Tension

by R. L. Griffin

  Taking Jesse to his hotel

  Didn’t know he was coming

  Don’t look at fucking twitter

  Jesse was staying at a hotel near the Capitol. Stella dropped him off and told him to call next time before stopping by George’s house. She thought she’d dropped him off without incident until she got a text from George. She opened the text at the stoplight.

  Your “friend” is Jesse McIntyre?

  She responded before the light turned green.

  I told you that

  Before she could even hit send, George sent another three texts

  from the falcons

  are you fucking kidding me?

  at the bar now

  Yikes. George was pissed. She texted him back quickly that she was on her way and put away her phone. Shit. She’d told him Jesse’s name. What else was she supposed to do? Parallel parking her Honda on the block over from Finnegan’s, she pulled her sleeves down over her hands. She hadn’t planned on being out tonight, it was cold and the wind blew though her thin shirt. She pushed the door open, a smile plastered on her face. Many of the regulars waved at her. She nodded and walked to the back of the bar. She noticed flashes of camera phones as she passed. Never fucking ending.

  George looked up when he heard the ruckus; ruckus these days always meant Stella had arrived. He had a look in his eyes she couldn’t decipher. Her anxiousness shown in her eyes, she fidgeted under his stare. Gently, he took her hand and walked her to the office where he pushed her against the wall.

  “Hey to you too, George.”

  George’s face was an inch away from hers and he glared at her for what felt like an hour. Then he leaned in and kissed her gently. His kisses turned urgent, he parted her lips with his tongue and pressed his entire body into hers. Stella hands were on his face, holding him close. His kisses were consuming, possessive. When he finally came up for air, she put her arms around his neck and pulled his face back to her. “So you fucked the Jesse McIntyre?” His brow furrowed and he frowned.

  She shrugged.

  “You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?” He pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You couldn’t have a one night stand with Joe from down the street, could you? Oh, no you had to sleep with a NFL player?”

  She put her hands up in mock surrender. “I go 150 percent.”

  “I can’t fucking believe this.” George separated himself from her and walked toward his desk, adjusting his pants to accommodate his erection.

  “I don’t understand why you’re upset now. I told you months ago,” Stella implored.

  “News showed him at our house.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Our house, El.”

  “Well that’s sort of your fault,” she smiled sweetly.

  “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His eyes popped back to her at her accusation.

  “Well, I’ve been ignoring his calls and texts. He was up here for the game this weekend and wanted to see me. He went to my old house and Millie told him where to find me.”

  “So he’s your friend.”

  She nodded. “Yes. He wants to take us to dinner Monday. I told him I’d have to ask you.” Stella walked toward George and put her hands on his chest.

  He pulled her hands off him to pace the office. “There’s no way I’m letting some dude that you fucked take us out for dinner.” He shook his head so vehemently he almost lost his hat. “No.”

  She grabbed his arm to stop his pacing. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he asked, surprised she’d agreed without a fight.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  She hopped to the side twice, trying to pull on her pants and then fell on her ass. “Fuck!” she yelled.

  George came running into the closet. “You okay?”

  She grimaced at the pain that tore through her chest and back. “Just a klutz.” She pasted on a fake smile.

  “You know I can tell the different between your real smile and your fake smile, right?”

  The smile fell from her lips. George pulled her to her feet. “Yep, all those smiles in the hospital weren’t fooling anyone, El.”

  “Really?” she asked meekly.

  “Every single one,” he laughed. “Don’t stop trying, though; it’s very amusing for me.”

  “Does everyone know they’re fake, or just you?”

  “I think I know you better than anyone, so you probably fooled your parents, if that’s what you’re asking.” George pulled her into his chest and stroked her back. “I know you’re trying to convince me and everyone else you’re okay, El. It’s totally normal if you’re not there yet.” He kissed her forehead.

  Stella closed her eyes. Counting to ten with the breathing she learned in yoga sometimes helped to ease her anxiety. When she opened her eyes, the green flecks in George’s eyes were locked on her. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Every time I think I’m moving forward, something chop blocks my ass. No matter what I do, I seem to get fucked.”

  “Oh my God, you just used a football analogy. Let’s get married.” His 100 watt grin came out, complete with dimples.

  She slapped his arm. “I’m serious.”

  “I am, too,” he smiled, his dimples winking at her obnoxiously. He picked her up and carried her to his bed. Throwing her gently onto the comforter, he leaned over her and kissed her thoroughly.

  “I have to go,” she giggled.

  “You can be a little late.” George pulled her pants halfway down her legs.

  Stella grabbed them and held them at her knees. “I can’t be late. Hopefully, they’ll tell me when I can go back to work.”

  George relented and kissed her gently. “I hope so, too.”

  She used to ride the metro into DC, but she’d tried to get on the metro once since her accident and it was so uncomfortable; she felt like everyone was staring at her and whispering about her. Now she’d just rather drive and try to find a pay lot.

  Things had started to settle down with the press. They only saw a few photographers a week now, and she hadn’t been in the news at all in the last week. She pulled into a pay lot a couple blocks from the building that housed the General Counsel’s office. Composing herself, she smoothed her black pants and walked into the building.

  The security guards asked for her ID because she hadn’t been in the office in awhile. Stella was wearing it around her neck and pulled it off to hand to the guard. Cutting his eyes to the other guard, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you in clothes.” He waved her through and she heard them laughing all the way down the corridor.

  In her mind, she kneed both guards in the nuts. Unprofessional bastards. Then she smiled and walked through the double doors. Since the last meeting had been a conference call, she thought this meeting may be a good sign of her ability to return to work. Stan had told her to have the secretary buzz him when she got there.

  The door leading into the lobby of the General Counsel’s office stood out amongst the other doors that appeared on the hall. The double cherry wood doors stretched from floor to ceiling, an American flag to the right side; it was all very intimidating looking. She pushed through the door and walked up to the reception area with a smile.

  “Hey, Kari. Can you tell Stan I’m here? We have a meeting.”

  “Stella, how you doing, honey?” The receptionist was an older woman that Stella always thought of as the office mother. Kari picked up the phone and punched Stan’s extension. “She’s here.”

  “I’m good, Kari, just ready to get back to work, you know?”

  Kari nodded. “We hope you get back here soon.”

  The door opened and Stan stood there, looking impatient as always. The man was forever in a hurry. Montana was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him, and even there he was wound tighter than the normal guy. “Well, come on,” he said with an attempt at a smile.

  Stella nodded to Kari and then followed Stan as he led her to one of the conference rooms. When she entered th
e room, she saw the General Counsel of the FBI, Peter Alfonso, and a female that she didn’t know sitting on one side of the table.

  Stan sat opposite them, so Stella followed his lead and sat next to him.

  Peter was an intimidating man in stature and demeanor. His black hair was slicked back and his tone was clipped. “Stella, it’s good to see you. I’m going to make this quick, so we won’t waste anyone’s time. Ms. Morris,” he motioned to the female sitting next to him, “will be the psychologist that will clear you for work. Her next open appointment is January 30. Mark it down and be here, in this room at 9:00 am. Plan for all day.” With that, he got up and marched out of the room.

  Stella looked from Ms. Morris to Stan. Ms. Morris smiled. “It should take about six hours for your evaluation, Ms. Murphy. I’ll see you then.” She got up and left the room as well.

  “Couldn’t they have done that over the phone?” she asked Stan, exasperated.

  “You got me.” Stan stood up and ushered her out. “Stop by my office real quick before you leave, please.”

  “Okay,” Stella said, following him to his office.

  “Shut the door behind you,” Stan ordered as he walked around his desk and sat in his chair.

  Stella shut the door gently and stood looking at Stan.

  “Well, sit the fuck down.” Stan pulled a jar of peanuts from his desk and threw some in his mouth. “You want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “So you need to be ready by January 30.”

  “I’m getting that.”

  “Any luck on what you’ve been working on?”

  She shook her head. She’d been looking into where Jamie was; he’d been out of touch with his ATF contact person since the blast. The ATF didn’t consider him a suspect or that he was involved; they thought he was in some kind of trouble and couldn’t risk the contact.

  “Well, do you have a plan?” Stan asked cryptically.

  “I’m in the process of getting the details worked out,” she answered without answering. They’d perfected this sort of conversation.

  “Anything you want to share?” Stan popped more peanuts in his mouth.

  “Nope.” She smiled at him.

  “You’re learning,” Stan said, returning her smile.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fighter

  Stella stepped up on the bench with her right foot then down with her right for 10 counts and then alternated to the left foot. Sweat dripped down her back, soaking into her spandex. She sat on the bench and did shoulder presses to the beat of Kid Cudi. Putting the weights down, she started stepping up on the bench again, her legs screaming. She saw him cutting through a couple of weight lifters to stand behind her. Stella pulled the earbud out of her right ear and nodded at him in the mirror. He pulled dumbbells off the weight stand and lay on his back doing chest flyes. She continued stepping up, watching him in the mirror. He sat up and put the weights down with a thud.

  “He’s in Atlanta,” he said and put the dumbbells back on the stand, picking up the 60 pounders and repeating the flyes.

  Stella sat and did her second set of shoulder presses. Atlanta. “How do you know?”

  “Because he contacted me. He’s an arrogant prick.”

  “Has he contacted the ATF to explain his absence yet?”

  “Yep, just this week. He called me to give me his location and get in touch with his contact.” Dropping the weights near his feet, he gazed intently at Stella. “He’s explained his absence by saying his cover was blown.”

  On her third set of step ups, her moves were sluggish. “Oh yeah, by who?”

  He looked at her.

  Realizing what his silence meant, Stella blew up. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Everyone knows it.”

  “Do they?”

  “I...how did I supposedly blow his cover?”

  “You followed him from the airport to his apartment and someone saw you. That person was a part of the team that blew up the building and shot you.”

  Pressing the weights up, she shook her head. “I followed him, huh?” She laughed. “He’s got a fucking answer for everything.”

  “Yep. Thought you should know.” Patrick replaced the dumbbells and walked away.

  Atlanta, here I come.

  “Hey, babe,” Stella said as she threw her workout bag down and rubbed Cooper on his sides.

  George looked up from the couch and the sea of papers that surrounded him. “Has it been two hours already?”

  “Yep.” she walked toward him and then veered right into the kitchen. Cooper followed her foot for foot. “Okay, okay,” she said to Cooper. “You haven’t fed him, have you?”

  George looked up from his work again. “No. Sorry. I didn’t even realize what time it was until you came in.”

  Pulling out a bottle of water, she drank half of it in one gulp. “Hey, babe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You put the happy in my ness.” She finished the rest of her water.

  George laughed. “You quoting Ben Harper for me?”

  “Only for you...” she said, picking up Cooper’s bowl and depositing dry food in it. She nodded at his papers. “Must be pretty interesting stuff.”

  “Oh, it is,” he answered with a smile. “I’m getting ready for the article on Montana.”

  Stella looked up from what she was doing and into George’s eyes. Her head turned to the side slightly. “What is all that?” she asked.

  “This,” he made a motion around the room, “is you.”

  Frowning, she put Cooper’s bowl on the ground and petted his back and he almost knocked her down to get to it. “What do you mean, it’s me?”

  “Well, there’s background. I have softball video that I’ve been watching from your little league days. You were the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he said, pointing to one stack of paper. “There’s medical information.” He pointed to another stack of paper. “You really are a miracle, you know.” Motioning toward another stack, he said, “and there’s what you’re doing now, which according to all the tabloids is an enormous amount of activity.”

  “But...” she protested, walking over to the tabloid stack. “Why do you need all this? You know all I do is work out and hang out with you.”

  “Love, I’ve got to cover this from every angle. Agent Harris won’t give me any information about the status of the investigation, which tells me it’s basically stalled, and I don’t want this to be a tabloid piece on you.”

  “There’s not that much to tell, George.” She ran her hand over the stack about her background. “You know everything that’s in here.”

  “Babe, I had no idea you were such a good ball player,” he said sincerely. “The video of your little league team when you were twelve... I mean, I almost cried you were so cute, but fierce. You’ve always been a competitor, El. Always a fighter.”

  Stella moved toward him. “A fighter, huh?” She was stunned at how he saw her. She didn’t feel like a fighter. She felt like an imposter.

  George pulled her to him by the back of her thighs. “That’s what I love most about you.”

  “That I’m a fighter?” Her eyes widened.

  “That you’ve always been a fighter. You don’t give up. I mean I know that, but you should have seen the look in your eyes when you got to bat in the last inning of that last game.” His eyes were taking her in. “It was like you thought you could win the game yourself.” George leaned his head into her abdomen, wrapping his arms around her.

  “I don’t see myself that way,” she said softly.

  “I know, but that’s part of it. It’s just innate in you. It’s just how you are, what you do. I don’t think you can help yourself.”

  Stella shrugged, uncomfortable with his analysis.

  “Oh, by the way, I’m getting a quote from Professor Lightman and Gary, your old boss from the Marshals, for the story. You cool with that?”

  “Sure, I’m not going to tell you how to write the story.” Stella ge
ntly separated herself from him and walked toward the stairs.

  “It’s not really my story, I’m just helping out. Then they’re letting me cover the new gun control legislation. I’m just helping get them quotes from people that know you. You don’t mind that Patrick will be quoted, right?”

  Stella’s steps hesitated for a second but continued up the stairs. “It’s your story!” she called over her shoulder.

  Millie and Stella sat at the back table at Finnegan’s trying not to look at their watches. It was the day they got their bar results. While it didn’t really matter that much to either of their jobs because Stella wasn’t working and Millie wasn’t really ‘practicing’ law, they were both beside themselves with trepidation. There was a lingering tenseness between them that they both were ignoring, at least for tonight. This is what it all came down to. Three years of school, two months of studying, two days of testing, three months waiting for results and you could either be an attorney or you couldn’t. The bar was absolutely the most unfair test she’d ever taken. During the prep course she took, they told the entire class there are two right answers on the multiple choice test, one answer was just more right. Seriously. The essay portion was just as bad, because it’s evaluated by individuals and subjective. What if she got the one judge that hadn’t been reelected and was so pissed, as she drank her wine and graded all the tests, that she gave every one a low score?

  They discussed all of these possibilities and ignored the time. Millie decided they should go and drink for several hours when the results were due so that they wouldn’t be on the internet hitting refresh for thirty minutes prior to posting. Stella agreed; she was wearing a new wig she purchased down the street in an effort to enjoy an evening without paparazzi. It was dark blond and she looked ridiculous, but nobody was looking for a blond at the bar, just for Stella’s raven waves, which typically hung to her mid-back.

  Millie had also put both of their cell phones with George behind the bar so they couldn’t check the results on their phones. Finnegan’s was packed but George had reserved the back table for them so they wouldn’t have to stand at the bar.