by Naomi Kryske
But he had taken advantage of her. She would no longer welcome him in any part of her life.
Finally he could stand erect. He shut off the water. Could he keep down some Paracetamol? He had to try. He towelled himself off and swallowed a dose. Jenny. His memory of the event was less clear than he would have liked, but she had responded. Hadn’t she? At the least she had permitted it. She had made no move to stop him that he could recall.
He pulled on his sweats and laced his trainers. The outside air was cool. He stretched.
After, however, she had been distressed. Of course she had. She would never forgive him.
He began his run, his head pounding with every step he took. What to do? What to do? Nothing. Leave it. He felt a new pain, this time in his heart. Never see her again? Abort the mission? He had never left a mission unfinished.
Correction: This mission he had never well and truly begun. He had stood by while Sinclair won her over. Married her. He had contented himself with second place. Just as well. She was angry with him and rightfully so.
She had been angry with him on another occasion – her birthday. He had never known the cause of it, but later she had rung him to apologise. He could do as much. Make certain she was all right. But to what end? She would not trust him again.
Finally he reached a rhythm in his stride. A solo mission, a mission he could not train for. A mission with strategy but no tactics. A mission with no weapons, no gear, no action plan. A mission with scant chance of success. A word from Jenny could end it, blow him out of the water.
Little to lose then.
CHAPTER 2
Simon had insisted on seeing Marcia but hadn’t said why. “No kiss?” she asked when he arrived.
He leant forward and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Your sister here?”
“Abby’s on travel with her job. Drink?”
He followed her into the kitchen and opened a beer for her but didn’t accept one himself.
“What’s so important that you needed to see me straightaway?”
“I need a word.” He shuffled his feet slightly. “I’m fond of you.”
“That’s a lukewarm declaration,” she said.
“Mars – Marcia – ”
She frowned. Why didn’t he want to use her nickname?
“You deserve better.”
She felt tendrils of dread begin to line the pit of her stomach. “Better than what? We had fun in Florida, didn’t we?”
“Yes.”
Since she never cooked, having a small kitchen hadn’t bothered her, but now the walls seemed to be closing in. She went into the sitting room and sat on the edge of the sofa. “I don’t understand then.”
He didn’t sit. “I’ve given you all I could, and it’s not enough,” he said, an unusual gentleness in his voice. “For either of us.”
He was ending it! Shock unbalanced her, and tears stung her eyes. “That’s it? Can’t we even talk about this? We’re good together!”
Regret and concern filled him. They’d had the occasional spat, but he’d never seen her cry. “You are not at fault here. That’s all I can say.”
“Don’t touch me,” she objected when he tried to take her hand. “You’re only making this harder.”
He put his hands in his pockets.
A rush of anger flushed her face like a sudden fever. “You bastard!” she swore. “Why are you still here? What are you waiting for?”
He was silent.
“I just called you a bastard. Aren’t you going to yell back?”
He’d been called worse, and he didn’t want his last words to her to be hurtful. “I respect you, Marcia, and I’m sorry.”
He turned to go, and she knew better than to stop him. She realised she still held a drink she had yet to take a sip of. She took several long swallows, but they failed to eliminate the emptiness she felt, nor did they dispel the spreading sadness. Had she asked for too much too soon? She had felt an urgency to make this relationship work. He had never told her he loved her, however. She had told him, and now she wondered if it were true.
She looked about her. The pastel colours which had seemed subtle when Adrian was a part of her life had become drab after he left. Wanting a symbol of a fresh start, she had repainted the flat with bold hues, goading her sister into helping. Brightening the walls had not brightened her life, however. It had taken Simon to do that, and now he was gone. Why had she thought that changing her surroundings would affect her in any meaningful way?
She took a shaky breath and finished her beer, feeling her anger and her energy drain away and with them, her tears. She knew she had never broken through Simon’s reserve, but she had held back as well, not wanting to risk everything again the way she had with Adrian. If Simon had suspected it, he had been kind enough not to say so. What a pair we were, she thought, both of us wanting to have the best without giving it.
Now what? The sitting room, the dining room, the kitchen: All appeared garish now, all mocked her. Should she paint again? If so, a neutral shade like ecru or ivory. If not, drink until the colours blurred? No, that would jeopardise her effectiveness at work. She needed her wits about her there. Her work – the only thing she had given her best to since Adrian had left. At the end of the day she still had her pride in her profession and her commitment to it. Unlike the men in her life, nursing had been good to her.
CHAPTER 3
Forty-eight hours passed. Jenny hid in the flat, forgoing Bear’s walks, just letting him into the back garden when he needed to go out. She was angry at Simon and angry at herself. She had wanted a man’s touch so badly that she hadn’t shown even a veneer of resistance. She was also angry at whoever kept leaving nasty things on her front porch, this time a torn garbage bag which had leaked down the porch steps, too.
When Simon called on the third day, she didn’t answer. He left a voice mail: “Jenny, I want to see you, and I’ll not take no for an answer. Ring me back.”
She didn’t.
His second message was also unyielding: “I know you’ve got your mobile with you. If you’re not home, I’ll wait.”
What did he want from her? More of the same? She didn’t want to see him. When the doorbell rang, she debated not letting him in.
“Jenny!” he called. “It’s important!” He pounded on the door. “I’m not leaving until we’ve spoken.”
She cracked open the door. “What do you want?”
“To chat. Just to chat,” he said. “I want to make this right. May I come through?”
“Have you been drinking?”
She was wary. Not surprising. “No,” he answered. “Jenny – about the other night – I needed a distraction from the day’s events, but what I did was wrong.” He pushed the door fully open and stepped past her into the sitting room. “You have every right to be angry with me.”
She watched Bear press his nose into Simon’s hand, his tail wagging. “Bear, come,” she called sharply, irritated that the dog was glad to see him. When he reached forward to take her hand, she pulled away.
He raised his hands in compliance. “Would you sit with me?” he asked.
On the same sofa where it had happened? Was he kidding? “No.” She kept her arms crossed and watched him seat himself cautiously on the edge of the sofa.
Her dark face and defensive posture were not good signs, but she had not prevented him from coming in. Not an auspicious start, but it could be worse. “Jenny, I’ve broken it off with Marcia.”
“Why?”
“You’re the one I want,” he mumbled.
“What? I didn’t catch that.”
He’d spoken too softly. He cleared his throat and repeated his words. “Jenny, when things turned pear-shaped on the Job, you were the one I needed.”
“No, I wasn’t! You just needed sex. I could have been anyone.”
He shook his head. “I came here for support. When we make entry on a raid, we see horrific things. We rely on our training and do what we have to do. But
later – when the incident is over and the adrenalin is gone – we’ve got to deal with the pictures that are still in our heads. That’s why I came to you. We’ve always been able to talk with each other, haven’t we?”
She didn’t respond.
“Jenny, I didn’t plan what happened. Usually I can keep work and play separate. The other night I couldn’t. But Jenny – ” He shifted his weight, still not comfortable. “I would have stopped. You’ve got to believe me. A word from you.”
“I should have stopped you, but you should never have started. And now I’m angry at myself, too. I never thought I’d be anyone’s one-night stand.”
“You’re not.”
“Really? What would you call it?”
“A mistake. Jenny, when my father drank, he did things he regretted. I swore I’d not be like him, but sometimes I am, although I don’t want to be. I used you, and I shouldn’t have done. I’m not proud of what I did.”
Neither was she. She sat down in an armchair across from him and, sick with shame, covered her face with her hands.
“Jenny, would you tell me – ” He wished he could see her.
His voice was gentle, and she bit her lip, hard, to keep the tears from coming.
“Why did you give it to me?”
She closed her hands into fists and tried to steady her voice. “Simon – the alcohol – that may have been a factor for you, but it wasn’t for me.” She choked back a sob. “I’m so lonely. When you kissed me, I wanted you – so much! – but afterward I felt even lonelier.”
That hurt. No man wanted to hear that, but he should have expected it. He’d had her, but he hadn’t made her feel loved because he’d taken, not given. “Jenny, look at me. I can make things right between us.”
“How?” she demanded, her voice shaky in spite of her resolve. “We can’t go back to the way we were.”
He moved to the end of the sofa and reached across the void to take her hand. “Jenny, I – ” He took a deep breath, then another. He’d not felt nerves like this in a long time. “I want us to be a couple. I want to be with you in every way, but I’m willing to proceed at your pace, whatever it is.” He had his work cut out for him, because he wanted to win, not just her desire, but also her love.
She stared at him. “I don’t know what to say. This is so sudden!”
“No, Jenny,” he said softly. “It’s not. I’ve fancied you for a long time.”
She felt his fingers massaging her palm, and the ache in her chest eased. “Simon, you’re important to me, and when I didn’t hear from you, I felt like I didn’t have a friend in the world, but – this is a lot to take in. What we did – I can’t – I don’t know if – ”
“Don’t answer now,” he interrupted. “There’s just one thing I need to know. Where do you stand with Sinclair? If you’re grieving still, I’ll respect that.” He caressed her ring finger. “You’re not wearing his rings.”
“I couldn’t put them back on after what we did.” She paused. “I’ll always love him. I still miss him. But he’s gone, and I know I have to accept it. I’m trying. Somehow I have to make a life for myself. I just don’t know what that life is going to look like.”
Nothing so far had put paid to his hopes. She hadn’t said she hated him or never wanted to see him again. “Fair enough. Jenny, about my schedule. I have three weeks on. The number of ops determines my hours, but eighteen-hour days are common. Then a week spare, when I’ll likely be called out, a week of training – sometimes we’re even called out from training – and a week’s leave, not necessarily in that order. You’ll not be able to reach me directly, but I’ll ring you whenever I can. If it’s not every day, don’t think I’ve changed my mind about you. That’s not going to happen. On my leave weeks, it’s down to you how much time we spend together. For the rest, I’m asking you to trust me. I’ll not be playing away. Not seeing anyone else,” he added, to make his meaning clear.
She had never heard him make such a long speech, this man she knew in so many ways and yet did not know. That, and everything he’d said and done since he arrived, surprised her. “Are you briefing me?” she asked, trying to smile.
Her sense of humour intact: good. He smiled back. “I like to keep all members of my team fully informed.” He drew her to her feet. “I’d like to see you tomorrow. Shall I take you for dinner?”
Bear jumped up, expecting them to take him for a walk. “Bear, sit!” she snapped. She felt flustered by both of them. “That’s awfully short notice.”
“With my schedule I can’t plan too far ahead.”
“What else are you planning?”
“Just dinner. Nothing more.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Tomorrow then? I’ll collect you at eight.” He wanted to kiss her but didn’t want to pressurise her in any way. In the end he lifted her chin and hoped she’d meet him halfway. She didn’t.
CHAPTER 4
Jenny spent the day waiting for the hour of eight to arrive, her stomach unsettled, unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Simon had been an important friend in her life for a long time, but now the parameters of their relationship had shifted dramatically. He had apologized; he had explained himself; but was that enough? Should she call and tell him not to come? If she did, what would he do? What exactly did he want from her? He was a man of direct questions but usually indirect answers, yet he had told her that he wanted them to be a couple.
Would he make a pass at her? He had last night, sort of, and it hadn’t been very satisfying. She hadn’t allowed it to be. Would he want to kiss her tonight? Was that what she wanted? She thought about his mouth, smiling, moving closer to her, and realized it was. But why? She wasn’t looking for an intimate relationship. How could she, when she was still in love with her husband? Now she was about to have her first date since Colin’s death, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go, she didn’t know what to wear, and she didn’t know how to act.
Simon knew. He greeted her by kissing both her cheeks. He had dressed for the occasion, wearing a sports coat, slacks instead of jeans, and a button-down shirt. He complimented her on the colourful blouse she wore with her dark pants. He brought her a bouquet of flowers. Tough, terse Simon with kisses and flowers: a paradox that would take some time for her to get accustomed to. Would he want to hold her hand? She picked up her purse and folded a light sweater over her arm so he couldn’t.
“There’s a small Italian restaurant just off the High Street,” he said as they walked. “I booked a table for us.”
The restaurant looked small from the street but extended though one long, narrow room. She stiffened when she felt his hand on the small of her back, having to remind herself that he was simply guiding her to the table. They were seated near the brick bar in the back. He ordered a half bottle of the house wine and poured more in her glass than in his. The tables were so close together that she could hear the couples around them engaged in conversations, but she felt tongue tied. Over the top of her menu she could see numerous pictures of movie stars in black frames. The soundtrack from The Godfather was playing. Not a good omen. She spoke to the waiter, ordering bruschetta with diced tomatoes, goat cheese, and basil. She perused the rest of the menu. Every pasta dish known to man was listed, but feeling rebellious, she eventually chose a walnut and apple salad and steak with potato gnocchi. He ordered a bowl of cream of sweet potato soup, mackerel, and vegetable risotto. Now only a vase with two red tulips separated them. The table was small, and she felt fenced in, her chair against the wall. They had not spoken to each other since their arrival.
The bruschetta came. Between bites she sipped her wine, once, twice, a third time, racking her brain for something they could talk about and irritated because he wasn’t helping. “Simon, do you feel as awkward as I do?” she finally said. “I don’t know what to say to you. I’d read the menu aloud, but the waiter took it away.”
A pained expression crossed his face but he didn’t look away. “We could speak of our
families,” he suggested.
“Then it’ll have to be yours, because you know all about mine. You don’t talk about your parents much, particularly your father.”
He sighed, reached for the wine, then changed his mind. “He wanted to be a football player,” he said. “My mum said he was agile and quick but too small. When he didn’t make it professionally, he became bitter. He finally got a job working on boats. Repairs, refinishing, and the like. He was good at it, good with his hands, but he didn’t like it. He was paid on the Friday, and he drank most of what he earned before he came home.” The waiter arrived with their food, interrupting him.
She picked up her salad fork. “And?” she prompted, a little surprised to find that she was curious to hear more.
“He was an angry drunk. My mum took the brunt of it. Fortunately she’d gone back to nursing after my brother and I were born, so we were never hungry, but I was too small to defend her, and I hated that.”
“Your parents aren’t still together, are they?” Her steak was delicious. She knew she should tell him but didn’t want the compliment to give him the wrong idea.
He shook his head. “The boatyard changed hands. His drinking had caused his work to deteriorate, and the new owners weren’t willing to keep him on. His behaviour got worse. One weekend I took him on. He was bigger and stronger, but I was sober and more determined. He jeered at me when he left. Said I’d end up just like him.” He had finished his soup and nearly cleaned his dinner plate.
“What happened to your food?” she asked. “Did you inhale it?”
He put his fork down. “Sorry. Habit from Special Forces days. Eat fast, and never leave food.” He downed his wine in one swallow, gave her a regretful smile, then set his glass aside and refilled hers.
Half her food was still on her plate. She ate quietly, realizing that some of their rapport had returned. She wondered whether the wine or his company had relaxed her. “You were the cop even then,” she commented.