by Tessa Bailey
“You won’t next time. I won’t let you. Same way you didn’t let me chicken out of doing that demonstration.”
Warmth flares in her expression a split second before she shuts it down. And I curse myself for making the implication that I’ll have the privilege of helping her get through anything. My words put an invisible distance between us, impenetrable enough to make me panic. Panic about what, though? She’s not available to me anymore. It’s in the way she steps back, rolling her lips inwards, the picture of someone searching for a way out of an awkward encounter. “If there was something you wanted to say . . .”
“Yeah,” I say, pushing through the rust in my throat. “Yeah, I’ve already apologized for what happened at the bar Sunday night. There’s really nothing I can say that’s good enough. But I was too fucked up over you leaving in the morning to say I’m sorry for . . . the handcuffing, Katie. I should not have let you do that. I shouldn’t have been relieved when you did it.” My hands slide out of my pockets and I barely stop myself from reaching for her. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry I kept you somewhere you didn’t want to be.”
“I forgive you.” I swear she’s staring at me without breathing, like a mathematician trying to work out long division. “I’m sorry I drank that whiskey in front of you.”
“Don’t be,” I say louder than planned, stepping back into her space. Christ, I can’t help it. My heart misses being pressed up against hers. But she’ll run if I grab hold, so I stop short of embracing her. She needs to hear this. I need her to understand what I’m starting to realize myself. A reality check that has been a long time in coming. “I never thought about anyone but myself and my own bullshit before when I drank. You helped changed that. I see what my friends see now. What you see. And it’s . . . shit, Katie. I need to change.”
For a second, I think she’s going to cave. Her features are soft, her gravity inviting. She wants to give me another chance. But the elevator dinging behind me—or maybe a memory from Sunday night—seems to break her of the trance, jerking her back. “That’s good, Jack.” Like a whisper moving through the air, she goes past me. “I wish you the best of luck. You know I do.”
Needing to give her the same reassurance, even in the face of my disappointment, I hold the elevator open with a hand. “Next time. You’ll find someone who loves those purses.”
“Or you’ll wear a dress,” she murmurs. “Don’t forget that bit.”
Claws sink into my heart. “I won’t.”
“Bye, Jack.”
“Bye, Snaps.”
When the elevator door closes, I feel her moving farther and farther away. The lobby starts to move in slow motion around me again and the absence of Katie makes the cravings noticeable once again, my neck and chest tightening, my tongue dry. She’s right. She’s right to run away from this. Not only because I’m a reminder of her brother’s life being taken, but . . . it’s possible I need her too much. Katie was the one to show me my own reflection, but now that I know the image I project back to the world, my recovery has to be up to me.
Clarity hurts like a bitch right now, but it’s a cop-out to deep drowning memories at the bottom of a bottle. I don’t want to make excuses for myself anymore. I definitely don’t want to be seen as a liability to the people who care about me. Now that I’m conscious of what I’ve been doing, continuing the same way would be inexcusable.
Where the fuck do I start, though?
My sense memory kicks in and I recall the feeling of being in the firing range. The calm, collected process of aiming, focusing, feeling in control. If I could feel that sensation right now, if I could be assured of my own capabilities, it could get me through this one day. I’d worry about tomorrow when the sun came up again.
I snag my cell out of my pocket and dial Charlie.
“Hey, man.” Taking one last look at the elevator, I back towards the street. “You want to kill a couple hours at the range?”
Chapter 18
Katie
Tuesday afternoon is not the final time Jack shows up in the hotel lobby, but it’s the last time we exchange words, apart from basic instructions during firearms training. He’s usually there around dinnertime when I pop out to find food. Sitting on the same bench with hands clasped between his knees, he waits until I’m safely inside the elevator, his eyes gobbling me up like his own evening meal, before getting up to leave.
He always maintains his distance, never approaching me or following me to my room. Sometimes I manage to have tunnel vision, staring straight ahead at the elevator, but I slip every so often. I slip because I miss him. Because I want to tell him pressure to commit to the Olympics mounts every time my father calls. Even when he doesn’t mention it, the issue sits between us like a thousand-pound gorilla, creating awkward silences and stilted goodbyes. Jack would say just the right thing to make me laugh, wouldn’t he? Whenever I get weak and consider ringing him, though, I think of Sean. I rekindle my pain on purpose. And I end the call.
During my three training sessions at the academy this week, Jack’s rapt attention rode over my skin like little trolleys, making me lose concentration midsentence, throwing me off my game. If he would just be bossy and resentful, I could start moving on. But he’s being Jack and respecting my space, letting me know that he’s there if I need him.
It’s hard for him to maintain his distance—that’s quite easy to tell. More than once, I’ve noticed his white-knuckled fists when I pass him in the gymnasium or during a session. There’s a massive part of me that wants to forget he has a problem that directly clashes with the way I’ve chosen to live. I’m afraid I’m upsetting him to the point he’ll drink even more than usual and get hurt. Or hurt someone else. That possibility keeps me wide-awake at night.
Fact is, though, I’m leaving anyway. Today is Thursday and I’m leaving on Sunday.
This moving on process was always inevitable. But even though I haven’t talked to Jack since Tuesday afternoon, the idea of never seeing him again has my stomach scraped hollow. Aching. How long will it remain like this? I miss him. I miss his hands on me, his piggyback rides, his winks. His heart. He was just starting to expose it to me. Now I’ll never know what’s written there and I loathe it. I loathe missing out on Jack.
Furthermore, I loathe others not being aware of his potential. My mind is blown by how much he continues to improve during my training. His technique is natural and bordering on flawless, in a way that took me years to achieve. And while I know I can’t recommend him for ESU—being aware of his issue—there is no way I’m walking out of here without someone being aware that they’ve got potential greatness in their midst.
My chest aches with responsibility as I sit down across from Lieutenant Burns. He nods to let me know he’s aware of my presence, but his pencil continues to scratch across the papers in front of him. Good. It gives me time to gather my bearings after passing Jack in the hallway, walking in between Danika and Charlie. He’d stopped and turned to watch me go by and I couldn’t help glancing back. Thank God today is my last day at the academy. It’s getting too hard to stay away.
“Ms. McCoy.” Burns drops his pencil, stopping it from rolling with a single finger. “It has been a pleasure having you aboard. I trust your final session went well.”
“Yes.” I flip open the file folder on my lap, keeping the flaps in place with my elbows. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I’ve decided to recommend your brother, Charlie Burns, for consideration as an ESU candidate. Although I feel obligated to point out, he’s receiving my vote based on his own merit. Not his name.”
“Of course. Noted.” Pride made the lieutenant momentarily gorgeous—highlighting looks I hadn’t noticed before. But I can only compare them to green eyes and a pirate smile. “ESU isn’t part of his career trajectory, but I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know he has options.”
I nod, well aware that Charlie Burns is being groomed for greatness. It’s impossible to miss the hero worship in his fellow recrui
ts’ eyes whenever he’s in the vicinity. But lately I’ve noticed that admiration directed at Jack, too. He doesn’t seem to notice it, which makes the silence between us all the more difficult, because I want to point it out. Want to watch him become aware of the changes he’s inspired with his own hard work. He’s earned those changes.
Swallowing hard, I pass my report across the desk into the lieutenant’s waiting hands. When he stands and extends his hand for a shake, however, I remain seated. “There’s another recruit I wanted to speak with you about.”
Burns returns to his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Really.”
Something about the way he drops the single word makes me wonder if the attention Jack pays me hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes. Really.” I lift my chin. “If my recommendation were based solely on firearm proficiency, I would be giving you Jack Garrett’s name.”
The derisive curl of his lips prods like metal spikes. “You’ll excuse me if I have a hard time believing that.”
“Believe it.” I refuse to look away, no matter how intimidating the lieutenant is becoming, second by second. “If his . . . temperament were better suited for ESU, I would encourage him to begin training with their department as soon as he graduates.”
“His temperament?” Burns laughs without humor. “Let’s not dance around the truth, McCoy. He’s not fit to wear a uniform. At the earliest opportunity, he’s going to throw it all away in grand fucking fashion. All we can do is sit back and watch him flame out.”
My body is shaking as I come to my feet. “Shame on you, then.” He has the grace to lose the smirk. “Shame on you for letting a talent like that slip past because he didn’t have the same advantages you or your brother were afforded.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about us,” he returns coldly, leaning forwards.
“Fair enough.” We trade glares for a few beats. His is impressive, I’ll give him that. If I were a perpetrator, I’d be babbling about calling a lawyer right about now. But I’ve been to the bloody Olympics and won a medal, so he can shove that stony glare right up his hole. “Jack Garrett is good. Do you hear me? Yes, he has some personal problems. But if someone took an interest in him and actually encouraged him—which is your job, I might add—I think he could be heroic.”
“My job isn’t to single out bright shiny stars, McCoy. My job is to conform these men into team players. Groom them for something larger than themselves. Lone wolves get their fellow officers killed, the way my partner was killed, and that’s exactly what Jack Garrett is. A lone wolf with no respect. And I have no respect for him.”
A sound to my left has me whirling around. Danika stands just inside the door, mouth dropped open, horror radiating from her tense frame. Her glittering eyes are trained squarely on Burns. I turn back just in time to watch defeat etch itself in his features. And yearning. Jesus. The yearning for Danika is so intense, she must feel it. If she does, however, what she overheard might have put her outside the lieutenant’s reach, if she wasn’t there already. Her loyalty is to Jack and I’m so grateful for that fact, I press my lips together to keep a sound from escaping.
“We’re ready for sprints.” Danika’s voice is choked. “I wasn’t sure if I should come get you. I didn’t know you were in a meeting—” The door handle creaks in her grip. “Actually, you know something? Fuck you, Lieutenant.”
The door rattles on its hinges with the force of her slam.
A deafening cheer goes wild inside me. Had I really spent a single second being jealous of Danika? Thank God Jack has her in his life. That he’ll have her as a friend when I’m gone. But . . . it wasn’t enough before, was it? Friendship wasn’t enough to shake him up or change his path before. Could I have been enough if I’d stuck it out?
If I’d stuck it out. I’d done the opposite, hadn’t I? Ran out the door like a coward as soon as the key turned in the handcuffs. Had Jack predicted I would react that way? Is that why he kept his problem a secret? Well, I proved him right. I quit. He needs help right now and I’m sitting here with my neatly typed report, nothing but self-righteousness to keep me company.
What would Sean say? Knowing I pushed away a flawed, but wonderful man in his name? Would he be proud of me or . . . disappointed?
With Greer’s disparaging words about Jack still ringing in the room, I realize I’m no better than the lieutenant. I might have let Jack down easier than Greer ever would, but I let him—and myself—down. I gave up on someone I like. A lot.
Someone I damn well know wouldn’t have given up on me, if our roles were reversed.
At that moment, the screensaver pops up on the lieutenant’s computer screen, a panoramic view of the New York City skyline, which fades into a picture of Grand Central Station. A moving image of Jack carrying me on his back, smiling over his shoulder and pointing out the landmark station on our way to the train catches me off guard and I know. I know it’s another sign. How many have I ignored over the last four days?
“Excuse me,” I murmur, following Danika’s path out the door. She’s nowhere to be seen as I jog down the hallway towards the gymnasium. When I round the corner into the bright, artificial lights, every head swivels in my direction, but there’s only one recruit I’m interested in speaking with. And of course, I find him in the crowd with no effort, because I can feel him, watching me with his heart in his eyes.
“Jack Garrett.” I clear the rust from my tone. “Can I speak with you a moment?”
This morning, I would not have been so brazen as to ask to see Jack alone in front of everyone. But I’ve just turned in my final report, meaning I’m no longer his instructor. Also, my head of steam is so strong, my indignation over Burns’s assessment of Jack so mighty, I don’t think I’d give a right fuck either way. Without waiting for a response, I sail out the back entrance of the gymnasium, which leads to a sliver of space between the academy building and the tenement next door.
I’m pacing for only a split second before Jack exits the gymnasium, concern lining his insanely handsome face. Concern. For me. Even though I counted him out and acted so typically.
There’s something special inside this man. I feel it all over. He needs to feel it, too.
There’s no second-guessing my actions as I take two giant steps and leap into Jack’s arms, crossing my ankles at his back. I catch the flash of shocked joy on his face . . . and then there’s just the long slow melt that follows. Jack’s kiss. How did I survive without his mouth on mine for so long? It’s total and complete magic, his masculine lips pushing mine open on an awed groan, his feet carrying us back, back, until I’m pressed against the brick wall. Without trying, he’s the most sexual being on planet Earth, but there’s more now. There’s the reality that being apart from one another was like being inflicted daily by painful wounds.
Supporting me with his hips, Jack’s forearms settle against the wall, on either side of my head. His mouth slants across mine, eager and . . . cautious. Yes, cautious. I can tell he’s afraid to hope. I can taste it on his tongue.
He pulls away, eyes squeezed shut, his breath laboring against my forehead. “What made you want me again?”
My thumbs smooth along the curves of his ears. “I didn’t stop.”
A hoarse sound leaves him. Our lips meet with increased desperation, Jack’s lower body pressing tight into the notch of my thighs, his tongue exploring deeper, more thoroughly. There’s a low, rumbling growl building inside him, all for me. His big chest is heaving so hard, so fast, it’s hampering my ability to breathe. I don’t care, though. Not with his stubble scoring my chin, his fingers tracing the edge of my face. Gentle mixed with rough.
I need to care, though. There’s a reason I came out here. As much as I want to let the heated moment carry me away, there’s a battle to win. A battle for Jack. And we need to be on the same side. We need to fight for him together.
With an incredible effort, I force our mouths apart, taking a moment to catch my breath as green eyes devour me. �
��Do you still want to be with me? Until I go back to Ireland?”
His disbelief could not be any clearer. “Jesus, you have to ask me that, Katie? I’ve been living in your hotel lobby since Tuesday just hoping you’ll look at me.” He strokes my hair with unsteady hands. “I want every second I can get. You know I do.”
“Okay.” I swallow my nerves. “Okay, then we’re going to a meeting.”
Stillness creeps over him. “A meeting.”
I nod, searching his face for a readable reaction. “I would have recommended you to Burns, Jack. For ESU. I wanted to do it so badly, because you’re the best I’ve trained. You’ve gotten even better practicing on your own, haven’t you?” His Adam’s apple lodges beneath his jaw, eyes flickering, but he doesn’t respond. “You’re going to do it the hard way. Graduate, push through the ranks, take the test when you’re ready. And I know you can do it. You’re going to get better first—and then you’re going to prove yourself. I believe in you.”
“Why?” he rasps, pressing a kiss to my mouth. Another. “Why, Katie?”
“Sometimes we’re afraid to try, thinking we won’t be enough.” I hear the hypocrisy in that statement, remembering my failed attempt to sell my bags, but I stubbornly focus on Jack. “But you are enough. You’re more. More than alcohol. More than sex.” I think back to the night he slipped up. His reluctance to open up. No amount of shit in my head is an excuse for that. “Whatever is going on inside you . . . whatever brought on Sunday night . . .” His body tenses against mine, confirming my belief that I’d missed something important. “Let’s take care of it. Get rid of it. It’s blocking the best that’s yet to come. Okay? I’m Irish and stubborn and I refuse to be wrong. I’m not wrong about you, Jack.”
It seems to take forever for his gaze to circle back around to mine, but when it does, the combination of beauty and fear there is so breathtaking, my heart lifts and squeezes. “All right, Snaps. Let’s go to a meeting.”