sharp dagger to the chest.
“They already know,” I say.
After I left Ramirez, I drove straight to the bureau and told them myself. Then I resigned. I never wanted that job anyway. Taking it was a last resort.
He blinks several times at my revelation, glaring at me. “Why? Why would you jeopardize your precious career for me?”
God, I’d give anything to go back to that day at the cabin and do things differently.
Where would we be now if I weren’t such a coward?
If I hadn’t thrown away the one thing that ever truly meant anything to me?
Over the years, I’ve often wondered what my life would look like had I stayed and chosen him instead.
“Because I care about what happens to you.”
He scoffs. I know he doesn’t believe me.
And why should he? I’ve given him every reason to hate me.
The truth is, we used to make a great team.
He was my superior back then, but it never felt that way when we worked together for the Secret Service.
He always valued my opinion and made me feel like an equal despite our positions.
I know we can figure this out together if he could only allow himself to trust me again.
Neither one of us moves, eyes locked in a silent standoff.
The tension between us is killing me. I can’t stand how he keeps me at arm’s length.
I remember a time when he couldn’t stand not touching me.
Silence stretches between us, taut and electric, filled with unspoken words, memories, mistakes, and the kind of hurt that never fully heals.
He squeezes his eyes closed, and when they reopen, that unfiltered emotion is gone.
“I’m too drunk for this shit,” he mutters, driving a hand through his hair.
Without another word, he shrugs off his shirt, then tosses it on the chair before staggering down the hall toward the bedroom.
I inhale in a deep breath, then follow. When I enter the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed, all the tension drained from his body. His defeated posture tightens my chest.
“Someone’s trying to destroy me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and frayed with emotion. “Destroy everything I’ve worked for. The only good thing I have left.”
That familiar ache I’ve carried for so long squeezes my lungs, and it’s almost impossible to breathe.
I kneel before him, his red-rimmed eyes lifting to mine, and for once, they’re not filled with resentment.
For the first time since seeing him again, I see the man I fell in love with all those years ago.
“We’ll find out who’s doing this,” I murmur. “I promise.”
Lifting his hand to my face, his fingers tremble between us, but he stops himself from touching me, a pained expression on his handsome face. He collapses backward onto the bed and mutters, “My Karmen.”
My heart soars at the sound of those words leaving his lips. I would do anything to be his again.
It’s not long before he’s out cold, a soft snore filling the quiet space.
Unlacing his boots, I tug them off one by one, then peel off his socks before getting to my feet.
The clinking of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet room.
I ease the leather free, then unbutton his pants and pull them off too, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.
I maneuver him beneath the comforter as best I can.
When I straighten and look down at him, a deep sense of longing twists in my stomach.
The harsh lines of his face soften with sleep as I brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment too long.
Then I force myself to leave the room because, if I don’t, I may crawl into that bed with him.