I stared at Law leaning against my wall. I wasn’t as convinced as Law was that Morris wouldn’t press charges. He had the entire police force in his pocket. Morris didn’t need a bloody face; he could have put Law away without any evidence. Why was Law so sure he wouldn’t press charges?
“You threatened him, didn’t you?” I didn’t expect Law to tell me the truth. He’d been feeding me lies since the inception of our relationship. I’d asked the question not looking for an answer, but to let Law know I was already aware. I turned back to pick up the now bloody cloth and antiseptic, when Law replied.
“Yes.” I spun back, surprised by his honesty. “I was one good punch away from ending his miserable life when I stopped myself. I’m not that person, Nami. I don’t intimidate suspects. I follow the rules. But I really fucking wanted to finish him off.” The look in Law’s eyes, the grimace on his face, let me know he was telling the truth. Truth was uglier than lies, and the ugliness in Law had me convinced.
Setting the antiseptic and bloody rag down, I made my way to Law. I wasn’t sure what to make of this moment between us. Something fundamental had shifted, but instead of feeling unsteady, I felt sure.
I leaned against the wall with Law. The only sound in the apartment was our breaths. I imagined what it would have been like to punch Morris in the face. For months I’d envisioned throwing my entire body on top of Morris, kicking him, beating him, and eventually tearing out the wicked heart that beat his black blood.
“How did it feel?” I asked, cocking my head toward Law.
Law grinned. “Really fucking good.”
It was six in the morning. Sun had risen beyond the clouds, illuminating a pale gray sky. Law had fallen asleep on my couch an hour after he’d shown up. I’d cleaned him up some more and given him the biggest t-shirt I owned, an old rag from when I used to volunteer. It was still a little small for him. On the front it had some pithy saying about animals, and my heart hurt for Raskol again.
Now I clutched my arms against myself, my breath fogging the glass of the window I looked out. Where did I go from here? Behind me a man slept on the couch, but not just any man. A man who appeared to be a pathological liar, but was perhaps the only truth I’d known in months.
Beyond me, past the frozen glass, a city slept. A corrupt and morally bankrupt city that prided itself on its morals slept soundly. I’d spent months trying to clean the rotting black ooze from the city and all I’d managed to do was catch a bit of the corruption myself.
I touched my hand to the cool glass. I was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of losing. Tired of the Nami I’d become. Christmas was in a few days and I only knew that by the lights that glowed outside. Inside, I was totally black.
I used to love Christmas. I wasn’t religious, but I was one of those nuts that loved to celebrate anyway. I loved the lights. I adored the smells: nutmeg, gingerbread, pine. You name it, I loved it. Everything from the trees to the snowmen to the baking had me cheery and filled with glee.
Removing my fingers from the glass, I turned to face Law. My apartment was noticeably glee-less. Cold, gray, a bit dirty. The paint was peeling and mismatched. The furniture was old and weathered. And a man I couldn’t trust, but who somehow still held my heart, slept on my tattered couch.
“You’re staring.” Even though his eyes were closed and his breathing steady, Law spoke. I wasn’t surprised by it. There was little left Law could do to surprise me.
“Yeah,” I responded. “It’s my place, I can stare if I want.” With easy determination Law sat up from the couch. His hair was a mess, the clothes he wore wrinkled and a little bloody despite the change, but he was still Law: hard, calculating, and ever observant.
“So, what’s the staring about?” Law asked.
“Deciding whether I should kick you out or make you coffee.” I strolled by the couch, my fingers dancing along the edge of the worn fabric.
“And?” Law tilted his head to peer up at me.
“You’re not getting kicked out.” I went into my kitchen and called over my shoulder, “But you’re not getting coffee either.” In response I heard the telltale creak of old springs, letting me know Law had stood up. As I went about my morning routine, making black coffee that I would drink on my shitty fold-out chairs, Law watched. He didn’t say a word as the coffee filtered and dripped. His mouth never opened when I made myself a cup and poured the rest down the drain, just in case he got any ideas about making himself a cup.
When I sat down, I kicked the other chair out as a gesture for him to sit.
“So,” Law said, his eyes watchful.
I sipped my disgusting coffee, deciding to cut to the chase. “We have to be one hundred percent honest with each other. If you lie to me one more time, I’m done. No more showing up bloody, looking for redemption. No more gentle phrases. Done.”
Law smiled crookedly. “Does that mean you’ll give us a chance?”
“It means…” I looked back outside at the gray sky. Snow covered the ground, but it was old snow. The air was too cold for the snow to melt, but not wet enough for new snow to fall. The world looked dirty and gray, and I felt like that was fitting. Because the world was dirty and gray. Full of rapists. And liars. And people who’d been broken by the grayness, turned into shells of their former selves.
“It means,” I said, turning back to Law. “It means I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either.”
Sometime later, after I’d finished my coffee, we still sat at the table. The sun had risen higher, making the world a brighter gray. It was the weekend, which meant families were out together. Weekends weren’t any different to me than weekdays. Every day was marked by loneliness.
“What are you thinking?” Law asked.
“Nothing.” I waved my hand flippantly.
“I thought we had to be honest with each other?” I glared at Law’s rhetorical question. When I’d set the ultimatum, I’d been referring to him. Of course he was right, though. I’d said we had to be one hundred percent honest with each other, and I wasn’t exempt.
“I’m lonely, okay?” I spat. “It’s almost Christmas and I’m fucking lonely. It’s been a bitter year and I’m throwing myself a pity party.” I looked away from Law. Not wanting to see the outside, filled with holiday joy and families, I made myself stare at a stain on the floor.
“Have you heard the theory of multiple universes, Nami?” Law’s question broke my meditation. I turned and stared blankly at him, not sure where he was going with his train of thought.
“There’s a theory that states there are multiple universes just like ours,” Law continued. “Each universe is exactly the same. So, if the theory holds true, there are millions of Laws out there having this exact same conversation.”
“So?” I asked, still not sure what he was getting at.
“So, Nami, there are millions of Namis experiencing the same pain as you. There are millions of Namis going through your exact situation. You are never alone.” I didn’t know how to respond, so naturally I looked away. In truth, it was probably the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me.
It had only been a few days since Law had shown up bloody and begging for redemption, but it felt like forever ago. Time was weird like that. When you didn’t sleep, the days stretched on and on, almost feeling like they never ended. My relationship with Law was lost somewhere in that time. We hadn’t defined it, but we hadn’t destroyed it either.
Since then, he hadn’t texted or called. My phone stayed silent, dead like a brick in my pocket. I remembered wanting the buzzing to stop and now that it had, I was at a loss. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was impossible to deny: I missed Law. I tried lying to myself, I tried constructing a fence of denial, but each time I reached for my phone to check the time, the pang in my gut reminded me of the truth. I missed Law.
I missed his texts. I missed his obstinate force. I missed his stubborn will. I missed him. I could have easily picked up the phone and called him…
<
br /> I shook my head and stuck my key in the lock. That morning I’d left to go steal some heat from a grocery store. I’d left to get warm but I’d also left to forget. Once upon a time I’d run from my old apartment because it was riddled with memories. I’d seen Morris everywhere I went. While avoiding hypothermia at the grocery store, though, I realized something: I saw Law everywhere.
I saw Law in my apartment. I saw Law on my couch. I felt him against my skin. I heard him in the wind. The yearning I had for him was so visceral that I almost wished for Morris again. It was so much easier to hate. Hate was fuel but love was fire, and it was slowly burning me up inside out. I kicked the door open, ready to drown myself in some whiskey, but the sight I saw stunned me to the spot.
Flowers. Flowers everywhere. I put a hand to my mouth, shocked. Dandelions covered my couch and chair. The golden crowns were like small suns in my apartment. They made my dismal, dingy living room shine. There were so many of them that they smothered the floor and made it invisible.
It was beautiful.
After months of psychological torture and abuse, though, my first instinct was to run. I saw the display and assumed it meant something terrible.
I reached behind my back and gripped the doorknob, ready to sprint out of my apartment and ready to flee, when I noticed a card lying on the couch. My hand still held the knob but sweat now made it slippery. What if this was some kind of trick? What if Morris was sending me a message?
As my thoughts started to spiral down that slippery, knife-infested slope that had been my home the past few months, I exhaled. I released the bad thoughts, the breath feeling like noxious gas. Releasing my grip, I stepped into the apartment. Getting over Morris wouldn’t be easy, but I had to start somewhere. Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring my gun along for the ride.
I pulled out my .22 and walked to the couch, picking up the card like it was an explosive. It was cream colored and textured with no identifying features. Just as I was about to open the card, my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I saw who was calling and I stumbled, nearly dropping my gun and the card.
“Hello?” I asked, answering on the first ring.
“Did you get my flowers?” Law’s heady, deep brogue was evident even through the crackle of my shitty phone.
I glanced around my apartment. “You sent these? Why?”
“I’m trying to apologize, Nami.” I frowned even though I knew he couldn’t see it. The flowers were extraordinary and breathtaking, but they were just flowers.
“You think a couple of flowers can fix us?” I whispered the words because I almost didn’t want him to hear. I wanted to say I loved the flowers. I wanted to say I was ready to trust him again. I wanted to throw all the shit and garbage that had piled up between us out the window and just roll around in the dandelions.
“No.” Law paused for a minute. “But they’re a start.” I picked up a fully formed dandelion. Its head was round and wispy. Where had Law gotten so many? I thought they were beautiful, but most considered them a weed—not to mention it was the dead of winter in Utah. I blew the head, watching the wisps float away.
“It must have taken a while to get these,” I said at last.
“It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Over and over again Law had said I was worth something. When I felt useless, he showed me I was useful. Still, a glare the size of an eclipse hung over our relationship, and its name was Morris. Law had lied about so many things, I wasn’t sure where to begin unraveling. “Nami, let me show you something. Let me prove to you that I’m in this.”
“I don’t know…” My fingers trailed across the flowers.
“I’ll pick you up in thirty. Dress for cold weather.” Law hung up the phone, leaving me with that cryptic statement. I was ready to huff and sigh, ready to forget him along with his secrets, when I remembered the letter in my hand. I opened the card and read.
Dandelions for my Dandelion. I would pick a thousand of these everyday if it showed you how much you’re worth.
“So what is this? A kidnapping?” I asked as Law opened the door of his Range Rover for me with a grin. I slid inside, frowning.
“Do you know of many kidnappings that start out like this?” Law shut the door and made his way to the driver’s seat. “I’d be a pretty shitty kidnapper if I let you know where we were going first.”
“You haven’t told me where we’re going,” I pointed out.
Law started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “Boston.”
“Boston?” I rounded on him. “What the fuck is in Boston?” When he’d said, “Dress for cold weather,” I’d thought he was taking me up to Park City. A thirty-minute drive, a romantic cabin—something to go along with the huge display of dandelions. I’d even worn some lingerie. Well, what I considered lingerie: black underwear.
Seriously, what the fuck was in Boston?
“Red Sox,” Law replied, taking the exit for the airport.
I glared out at the gray-white moving picture. “I’ve survived this far without baseball.”
I’d let myself get excited about the idea of a romantic getaway with Law. I knew we had a mountain of issues to work past, but if Law was willing to try… I exhaled and removed my gaze from the window. We were nearing the airport and whatever was in Boston had my attention now. More cryptic crap.
“There’s more to Boston than baseball,” Law said, placing his hand on my thigh.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, my snark getting the better of me. “What’s that?”
“My past.”
Since meeting Law, thorns had formed in my side, thorns borne from his lies. Since the altercation with Becca Riley, though, it felt like Law was methodically attempting to remove them. He told me his truths, and then ripped the lies from their place without any anesthetic.
Still, one thorn remained: Jameson.
“So…” I said, turning my view from the airplane window to Law. “Will this trip explain how you know Jameson?”
Law took a sip of his bourbon and faced me. I’d never flown so nicely. In first class, we were given complimentary drinks, towels—basically anything our hearts desired. I’d taken a bottle of water and Law had ordered a glass of bourbon I couldn’t pronounce. Then again, most of my whiskey came with a sale sticker.
“I was wondering when we were going to talk about that,” he said after another long, slow draught.
I quirked a brow. “So you knew that I knew?”
“Nothing much gets past you, Nami DeGrace,” Law said with a smile. The slow, easy grin punctuated his sculpted jaw, as if it wasn’t chiseled enough. Law was past handsome. He was the type of raw masculinity that could only be portrayed in carved marble. Paintings were too soft a medium; photography dulled its power. Still, I wasn’t so easily swayed.
“Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me you were friends?”
“At the time it was the simplest option.” Law took another long drag of his bourbon. “I was never supposed to fall in love with you, Nami.” He pinned me with his cognac gaze and I reached for my bottle of water. I felt itchy and dehydrated from just his look. As the water slipped down my throat, I felt little comfort. Nothing could ease me and nothing would distract me from the intense, carnal gaze Law ripped into me.
“You know he didn’t take my story,” I rasped, setting my nearly empty water down.
“I know.” Law kept his gaze locked on mine. I felt strangled by it.
Still trying to control my voice, I said the thing that had been bugging me for days. “You know he’s Mormon.” Jameson was the enemy, so why did Law think he could be ally?
Law took another slow sip of his drink and faced me. “Are you upset that I knew Jameson, or are you upset that Jameson is Mormon?”
“Are you accusing me of being xenophobic?” Before Morris, I had been painfully open-minded. I was champion to every marginalized group in the world. The fact that I was wary of Mormons didn’t make me xenoph
obic, it made me smart. Once you’re burned by something, it’s stupid to continue to trust it won’t do it again.
At least, that’s what I thought. I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone try and use 9/11 to justify their misgivings about Muslims, or even dark-skinned people…well, I’d be pretty well off. Was that who I’d become?
The cabin was quiet; only the faint sound of air blowing and magazine pages rustling could be heard. I felt queasy as I thought about Law’s question. I looked to him, but he only raised an eyebrow.
“I overheard you both talking,” I said, shaking off the gnawing in my gut. “It has nothing to do with his religion.” Law shot me a look and I folded my arms. “Fine, it has a little bit to do with his religion. But can you blame me? He said I was a stalker and that Morris was a ‘good guy’.” I huffed just thinking about it. “How can you be friends with someone like that?”
“What you heard was only a snapshot of the man I know. He never used to sit in an office. He never used to have a desk job. He was out in the shit. He was digging up what others buried. Now he’s…”
“He’s what?” I demanded.
“He’s lost himself.” Law set down his drink, empty save for the ice cubes wet with brown liquid. “I met Matthew years ago when I was just out of Quantico. It was my first sex trafficking case and he just happened to be reporting on it. He nearly got himself arrested trying to break into the company.”
“I still don’t see how…” Law gripped my arm, forcing the words on my tongue to die. Reluctantly I quieted, instead listening to what he had to say. As Law continued, the grip on my forearm lessened, but only a little.
“When you’re a man of law, you’re tied by it. So tied that sometimes it feels like a noose around your neck. You learn to rely on others to pick up what you can’t. Matthew was that man. He called out the shitbags that hid behind bureaucracy and red tape and lawyers. He got the truth out. He might have saved more lives than me.”
Elastic Heart Page 17