by Oliver, Tess
"You'd have figured wrong. I've always liked sex a little intense. But my time in—" She restarts. I'm clenching my jaw before she even gets the words out. "Let's just say I found a side of myself in the past few months that I didn't know existed."
I drop my hands away and get up from the bed. I grab my jeans off the floor.
She sits up too. "I'm sorry, Maddox. But I have to be able to talk about it. I have to come to grips with everything. Saying it out loud seems to be the easiest way. But if I can't talk to you about it, then we're never going to be together. If we start out with a wall between us, this is over before it started."
Of course, everything she says makes sense but it doesn't make it any easier. And I still haven't dropped the bomb yet. Seems like the timing is right but something else is picking at me. She walks over to her sweatpants and pulls them on.
"Why were you crying when I walked in tonight?" My question throws her for a second. She plucks her t-shirt off the floor and pulls it on.
"Cuz, believe it or not, I'm dealing with a lot of stuff up here." She points to her head. "In between struggling to decipher just exactly what is going on here, between us, I'm trying to come to grips with the last few months. And you know something, after years of growing up holding in tears because my dad scoffed at too much emotion, I've discovered that I kind of like just letting the old waterworks loose once in awhile. Just like fucking, a good cry is pretty damn therapeutic."
I pull my shirt on. "Glad I could provide you with some much needed therapy." I walk to the door but stop. "Shit, Ten, half an hour ago we were clinging to each other, devouring each other. How the hell do we always circle back to this fucking anger crap?"
I ready myself for a sharp reply, something about me starting it with my question about her tears. Instead, her brown eyes soften. There's just enough sadness in her face to make me walk over and kiss her.
"I'm working through shit too, Ten. I'll probably just be a lot slower than you."
A tiny smile curls her lips. "Because you are one stubborn ass, James Maddox."
I nod. "Not the worst thing I've been called. And now I should probably tell you the main reason for my visit." I motion with my head toward the bed. "Aside from one rocking good therapy session." I comb my fingers through my hair. My classic stalling tactic and Ten knows it.
"Uh oh, he's going for the hair. What's up?" Her lips part. "Is it about Freestone?" She draws in her lips, quickly after seeing my reaction to his name. "I just thought maybe they were getting closer to finding him."
"Not sure how I'd know that since I'm banned from the case. Maybe you should ask your secret connection, Silvana."
Her eyes round with feigned innocence. "What secret connection? The only connections Sil and I have are sugary treats and jalapeno flavored potato chips. That's all."
"Liar." She opens her mouth to defend herself but I stop her. "I saw the list of names he gave you. You left it out on the coffee table. It's all right, Ten. Do what you need to do. But be ready for next week. I just met the team of two experts who are going to be grilling and evaluating Detective Tennyson after her months in captivity. And let's just say, they don't seem like the kind of people you'd be chilling with on a Saturday afternoon."
"Great." I follow her out to the front room. "I don't understand why I can't just give my statement to Clark and be done with it. That's what you got to do."
I walk to the refrigerator and pull out the milk. "Really? You're willing to tell all to Clark? You'd just bare your soul about everything that happened to you down in Freestone's hell hole to Clark?" We're cycling back to the tension. Our moments of humor aren't enough to hold us steady anymore. There's just too much charged static between us.
Her laugh is angry. "Frankly, I'm not baring an ounce of my soul to anyone. As far as I'm concerned, I can keep as much to myself as I damn well please. So don't worry your head about living with the shame of my erotic escapades in Lace Underground. Of course you already know about it, don't you? Kane was generous enough to give you a good show of it." There's a catch in her throat but she continues unabated. "That's probably the one thing I can hate him for the most. It showed that I was just a sideshow for him."
My angry laugh is far harsher than hers. "Really? That's the thing you can hate him for? Not keeping you out of your mind on drugs so he could do anything he wanted with you? Showing me the tape of his fucking you, that's your reason to hate him?"
Ten folds her arms around herself. It's a defensive habit she only just started once she got to rehab. The old Ten, the one who wouldn't think twice before climbing a chain link fence to tackle some big dude three times her size, never curled into her own arms as a line of defense.
"Fuck." I brace my hands against the counter and stare down at the faded linoleum floor. It's the same green and white floor that I dropped an entire gallon of milk on when I was seven. Uncle Nate was cool about it, but it took me an hour to mop the mess up. I hear Ten's light footsteps as she walks to the couch. She wraps herself into the plaid throw. It seems my uncle's old blanket is much better at providing comfort and security than me.
I lean against the kitchen doorway. She is staring out the glass door, looking everywhere but my direction.
"Clark and his team of experts told me I need to stay away from you."
Her face snaps my direction. "What do you mean?"
"Dr. what's-her-name, the woman who is going to be part of the debriefing, decided I need to stay away from you until they're finished. Could be a month or more, depending on how things go."
She blows out a nervous laugh. "Since when do you follow orders from some Dr. what's-her-name? Nothing worse than complete strangers deciding what's right and wrong for me."
I step into the front room and gaze down at her. She still looks frail and lost. Angie Tennyson hasn't found her way back home yet. "Clark says if I don't stay away, he'll transfer me to another precinct."
She brings the blanket up higher around her shoulders and sinks her face lower so that only her eyes and button nose are visible. "He's just bullshitting you. He'd never send you away. You're like the big, obnoxious son he never had."
I stand there, trying to pick my next words carefully. It seems that I make nothing but missteps lately.
Ten fills in the silent gap. Her brown eyes look big in her small face. "I need you. I don't want to go through this without you."
My throat is tight, making even a swallow difficult. It takes me a stupid ass amount of time to find my tongue. She does that to me. She's the only woman who can knock me speechless, breathless. "I'm still with you even when you don't see me or talk to me. I'm attached to you whether you like it or not, like some creepy guardian angel. And to tell you the truth, Ten, I'm starting to think it might be a good idea."
I get the exact reaction I'm expecting.
"Fine, go then. Fucking coward." Ten tosses away the blanket and stomps hard on her thin legs and small feet to the glass door. She throws it open and the salty ocean breeze sweeps into the room. Her hair looks like copper flames as it blows back off her face.
I stand behind her but keep my hands to my sides, balling my fists to keep from reaching out to touch her. "It's just that we spend a lot of time like this—tense and angry. You need to get better—"
She swings around. "I'm tired of people telling me I need to get better. This is it, honey bunch. This is what you get. Take it or leave it."
I drop my head back and look up at the ceiling. "Fucking hell, apparently every damn syllable that comes out of my mouth is wrong. Don't you see? This is what I'm talking about. It's like watching a damn tennis match, only the ball is a fucking grenade ready to explode with each hit. I'm going to head back home. I just wanted to come here and let you know in person."
"And get in a good fuck while you were at it." Tears glaze her eyes again.
I point at her. "No, you don't get to throw that back at me. I walked in and you kissed me and—" I rub my face. "Fuck, fuck fuck. Can this
get any fucking worse between us? Damn it, Ten. I love you but I'm going to bow out for awhile. I think it's for the best."
"You're a damn coward." Her shoulders shake with a silent sob. "You're deserting me."
I reach for her but she ducks out of the way. "I'm not deserting you, Ten. I'd walk to hell and back for you."
She wipes angrily at her tears. "Just go. Like you said, it's probably for the best." She grabs the blanket off the couch and wraps it around her to stand in the open doorway. She doesn't look back as I open the door and walk out.
16
Angie
It seems Clark and his team of experts have been making all kinds of decisions about how to proceed with the very delicate situation of Detective Tennyson's debriefing. Aside from the brilliant conclusion that it is in everyone's best interest to keep Maddox and me apart for the duration of my fun question and answer sessions, it was also concluded that it would be best if the debriefing took place away from the precinct. It seems Clark and his team wanted to spare me and the rest of the force the awkward homecoming since I was obviously not feeling myself yet. At least not in their eyes. Or in Maddox's eyes either. That thought drops me into one of my heavy gray moments. The depression isn't as solid anymore, time and feeling stronger have erased some of the blackness and left a smoky gray behind.
Clark isn't saying much. He's been quiet for most of the short trip to the local beach motel where they've rented a room for me to sit and chat amicably with the two experts the police force has lined up for my debriefing.
I look over at Clark. He is pretending to be very focused on the road, but I can see his eyes flick to the side, making sure I'm not planning to throw open the door and jump.
"I bought a box of pastries," he says without taking his laser focus off the quiet beach road.
"Ah ha, that's what I smell." I glance into the backseat at the pink pastry box. "I thought maybe you decided to splash on powdered sugar instead of your usual aftershave." I look over at him. "You didn't waste any box space on those icky apple ones, did you?"
"Would I do that? Cherry, cheese and lemon, your favorites." His father grin comes out. It's one that I always look forward to seeing. My own dad didn't have one of those grins that could make me feel instantly better. He also would never have known my favorite pastry flavor.
The pastry chat has broken some of the tension in the car. I decide to bring up Maddox. "I don't understand why Maddox and I can't see each other while this is going on."
His fatherly grin disappears. "Dr. Renfrew and Mr. Winter decided it was best. Especially since you two have formed an attachment."
My short burst of laughter makes his round shoulders rise. "An attachment? You make it sound like we're pen pals. And it still makes no sense. These two people don't even know me. How the heck can they make huge decisions about what's best for me if they haven't even met me?" I look over at him. "Unless, of course, a certain someone mentioned that he was worried our attachment was going to mess things up for both of us."
"You have to admit, Tennyson, this new arrangement between you two has definitely complicated things."
"And now we're an arrangement. Jeez, Clark, have you been studying some nineteenth century polite society vocabulary book or something? Why not just go straight to courtship and blow past the other silly words."
Clark takes a breath that's deep enough to make his stomach push up against the steering wheel. "My gosh, it seems the old Angie is back and on fire." He pulls his eyes from the road long enough to smile at me. "I'm glad to see her. Missed every sarcastic minute." He faces the road again. "Look, Tennyson, let's just get this started and see how it goes. If it seems banishing Maddox from seeing you for the next few weeks is too extreme, we'll revisit it."
I'm feeling a tiny splash better as we pull into the motel parking lot. "Feels like we're sneaking around behind our spouses' backs," I mutter as we pull up to the single story line of rooms. Each door is painted an olive green. Room numbers are shiny gold metal.
Clark's cheeks are slightly pink from my comment. "Tennyson, just promise you'll be open with these two. I know how you like to hide your true feelings behind that tough, sarcastic exterior but this is not the time for that."
"If I get through this, do I still have to do time with Dr. Hoffman to get my badge back?"
"Yes, you do. It's protocol and you know it, so no pouty face." He points at my chin.
"I don't pout. I brood." I open the door. "Let's get this over with. Are you staying for the whole thing?" I've already firmly decided that they only need to hear things that pertain to Kane Freestone and his secret business.
The pink in his face darkens more. "I'm not staying at all. That way you can talk freely to Dr. Renfrew and Mr. Winter."
"Sure thing," I say. "Don't forget the pastries so the day isn't a complete loss."
He reaches into the backseat for the bakery box and leads me to Room 14.
"My fifth grade classroom was room 14," I say for no other reason except a flurry of erratic butterflies have just found their way into my gut.
Clark knocks. A woman with hair pulled back tight in a ponytail and blue rimmed glasses opens the door. She immediately surveys my jeans and t-shirt and I wonder if I was supposed to dress business-y for a debriefing.
I glance down at my attire and peer up at her. "Hope this is all right. I've never dressed for a debriefing before."
"Actually, it's perfect," she says. "We want you to be comfortable."
We walk inside. The woman stops me by sticking out her hand for a shake. "I'm Dr. Renfrew." She spins away and points out the man sitting across the room. "And this is Mr. Winter."
Mr. Winter has, ironically enough, positioned his chair directly under the air conditioner in the wall. He stands up and buttons his blue coat for a proper introduction. There are enough beads of sweat on his forehead to prove that the air conditioner isn't doing its job. He looks harsh and reminds me of grumpy Mr. Fenwick at the end of our block. He would always yell at my brothers and me if we were too loud when we skateboarded past his house.
"Detective Tennyson, nice to meet you." His palm is a touch sweaty. I discretely wipe my hand on my jeans. So, these are the two people who decided Maddox was going to get in the way of my debriefing. Neither of them look like the type of person who has ever been in love, which I quickly decide makes them unqualified for the decision.
Clark sets the bakery box on the tiny round table under the window. A dozen water bottles have already been lined up on the table. It makes me smile when Clark pulls a stack of crumpled napkins out of his coat pocket. "I brought some pastries." He holds up the napkins that are no doubt covered in lint and whatever funky crumbs he has lining his coat pocket. "Here are a few napkins and the coffee maker is in the bathroom." He looks suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry we couldn't get a better place, but with summer break starting, the beach motels are all booked up."
"Well, we wanted to make this as convenient for Detective Tennyson as possible." Dr. Renfrew smiles primly my direction. "Are you enjoying your stay at the beach? I understand you're in a little house right on the water."
"Yes, Detective Maddox—" The man you have banished temporarily from my life, I want to add but don't. "His uncle has a cozy little place in Sunset Cove. It's been very nice. Definitely a hundred steps up from the rehab facility."
Clark clears his throat. "Well, I'll let you all get to business. I've arranged for an Uber driver to pick you up here in four hours and take you back to the beach house." Doctors are controlling my life and the one in the charge of my rehabilitation has not given me permission to drive yet.
"Four hours," I say, not hiding my dismay. "Wow, I could just about recite my entire life story in four hours. Good thing there are baked goods." I walk to the pastry box and pluck out a lemon Danish. I pick up one of the napkins and give it a good shake before placing it under the pastry. "Like Captain Clark says, let's get down to business."
Clark is so anxious to lea
ve he doesn't even grab a pastry for the road.
"Anyone else want one before I close the box?" I ask.
"No, thank you," Dr Renfrew says. Mr. Winter is more of a head shaker.
He picks up two chairs that I can only assume the motel has provided and positions them near his chair under the air conditioner. He also picks up one of the napkins to blot his forehead. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm from Colorado. I'm not used to the heat here in California. I wasn't expecting this motel room situation." There's just enough bitterness in his tone to assure me he did a nice bit of complaining when Clark showed him the room.
"Why don't you take off your coat?" I say. "I see no need for so much formality. Besides, I won't tell anyone." I wink.
Dr. Renfrew has fallen noticeably silent, but I can feel her watching me as I take a seat. It seems she's doing her psychiatry thing and assessing me before we get into the nitty gritty stuff. Most of which will stay tucked tightly in my head.
Mr. Winter takes my advice and removes his coat. His shirt is stuck to him. He wipes his forehead again. I grow more convinced with each passing minute that he will make sure our sessions are short and that we wrap this up fast. I'm feeling probably a little too at ease, feeling a little too much as if I have the upper hand, as I casually munch my pastry. And I'm right.
Mr. Winter, feeling somewhat revived by shedding his coat, sits back against the chair. "Detective Tennyson," he pauses. "Since we'll be engaged in long conversations, may I call you Angie? I don't mind if you call me Winter."
"Sure, Winter." I take special care to say his name. He's using my first name but I'm stuck with the surname. It feels like a control tactic but I let it go.
"Great." He wipes his head again. "Angie, I specialize in helping people who have been held captive by a cult. Particularly people who were subjected to narcotics and mind control drugs."
The lemon pastry catches in my throat. I hold up a finger. "Just a second." I walk to the table knowing they are exchanging expert glances as they watch me toss the rest of the pastry on the table and pick up a bottle of water. Rather than drink it, what I really want to do is pour it over my head to cool the rage. I gulp some back to take away the dryness in my throat and return to the chair.