Until the Devil Weeps

by W E DeVore

  “Are you still in love with Ben?”

  “Of course, I am. He’s my husband. Why would you ask that?”

  The contentment that his face had worn vanished and he said, “I can’t do this, Clementine. I can’t be a stand-in for Ben. I don’t think I’ll make it if this thing with us goes sideways…”

  Q pushed him back onto the bed and covered his body with hers, pinning his hands above his head.

  “What the actual fuck, Sanger?” she snapped. “Is it just physically impossible for you to let yourself be happy. This is easy. I want you. You want me. Take the fucking win, will you? Don’t force me to make a ‘dog who finally caught the car’ analogy, because I’m sitting on about two dozen of them right now and I promise you, I will tell Derek Sharp every last one of them if you try to kick me out of your bed again.” She glowered down at him and he began to chuckle while she continued her rant. “You just got yourself a girlfriend whether you like it or not. And you better fucking like it.”

  He burst out laughing. “And there it is.”

  “There’s what?” she asked.

  “That look. That’s the one that skewered me and I’ve never recovered from it.”

  Her hair cascaded over her shoulder, curtaining them from the world. The heat rising from his body made her mouth water.

  “You’re going to have to catch me up, cowboy.” She ran her tongue over his neck, listening to him talk. “God, you taste so good.”

  “That night, at the Nine Circles Ball,” he said. “You were in the dressing room and I was testing out the wire I’d put on you to catch Ethan. Do you remember?”

  “Not really. Just that you told me to keep talking so you could test the range. What did I say?” she asked, taking his earlobe in her mouth.

  “You started saying all these crazy insults, one after another. So, there I was, walking around with your voice in my ear whispering nonsense like, cock-grabbing shit fucker – making me laugh. When I got back to the dressing room, you were so stunning, like some warrior goddess in that costume. So, I asked you what the last insult meant - I can’t remember what it was - and you held up your phone and told me you were reading from an insult generator app. Then you gave me that look and I was a goner.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you this, you have a type.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I do love a pushy woman….” He ran his fingers down her spine. “I tried to talk myself out of it. You were married. Ben was my friend. Nothing could ever happen. I knew that. But it was still there, getting in the way of anything I tried to replace it with.”

  She slid her hand down his body and he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. She traced his jaw with her fingertips. “Yvie…It wasn’t your mystery woman, was it?”

  He let out a long breath before saying, “We were dancing in the Quarter. We’d been drinking since before dawn, down on Frenchman. We finally sat down at the bar and you walked in with Ben. I didn’t see him, just you. Yvie saw it right away. Confronted me about it…” His voice trailed off. “I never meant to hurt her. Elaine either. At least Yvie’s over it now.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  “That day you tried to kill yourself, Yvie and Mr. Bordelon came here to find you. She told me to do whatever I had to do to bring you back. Then your father-in-law flat out asked me if I was in love with you.”

  “Did you tell him?” she asked.

  “Yes. He seemed relieved. He said Ben wouldn’t you to be alone and he thought he was counting on me to bring you back. Counting on me to love you enough to make you stop hurting yourself. But he was wrong there. You had to come back on your own.”

  As she stared up at him, she felt an unfamiliar pain in her chest, realizing how far she was going to fall in love with Sanger. It overwhelmed her momentarily and she blinked back tears. He kissed her and she clung to his shoulders, desperate to be closer to him.

  Sanger pulled back, worry stitching his eyebrow together. “What is it, my love?”

  Not wanting to give her fear a voice, she said instead, “I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t live here with you if I’m dating you, too,” she explained. “That would be moving too fast. I don’t want to mess this up. Something feels so right about it. Like we’ve always been like this. I thought it would be awkward after, like that day in October, but it’s just not. It’s so comfortable. Is that weird?”

  He shivered slightly and brought the covers up around them. He smiled a crooked grin. “No, it’s not weird. We’ve always been better at being honest with each other.”

  “I mean it, Aaron. I want us to be together.” She took a deep breath. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

  “You.” He clutched her hips and began gliding her body over him. “You plan on leaving right now, though? Because I was hoping we could figure out some ways to stay warm until my furnace works again. It’s fucking freezing in here.”

  She brought her lips to him. “What did you have in mind, cowboy?”

  ◆◆◆

  Sunlight poured in through the two windows at the foot of Sanger’s bed with blinding brightness. Q inhaled deeply. She rested her face against his chest, listening to him breathe, enveloped in a forgotten sense of peace as she traced each rib as it rose and fell.

  She moved closer to him and he instinctively tightened his arm around her, sighing in his sleep. She bit her lip and whispered, “I love you, Aaron.”

  Sanger stirred and mumbled, “You say something, my love?”

  Q pulled herself up so that most of her torso rested on his chest and grinned at him as he slowly opened his eyes. “Good morning, cowboy.”

  “It’s warm,” he said, blinking away the remnants of sleep.

  “Power came back on a little while ago.”

  He yawned. “Good. That means we can make some coffee.”

  Sanger reached for her face with the back of his fingers and caressed her cheek before threading his hand through her hair. “I could get used to this, Clementine. I’m not going to lie.”

  “Used to what?” she asked.

  “You. Being the first thing I see in the morning.” He kissed her and pulled her near. “It’s going to make it hard to leave for work.”

  “Good. Don’t go,” she said. “Call in sick.”

  “You and I both know I can’t do that, my love.”

  As Sanger kissed her, raw anxiety pooled in her stomach and she pulled away.

  “Aaron,” she said. “What do you think Ben would say if he saw us like this?”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “If he were alive, I imagine he’d tell me to get my fucking hands off his wife before he cut my dick off.”

  Q laughed. “That’s not what I meant. What if he can see us? What if there is an afterlife or heaven or whatever and he can see us?”

  “I think he’d tell you to be happy and tell me to take care of his wife.”

  “How do you know?”

  He stretched and watched her. “Because I’d know what I’d say if I were him. What if it were the opposite? What if it were him alive and he was waking up next to someone who loved him? And you were watching from heaven or some astral plane or whatever? What would you say?”

  “I guess I’d tell him to be happy. And tell the lucky tramp to take care of my husband.” She thought for a moment. “Isn’t that strange? The idea makes me so happy and so jealous at the same time.”

  “What’s wrong, my love?”

  She began to tremble as panic took hold and she realized it wasn’t betraying Ben that was making her insides churn.

  “Why do you have to go to work today? I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her breath jagged.

  “It’s not for a few hours.” He slid his hand between her legs and sighed in her ear.

  She held his face in both her hands. “That’s not what I meant. Please. Take another day off.”

  “What is this?” Sanger furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side to study her. “You scared or something
?”

  “Yes. It never scared me before. Your job. But it does now. I didn’t think about this part of it. That starting over with someone else meant that I could lose them, too.”

  Sanger sat up and laughed, dismissing her worry. “You’re not going to lose me.”

  “You might not have a say in that, baby.” She ran her hand over the scar on his ribcage where a bullet had hit him two years earlier.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Clementine.”

  “How do you know?”

  He pulled her up and lifted her into his lap, sliding his hands down to cup her hips. “Because I have the one thing that I’ve always wanted, right here, with you. You think I’m going to let some criminal ruin that?”

  “Aaron…” she started to argue with him.

  He shook his head. “Nothing is going to take me from you. Ever. You understand me?”

  She kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he pushed them back onto the bed, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. Glaring at the device, she mumbled, “Liar, liar pants on fire.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He reached over and answered it. “Sanger.”

  Q traced his jaw with her thumb, listening to him speak. From the sound of it, it wasn’t good. He hung up and said, “I’ve got to go.”

  “How bad?”

  “Triple homicide. Mom. Two kids. The team that pulled it… they both have families. They couldn’t handle it. I have to go. Rex is already there.”

  She exhaled out her resolve, watching him get out of bed to go shower. She got up herself and pulled on his discarded t-shirt from the floor, padding to the kitchen to make them some coffee. As she sat on the counter watching the carafe fill, she ran her fingers across her lips, trying to hold onto as much of the last forty-eight hours as possible.

  Sanger joined her before the coffee had finished percolating, tucking in his shirt and fastening his belt. “It’ll be a long day. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  Q reached up into the cupboard and retrieved two mugs, she managed a wan smile. “I’ll be here. I’m not ready to tackle the house today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.”

  He put his hands on her hips and rested his forehead on hers. “I love you, Clementine.”

  She kissed him by way of a response. “You gonna be ok? Sounds like an awful case.”

  “I’ll be ok as soon I catch the son-of-a-bitch that did it.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked, never having thought before now to ask her best friend how he willingly faced the darkness on a daily basis.

  “I try not to think about it. When I do, I cry.”

  She stroked his face. “Well, tonight, you’ll have me.”

  He grinned. “And tomorrow?”

  She shrugged. “Me.”

  “And the next day?”

  “Me, again.”

  “I think I’m picking up a pattern here.”

  “You are the quite the detective, have I ever told you that?” she asked.

  “Yes, you have,” he replied. “And yes, yes, I am.”

  She held onto him and whispered, “Come home to me, Aaron.”

  He took her face in his hands and turned it up to look at him. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

  “Promise me, cowboy.”

  “I promise, my love.”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “I forgot how it feels to be this close to someone.”

  “It’s never been my strong suit. So, don’t ask me.” She bit her lower lip and hesitated. “We’ll figure it out together, Aaron. Just like we always have. Just come home to me.”

  February: Acceptance

  In the weeks following the ice storm, the case that Sanger had pulled kept him at the precinct or in the streets, leaving Q on her own. Within a few days, she had reluctantly moved back home and began packing up things that she didn’t need or want; some of which Ben had loved, but she’d always secretly hated. She could hear Ben’s voice in her ear, telling her that this was her chance to win every argument they’d ever had, but she would have to lose the biggest one first. Because he had been right all along; she’d never really moved in.

  While her days were occupied with picking up the pieces of her life, her nights were empty until her phone vibrated on the nightstand telling her to come to Sanger’s bed. This afternoon it had vibrated to tell her to get dressed up for a nice dinner out with her new lover. The case was closed and he felt like celebrating by taking her out on a proper date.

  She stood in front of her closet and sighed at her lack of overtly feminine clothing, flipping through the hangers in dismay. As she reached the end of the available options, she found a hanger resting at an odd angle. She pulled it out and laughed out loud. A black velvet dress hung from one thin spaghetti strap. It had been the first gift Ben had ever given her. She’d worn it for a Lundi Gras party she and the Beasts had played years ago, and never worn it again because they’d found their old bass player’s girlfriend murdered at the end of the night. It was also the first night she’d met Sanger.

  Slipping the dress over her head, she regarded her reflection in the mirror of the antique vanity at the foot of the bed. She was still too thin and the velvet didn’t cling to her wilted curves like she’d hoped, but it was the best prospect she had.

  “Thank you, husband,” she whispered.

  She closed her eyes and imagined Ben’s gravelly voice in her ear, saying, You’re welcome, darlin’. Tell Aaron I said ‘hi.’

  After two hours of careful preparation, the doorbell rang and nervous energy pooled in her stomach, having not been on an actual date since long before she’d ever met Ben. She stopped in front of the mirror to give herself a final once over and was delighted with what she saw. Her turquoise eyes sparkled back at her and the lines that had marred her skin were barely visible. Whether it was from the make-up or Sanger, she didn’t know, but she’d missed seeing her face.

  “I remember you,” she said, blowing a kiss at her reflection before rushing downstairs.

  She opened the door to find Sanger dressed in a midnight blue button-down shirt, black fitted pants, and a black corduroy blazer.

  “Hello, cowboy,” she said. “I see you brought your A-game.”

  His eyes traveled from her face to her heels. “Back at you. Wow. Like. Wow.”

  She spun around for him. “Good?”

  “More than good. I always did like that dress on you,” he said, following her into the house.

  “What are you talking about? I only wore it once.”

  He closed the door and wrapped his arm around her waist, moving her hair aside to kiss her the back of her neck. “You were wearing that the first time I saw you and you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

  She rested back into him. “That would be creepy if you weren’t a detective.”

  “What would?”

  “You remembering what dress I was wearing at some party seven plus years ago.”

  He whispered in her ear, “I’m trained to be observant, my love.”

  “Is that what they call it?”

  His hands slid down to her thighs and under her dress. “Let’s skip dinner and go upstairs. Eat take-out naked in bed and fuck until the sun comes up. Making you come is the only thing I’ve thought about since you left my house this morning.”

  Q turned to face him, she bit her lip, unsure of what to do next, still unaccustomed to the sexual assertiveness of Aaron Sanger when he had permission to be so.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She pulled back. “You’re making me kind of nervous.”

  “Why, my love?” He moved in to kiss her and she held him back.

  “I’ve never heard you talk like that before.”

  “You’ve never been my lover before.” He smiled down at her. “I haven’t been allowed.”

  “Oh, my god. I am. I’m your lover, aren’t I? We’ve been having sex, Aaron.” She blushed, overcome with a sudde
n shyness.

  He leaned down so that his lips were almost touching hers. “No, Clementine, we’ve been having lots of sex. Lots and lots of very good sex.” He lowered his voice and whispered, “We are having very good sex, aren’t we, my love?”

  She mutely nodded her head, her breath growing shallow with desire.