Chapter 15 #2
The sight of her made him hold the stare a bit longer. To really look at her. Something about the way the morning light caught the curve of her neck, the focused intensity in her posture, the casual intimacy of her wearing his clothes—
He shook the thought away and reached for his favorite mug.
“Did you cut my shirt?”
She glanced down at the hem, which now hit her mid-thigh instead of somewhere around her ankles. “You’re a giant. It was either cut it or put a belt around my waist and wear it as a dress.”
“And you chose scissors?”
“I didn’t have my belt.”
“That’s destruction of property.”
“That’s practical problem-solving.” She looked back at her laptop screen. “Besides, you have like twenty identical shirts. You won’t even notice.”
“I’m a detective. I notice everything.” He poured coffee into his mug and took the first sip, savoring the bitter warmth. “What are you working on?”
“It’s too early to call Aletheia, so I’m cross-referencing the timeline from the file against what Damien told us. Something about the psychiatric evaluation bothers me. The deterioration happened too fast, even for trauma-induced psychosis.”
The doorbell rang.
Blade froze, coffee mug halfway to his lips. He’d completely forgotten to text Kiara back. The missed calls. The unanswered messages.
Dread washed over him as he opened the door to find Kiara on his doorstep, looking cheerful and ready for work. The warm, sweet smell of pastries wafted from a white bakery bag in her hands. Her blond hair fell in perfect waves, her green eyes bright with morning energy.
“Good morning, sunshine. I brought you—”
Her gaze flicked past his shoulder and landed on Tori, who had moved to stand by the couch, still wearing his shirt. The warmth in her eyes chilled instantly, replaced by a cool, polite mask.
“Kiara, I can explain—”
“No need.” She stepped inside, her voice maintaining its gentle cadence despite the frost in her expression. She placed the bag of pastries on the counter. “After what Tori learned last night, it’s understandable she’d need a shoulder to cry on.”
“I wasn’t crying,” Tori mumbled.
His eyes snapped a warning look to her. Not now.
“I just wanted to drop by on my way to work,” Kiara said. “Make sure Blade ate something because I know he doesn’t always take care of himself.” She attempted a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Coffee isn’t a meal, you know.”
“Kiara, listen—” He scrambled for words that might fix this.
“Blade, could we have a minute?” Kiara’s eyes flicked toward Tori then back to him. “Just us.”
Tori snapped the laptop closed and pulled her cord free. She stacked her notepad and laptop under one arm. “I need a shower anyway.” Eyes down, she cut across the living room. The guest room door snicked shut, leaving him and Kiara alone.
“Let’s sit.” He touched her elbow, guiding her to the couch.
Every half-formed excuse collapsed before it left his throat. An apology would never make up for the way he’d dodged her calls, dragged her through Tori’s entire case last night, then didn’t bother mentioning Tori would be sleeping over. Kiara didn’t deserve this.
He sat beside Kiara, and she scooted over, putting space between them.
She studied his face, probably cataloguing the exhaustion. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” he said on a laugh. “Exactly what every guy wants to hear.”
She didn’t smile. Her gaze dropped to her hands, and he noticed her blush pink nail polish. So perfectly innocent. So perfectly her. The thought of his own stupidity made him feel like pond scum.
“Kiara, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, going on between me and Tori.”
She looked up at him, green eyes clear. “That’s just it. There’s a whole universe between you two. A shared history I could never be a part of.”
“That’s not—”
“Please.” She held up a hand. “This isn’t about anything you’ve done wrong. I’m not accusing you of anything.”
The words hit him wrong. She deserved better than his lip service. Better than him fumbling through damage control. Better than whatever this was.
“You’re a good man.” She squeezed his hand once, then let it go. “But your heart belongs to someone else. I suspect it always has.” She laughed without humor. “I don’t understand why you two can’t see it when everyone else can.”
Words gathered, then died on his tongue. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, beg her not to end things. But part of him—the part that had felt something shift when Tori had broken down in his arms last night—knew she was right.
“You and Tori . . . there’s something between you two that I could never compete with,” she whispered.
“And I shouldn’t try. You deserve the person who already owns your heart, even if neither of you has admitted it.
” She swallowed, offering him a sad smile.
“You’re in love with her, Blade. You just can’t see it yet. ”
In love with Tori?
“Don’t be upset. This really is for the best.”
She stood and wrapped him in a hug that smelled like her vanilla perfume. “Open your eyes, Blade. Tori’s actually an amazing woman.”
Her kindness cut straight through him. Anger would have been easier. Jealousy he could have fought against. But this gentle understanding, this graceful exit from his life, left him hollowed out and grateful and ashamed all at once.
He walked her to the door, his feet heavy on the hardwood.
“Take care of yourself.” She kissed his cheek, then was gone.
Blade closed the door behind her and leaned against it, staring at the bag of pastries on his counter. The white paper bag sat there like a symbol of the normal life that had just walked out his door.