by Carrie Elks
The complete opposite of the way Kitty felt. She was so confused – trying to classify the emotions as they rushed through her veins, and failing miserably. Did he still hate her? Had he travelled all this way to make her pay for what she’d done to him? He didn’t look angry though, he looked completely calm.
The minutes felt as though they stretched halfway into the next day, each second so thinly pulled it seemed to resonate throughout the room. Adam continued to talk, to point out the parts of his documentaries he was most proud of, and she couldn’t help but find herself entranced by him.
Not that she was the only one. The girl next to her was practically drooling. Damn her.
Finally they made it to the question and answer part of the lecture. By this point Kitty wasn’t sure if she was pleased it was almost over or not. Because what came next? Would he seek her out, ask to speak to her? Or – horror of horrors – would he leave without even acknowledging her existence?
A student in the front row asked the first question, nervously running his hands through his hair as he spoke into the microphone. ‘Ah, in your talk you said something about needing to understand the beast in all of us to make documentaries. What did you mean by that?’
Adam smiled, leaning into the lectern at the front of the podium. ‘I guess I meant that making documentaries has a lot in common with psychotherapy. And if you all stay in LA for much longer, you’ll probably all discover that.’
Cue the laughter.
‘For those of you lucky enough to avoid psychotherapy so far, I’ll try to explain it. A lot of therapy is about accepting the good and bad in all of us. In understanding that nobody is a hero or a villain, but a mixture of both. What rises to the surface at any given time can depend on a variety of things – the circumstances surrounding us, our upbringing, how we react to certain triggers and stimuli. When I make a documentary I don’t want you all to go away thinking what a bad man that guy was. I want you to go away wondering if you’d have done the same thing in his situation, if it’s possible that this person who has caused death and destruction isn’t that different to you and me.’
Finally his eyes stopped on her. She felt their warmth before she even caught his gaze, her cheeks pinking up at his scrutiny. She stared back at him, her face expressionless, waiting for him to respond.
But then somebody asked a question and the moment was broken. Adam answered them all easily, his smile casual as he talked about his experiences and the knowledge he’d gained from them. She could tell from the quiet appreciation of her fellow students that they were impressed by him.
God knew, she was, too. She’d been impressed enough when he’d been Adam, the bearded guy who lived in the cabin by the lake. But now he was Adam Klein, the award-winning documentary maker, he took her breath away.
After a few more minutes of questions, the lecture finally came to an end, and the room was filled with the sound of students standing and gathering their things, and the music of their conversation. Kitty stayed in her seat for a moment, watching as the others filed out down the stairs and to the exit. She wondered if she should join them, maybe hide in the crowd. Would he even be looking for her?
Closing her eyes for a moment, she took in a deep lungful of air, trying to steel herself for what happened next. Then she opened them and slid her pen and notepad into her bag, slinging it on her shoulder as she stood to join the end of the line.
The progress was slow, as people stopped to talk to Adam, causing a back-up in those trying to leave the theatre. Finally she made it to the bottom step, and she was less than ten feet away from him, though those ten feet were filled with students trying to catch a moment with him.
It took him a moment to notice her. He was talking to a blonde girl who kept flipping her hair over her shoulder in a way that made Kitty want to cut it all off.
But then he lifted his gaze to hers, and everybody around them was forgotten. The noise surrounding her was drowned out by the sound of her pulse, drumming in her ears. He stared at her without embarrassment, his gaze softening. Her lips parted so she could take in a breathful of air, and his eyes lowered to look at her mouth.
Was he remembering the way he’d kissed her? His lips soft yet demanding, his hand cupping the side of her face? She ached to feel him touching her again.
She only realised she’d stopped moving when somebody jostled into her from behind, trying to push their way past to the exit. The movement launched her forward, until she was closer still to Adam, the two of them only separated by a few stragglers now.
She glanced around her, wondering what she should do next. Wait until they’d all left? Or go quietly, in case he really didn’t want to see her again? But then he was walking towards her, and her feet were glued to the ground, impossible to move even if she wanted to. But she didn’t. The last thing she wanted to do was run away from him, not when he’d been on her mind every day since the moment she’d left Mountain’s Reach.
‘Hi.’ He stopped a few feet short of her, as if to give her space. A couple of students were staring at them with interest.
‘Hi.’ She attempted a smile. ‘You shaved off your beard.’ She had to clench her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching out and touching his cheek. She wondered how different it would feel, to have soft smooth skin brushing against her palm, rather than the rough hair she was so used to.
As if he could read her mind, he reached up to touch his own cheek. ‘Yeah, I figured it was time to cut the barriers away and face the real world.’
‘It suits you.’ She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Though I kind of miss the rough look.’
‘Do you two know each other?’ Her supervisor joined them, oblivious to the heat flowing between their eyes. ‘Adam, this is the student I was telling you about, the one who’s still looking for an internship.’
Adam nodded, still looking at her. She didn’t want him to stop. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Maybe the two of us can discuss it over coffee?’ he suggested to Kitty. She nodded, her eyes wide, still not able to form any useful words on her tongue.
‘I can’t join you, I’m afraid,’ her supervisor told them. ‘I have another lesson in a moment. But if you need any references, I’d happily supply one.’
Adam nodded, finally pulling his gaze from Kitty’s. ‘I’ll let you know.’ Then he turned back to her. ‘Are you free now?’ he asked her. ‘Shall we grab a drink in the library café?’
‘Sounds good.’ Her voice, when it finally came out, was as rough as sandpaper. Holding her bag closely against her chest, her fingers holding tightly onto the leather, she followed him out of the lecture theatre.
33
Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw
you did my heart fly to your service
– The Tempest
If LA had different seasons, Adam would have sworn that spring was almost in the air. The weather was warm, even for the start of January, and the campus was full of students wearing jeans and T-shirts, with only the occasional jacket to be seen. The trees that lined their route to the library were verdant and leafy, casting dappled shadows on the footpath as the soft breeze made them dance.
There was a silence between them that didn’t feel at all awkward. She was walking close enough for him to reach out and place his hand in the gentle dip of her back, his fingers spread out to feel the warmth of her beneath her T-shirt.
She didn’t protest at this. He took it as a good sign.
It was strange being back on campus again. Hell, it was strange being back in LA again. His attorney had spoken to the LAPD to allow him back into the state, evidencing his regular attendance at therapy to show his commitment to change. And he had changed. He didn’t feel like that angry guy any more. Didn’t recognise the man who had trashed an office, didn’t even recognise the guy who had hit his brother on Christmas Day. Maybe because then he didn’t know what he had to lose.
The café was half empty when they walked inside. They bought th
eir drinks – latte for Kitty and an Americano with room for him – and wandered over to a table in the corner, where Adam slid the tray onto the white plastic-coated table.
‘You sure you don’t want anything to eat?’ he asked Kitty.
She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
No, he wasn’t either. Hadn’t been for days. Strange how the body worked – the nutrition it so desperately needed had tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Then they were sitting opposite each other, and there was no more action to stand in the way of them talking. Adam stared at her for a moment. Here in LA she looked so much younger – she fitted in with the students that surrounded her in the lecture theatre. And yet there was a depth to her eyes that reminded him of who she was – and why he’d missed her so much. She wasn’t the unopened notebook, her pages had already been written on.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, her hands cupped around the Styrofoam mug. ‘I should never have lied to you, and I know that’s what it was. A lie. I thought I was protecting you, but really I was protecting myself.’
His mouth was dry. He licked his lips to be able to form the words. ‘It wasn’t you, it was me.’ He wanted to laugh at the cliché, even though he saw little humour there. ‘I was a dick. I didn’t let you explain, I didn’t let you even talk. I just assumed the worst and ran away.’
She lifted the cup to her mouth, her lips forming an ‘o’ as she sipped from the hole in the lid. Her blue eyes gazed at him as she swallowed, as though she was thinking on his words.
‘I don’t blame you for reacting like that,’ she said, putting the cup back on the table. ‘I would have, too. You must have thought everybody was lying to you.’ She frowned, pulling her gaze from his. ‘I’m sorry that you’re hurting.’
But she was hurting, too. He could see that. And not because of some script that really meant nothing right then, but because of the way he’d treated her. As though she was expendable.
‘I want to tell you a little bit about Colombia. Is that OK?’ He’d gone through this in his mind a hundred times, when he tried to imagine how he’d explain himself to her. In the end it seemed simple – start at the beginning. Documentary-making 101, right?
She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Really?’ Then she nodded quickly, as though afraid he would change his mind. ‘Of course, I’d be honoured to hear about it.’
He let out a mouthful of air. His chest felt tight, but not suffocatingly so. More of a reminder of a feeling he used to have. ‘I’m not sure how much you know about the documentary I was making over there. I’d been researching it for years. I wanted to show the human side of drug trafficking, concentrating on the kids that are used every day to smuggle drugs into the US. Some of them younger than ten. That’s how I started investigating the Garcia gang. It took a few months for us to find somebody who was ready to talk, but when we did, we knew we had a story.’
Kitty leaned her elbows on the table, resting her face in her palms. She was listening avidly, as though every word was pulling her in. ‘Who did you talk to?’
‘His name was Mat. Matias Hernandez.’ Adam shook his head. ‘He told us he was fifteen years old, though from the start he looked a little young for his age. It turned out he was actually twelve.’
Kitty looked shocked. ‘Twelve?’ she repeated.
He couldn’t help but share her distaste. ‘I didn’t know, but I should have. Looking back, I was so pleased to finally find somebody who would talk that I didn’t think about anything else. Didn’t think about the fact he was a kid, didn’t think about the fact talking to me would have repercussions. I was too busy looking for the truth to see the train wreck waiting to happen.’
She stirred her spoon in the empty cup. ‘And it did happen?’ she asked. ‘The train wreck, I mean.’
Adam slowly nodded his head. His stomach was clenching like a fist, tight then loose. ‘It was inevitable. Over there, if you squeal you get dealt with. The only things Mat had on his side was the fact he was a kid, and that his mom was related to Garcia. If it wasn’t for that he would be dead by now.’
Kitty leaned in closer still. ‘So he’s not dead?’
Adam sighed, closing his eyes to the light streaming through the windows. But behind his lids all he could see was that day. The windowless room lit only by the makeshift lamps he and his assistant had rigged up. The camera rolling. Garcia’s smug smile. ‘He’s OK.’ Adam’s voice was gruff. ‘But no thanks to me.’
Kitty slid her hand across the table, grabbing his. He could feel the warmth as she threaded her fingers between his. ‘What happened, Adam? What happened out there?’
He squeezed her hand as though nothing was more important than the connection between them. A few more words from him and she might pull away altogether. And who could blame her? After what he’d done, he could hardly bear to look at himself.
‘Garcia agreed to meet with us. I should have known right then that something was up. But I had protection over there, a couple of guys with guns who weren’t afraid to use them. I thought we were safe. So we arrived at this warehouse in the mountains and set up inside. Then Garcia arrived with his caravan of security, and sat down opposite me and told me to roll the camera.’ Adam swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘From the start, he was in charge. When I tried to ask my first question he told me to wait, that he had a gift for me. That’s when two of his guys dragged Mat inside, and made him come and stand next to me.’
‘He pulled a gun,’ Kitty whispered.
‘What?’
‘He pulled a gun on you. I saw it in the script.’ She was still holding his hand, her thumb resting on his palm. Somehow it felt as though she was grounding him.
‘Yeah, except it wasn’t me he pulled the gun on. It was Mat. He pulled out his pistol and shot Mat in both knees, then stood up and left the room. The kid was screaming – God only knew how painful it was. I was trying to stem the blood loss, shouting out for help, and in the end one of Garcia’s doctors came in and took Matty away. Then they made us leave – and confiscated all our equipment – telling us that if we carried on with the documentary then they’d make sure we’d all pay. Including Mat.’
‘They shot a twelve-year-old kid in the knees?’ She looked horrified. ‘Jesus, that’s awful. What happened to him after that?’
‘He recovered from the gunshot wounds, but he has a permanent limp. He spent the last few months hiding with his family somewhere near Bogota.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
Adam shrugged, though he still looked conflicted. ‘He’s here in LA.’
‘He is?’ She couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Adam shrugged. ‘He’s been having some meetings with the doctors at County General, to see if there’s anything they can do to help.’
‘That’s good.’ Her voice was soft. ‘That he’s here, that is. It must be a weight off your mind.’
He nodded, but said no more. She frowned, as though a thousand questions rushed into her mind, but she couldn’t find a way to ask any of them. Slowly, she licked her lips. He watched as her tongue trailed along, his eyes following its progress.
He wondered if she understood. If she knew how he still had nightmares of Mat screaming as he held his bleeding legs. ‘It was the least I could do.’ He looked down, at their intertwined fingers. Hers were long, elegant, and his just big and strong.
There was silence for a moment, more awkward than the last one. She opened her mouth a couple of times to say something, then silenced herself. Adam wondered what she was thinking. He was desperate to know.
‘And Everett?’ she finally asked. ‘How did he get involved in this?’
‘With the movie?’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, that. I’m guessing that’s what led to your bust-up in LA.’ She squeezed his fingers.
He swallowed, his mouth drier than ever. ‘I discovered he’d had a script written. He gave it to me, asked me to be a consultant on the movie. I went c
razy. At that time Mat was still missing, somewhere in Colombia. If Garcia had found out about it, there could have been huge repercussions.’
Kitty squeezed her eyes tight. ‘And now? Is he still making that movie? I saw the script at Christmas, didn’t I? Has he learned nothing?’
Adam licked his lips. The way she was looking at him made his chest feel tight as hell. It hurt and it soothed him. ‘We’ve talked about that.’ He knew she’d hate the way he sounded so guarded. ‘It’s under control.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I guess that’s your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it.’
He didn’t like the way her voice sounded. As though he’d wounded her again. ‘I can’t,’ he told her. ‘Not right now.’