The Last Heartbeat

by Katerina Simms

  She fiddled with the fabric in her hand, cheeks hot over her wayward mind and the sense he’d caught her doing something extremely stupid, which he kind of had.

  “I would have come out sooner if I’d known you were wearing those glasses.” His eyes crinkled in the corners.

  She touched a fingertip to the gold frames. “Are they that bad?”

  He huffed out another laugh. “Oh no, the exact opposite of bad. I was about to say you should wear them more often. You look—” He focused a sharp stare her way.

  “What?”

  “Hot.” He lowered his brow, a sullen look taking over. “Sorry. That’s probably not an acceptable thing to say in the current situation.”

  A smile cracked past her attempt to seem unaffected. “I’ll accept your unacceptable description, anyway.”

  When had she ever felt “hot”, much less been called hot by someone who was actually inarguably hot? Never, that’s when. So, heck yes, she’d accept the description. In fact, maybe she could pull out her phone and ask Luke to say the word again while she hit record. Except, he’d have to say it low and slow, because frankly, that would be hot. She would like the ability to replay him referring to her as hot from now until her dying day.

  She tied the end of a thread and then cut her needle free, her skin still on fire in the wake of his compliment.

  She rose from her chair. It was probably best she escaped this man and this office before she started believing her delusions and randomly rubbing herself up against him. “I’m finished.”

  His eyes sparkled, and he leaned against the table beside her, blocking her attempt to leave. Shit, maybe she wasn’t the only one having trouble controlling their thoughts. “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous of how happy you sound every time I catch you talking to Daniel.”

  She plunked her butt back down and scowled half-heartedly at his now-piercing stare. “That’s because Daniel isn’t trying to marry me.”

  Luke threw back his head and laughed, a full-bodied sound belonging to a man who didn’t hold back.

  “Now who’s getting ahead of themselves?” His expression dropped along with his gaze, which landed on his fingers toying with a small scrap of fabric on the table. “And maybe Daniel’s not interested because he’s figuratively blind.”

  He quirked one side of his lip in a rueful expression. “And deaf.” His stare lifted and bore into hers with a deadpan glaze. “And very, very stupid.”

  He let loose with a huge grin, one that extended all the way up to those sparkling eyes. Well, isn’t someone here a closet joker?

  She shook her head and looked down. In spite of her efforts not to, she laughed at his uncool humor. “We both know Daniel is far from stupid.”

  He brushed a leg against hers, and a flood of warmth filled her belly. “In this area, he must be. You have a beautiful laugh, Agathe. You should use it more often.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Since he blocked her exit, she extended her hands and collected stray scraps of material instead. Someday soon, she’d move on from her work at Tiluma. She’d have no reason to see Luke or this office again. She’d be free of his suggestions of a future with her, even though she’d told him time and time again, none could exist.

  So he, too, would have to move on.

  Find a more plausible lover.

  The only other alternative would be allowing him into her world—a world she barely held together for herself. A world he would reject if he knew about her past. If he knew who she really was.

  She slid the final scraps into the paper bag and only then worked up the courage to look at him again. He pinned her with an imploring stare, as though searching for clues she hadn’t meant what she’d said about him not getting used to her laugh.

  His rounded eyes seemed hopeful, all too adoring, and they seemed to say, But I want to get used to that laugh.

  Her heart kicked, suggesting it wanted the light, bubbly feeling of regular laughter, too, as well as Luke’s attention and a chance at normalcy and love. And then there was the freedom to mirror his longing; oh, she’d do anything to have that, to give him something that looked more like happiness and less like constant evasive argument.

  But there was no telling when the earth would crumble beneath her feet, or whether just wishing for laughter held enough power to swallow her already shaky stability. Dreaming was a fool’s game, at least for her, and she needed to remember that.

  Luke frowned, as if taking a mental step back, like he’d heard every syllable of the hopelessness running through her head. He extended a hand, and to her surprise, her palm moved instinctually into his.

  He gave her his small smile. “Come on, it’s late. I’ll drive you home.”

  16

  Agathe slid into her temporary cubicle at Tiluma and cringed at the squeak of her chair beneath her. The nerve-grating sound added to the heaviness already dragging at her tummy. Today, of all days, she needed every last ounce of strength to survive the next eight hours at work.

  She had plans to observe employees, get progress updates from anyone willing to talk, and corner Max so she could check on how his management training was doing. All while fighting an overwhelming need to crack.

  Because all she truly wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.

  The gnawing at her stomach grew. The band pressing at her ribcage tightened, not letting up since she’d opened her eyes this morning, and certainly not now that the date on the calendar to her left glared back at her.

  June twenty-third.

  That date syphoned every last drop of her energy; she’d known it was nearing but blocked out every reminder. Because every June twenty-third left her world decimated.

  She’d spend her entire year rebuilding, only for this day to always swing by too fast. The day I lost Elsie.

  Sickness wound its way through her stomach, and she pressed her hands to her diaphragm. A breath surged forth, rendering her motionless. Stunned.

  Last year had been the first time she’d managed to pry herself out of bed and actually make it to work. Every year before that, she’d taken three days off just to process her revived grief. This year, though, she’d regressed. And even as she sat at her desk, staring at her black computer screen, her legs twitched with a need to stand and walk all the way back to her home in South Yarra.

  She’d been so happy yesterday, talking to Daniel and Caroline, and then Luke. So full of hope. Like for a moment there, she’d found friends, glimpsed a future that didn’t have to be so empty after all. Like she belonged.

  But today…

  Today was the opposite.

  Today her heart slowed, as if threatening to stop beating altogether. Worse still, she didn’t care all that much if it did. Maybe then she’d see her Elsie again.

  Would she even want to see me?

  She leaned her head back against her chair. Maybe a short break would help her past her emotionally clouded state. Maybe just a few deep breaths. But she couldn’t pause for too long; someone would see, they’d stop and ask if she was okay. That question alone held the potential to tip her over the edge and into the icy depths of breakdown territory.

  A high-pitched laugh cut through her sad haze. The loud excitement of a young boy’s giggle. She refused to look.

  “Hi, Agathe!” Two childish voices yelled in unison from across the office.

  She pressed her eyes shut, swore under her breath, and then willed herself to straighten. Dylan and Claire, the two children she’d met in the courtyard weeks ago, ran toward her. Claire wore a school uniform with red and blue tartan stripes; Dylan was in casual cargos and a blue t-shirt.

  Claire waved with rapid enthusiasm, her scrawny legs charging forward. “Guess what, Agathe?”

  Her tiny ankle clipped the corner of a cubicle, and she pitched forward, arms flailing, followed by a thudding crash to the rough-spun, blue carpet.

  Agathe clamped a hand over her mouth, her legs working of their own volition. I
n seconds, she found herself cradling the sobbing child.

  “Oh, honey.” She enveloped Claire in a tight and protective hug, only pulling back long enough to glimpse the line of blood seeping thick and fast from the child’s knee. “I have tissues and Band-Aids in my bag, okay? Just breathe and relax, I’ll sort this out.”

  Claire pressed her lips together and gave a quick nod. Dylan stood nearby, mouth agape. Agathe scrambled to her desk and dug through her bag. She returned to the bewildered child, those brilliant blue eyes an embodiment of innocence and fear.

  “Here.” She handed Claire a folded tissue. “This one is for your knee. Just press down firmly. And since you have a spare hand, how about using this one on your eyes?”

  Agathe surrendered yet another tissue, while she ran the shaking fingers of her other hand over Claire’s forehead, removing a tangle of hair from her face.

  The girl released a shaky giggle. “Thanks for helping me.”

  Agathe unwrapped a Band-Aid. “Can you tell me where your dad is right now?”

  “I don’t know.” Claire sobbed anew, her voice twisting and high pitched. “He told us to sit at his desk and wait. He had to see Luke about something, and then he would drop me off at school and take Dylan to daycare. He’ll be so mad when he finds out we didn’t listen.”

  Agathe pressed a hand to Claire’s cheek. “Trust me, your dad will be glad you’re okay, and anything less than that, he’ll have to deal with me.” She offered a smile and reached out to remove the tissue from Claire’s knee. The blood had slowed, but they both hissed at the scrape’s true size.

  “Looks like we’re going to need two Band-Aids.” Agathe applied the bandages, followed by a gentle pat to Claire’s shin.

  The girl’s eyes watered through her upturned stare, but she gave a shaky grin and threw her arms around Agathe’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

  The strawberry scent of children’s shampoo infiltrated her senses and cut down to her core. The shampoo smelled just like the one she’d once used on Elsie. She’d remember that smell forever.

  She leaned back, forcing herself to let go. She’d break completely if she didn’t get clear of this child. For four years, she’d avoided children.

  Four years to this very day. And Claire’s presence stung like the touch of a molten branding iron.

  Of course, this girl had to be around the same age Elsie would have been, had things not gone so tragically wrong.

  Razor-edged pain twisted in Agathe’s chest, and a sharp sob broke free from her. She whipped her head around to see if anyone else heard, only to find a small crowd had gathered to witness the aftermath of Claire’s fall.

  The crowd parted, and Claire’s dad powered through, eyes flaring and words rushed as he offered an anxious apology, before bundling Claire in his arms. He plowed into the crowd with Dylan trailing behind.

  Luke broke through the huddle and came to an immediate stop beside Agathe. “Are you okay?”

  She ignored his panted breaths, her attention snapping to an employee to her left. An older guy wearing a bright-orange t-shirt, someone she didn’t recognize, his hand outstretched to offer her help in standing. The stranger’s hyper focus on her alerted her to the hot sensation of tears rolling down her cheeks. She slapped a hand to her face, her fingers coming back instantly damp.

  Don’t crack. Don’t crack. Whatever you do, Agathe, just don’t crack.

  God, she rarely cried, and never, ever, in front of others.

  Her focus flicked to Luke again; questions brewing in his ever-darkening eyes.

  She jolted to standing, pushed past him, before bolting through the crowd. Some people didn’t move fast enough, and she plowed right through them, her heart so impossibly constricted she didn’t know if she’d make it out of the building; all the while, a voice chanted in her head. Hold it together. Just get the hell out of here. Hold it together. Don’t crack. Especially not in front of him.

  Agathe had escaped Tiluma minus a plan, which meant by five p.m., she sat alone on a bench at the edge of Albert Park Lake, the city’s most uninhabitable location on a cold day, the frigid body of water ahead matching her stricken mood.

  A chill wind nipped at her face, and her hair slapped against already stinging cheeks. She couldn’t go home. Not yet. Her house held remnants of the best and worst of her life, and she couldn’t face either kind of memory just now. She should have moved years ago, but something of her daughter still lingered in those walls. Letting go of the house was a final step she simply refused to take.

  Throughout her hours by the lake, light mists of rain scattered around her, and she huddled down, enduring the downpours. The lake’s pewter-gray water stretched out, and the cityscape of flint-colored buildings reflected across the surface. For seven hours, she sat and watched, and avoided the lakeside cafes with their happy people inside. So much about the bitter outdoors mirrored her inner world, while she and the lake merely watched each other. Both alone. Both hiding secrets deep within.

  She willed herself to breathe hard and deep, though icy-cold air stung her lungs. The pain felt good, a confirmation of what went on inside. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her freezing fingers into fists on her lap, anything to stop the tears.

  The needle-sharp wind bit into her cheeks, a reminder nightfall would hit soon. Her thin coat did nothing to spare her from the weather’s harsh attack. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t go home.

  Pure instinct brought her to standing, even though she had no idea where she should go, only that her heart felt impossibly heavy, and her body hurt from the frigid conditions. She dug through her satchel for a tissue, at least glad she’d thought to snatch her bag on the way past her desk and through Tiluma’s doors. Her fingers clipped a sharp edge of paper, and she pulled it out, her chest heaving when she realized what she’d unearthed.

  Luke’s address stared at her from the note in her hand.

  She’d lost all that mattered long ago; what did she have to lose in going to him now? She didn’t have to be alone. Just a twenty-minute walk, and she’d be at his house. Maybe she wouldn’t experience the same guilt from that first time. Anything had to be better than the grief tearing through her.

  So to hell with dealing with her mess. To hell with her promise to never sleep with him again. To hell with her fear of forgetting Elsie. Clearly, that pain wasn’t going anywhere, while Luke could give Agathe the momentary comfort she so desperately needed.

  17

  Luke froze at the sight of Agathe standing on his doorstep, his grip on the door so tight, a dull pain radiated through his fingers. Her clothes were drenched and her shoulders rose and fell with sharp, panted breaths, breaths that left puffs of cloudy vapor around her in the cold.

  “Agathe.” He whispered her name and stepped aside. Her tangible neediness stretched across the threshold and wrapped his heart within a tangle of barbed panic. “Come in. You’re cold.”

  Her focus dropped to his chest, and she swallowed. “I’m not looking for you to be nice to me.”

  Of course not. Had she ever?

  Her attention met his again, a little more stoic, though still very much wide-eyed. The wobble of her jaw as her teeth chattered only added to the sense of poorly concealed fragility. She’d stormed from his office earlier, and he thought he might never see her again, but not once had he predicted she’d turn up at his door looking pale and chilled to the bone.

  He reached out and pulled her in, her wet clothes quick to shed droplets on his wood floors. “Just wait here a second.”

  He turned and bolted for the bathroom, ripping a thick towel off the heated rack and throwing it over his shoulder before returning to her shivering side. He pried her arms from around her waist, her gaze darting around, as he went about pulling her bag off her shoulder and dropping it with a heavy thud to the floor. Next, he shucked off her useless coat, her black wool sweater sodden underneath.

  “What happened today?” His brow grew tight. Had she come here j
ust to confirm she was leaving?

  She merely stood there, her lashes fluttering, as he undressed her. His warmer fingers curled at the hem of her sweater, touching the chilled skin at her waist. She flinched. He’d planned to wrangle the sweater off her, then wrap her in the towel, but her focus latched to his, and he lost all willingness to move.

  They stood silent, gazes locked. He could have sworn she held her breath, and the slightest bit of color returned to her cheeks. He ached to pull her to him, and it seemed she wanted the same. In the next beat, her eyelids drifted shut, and she leaned into him, her head resting on his chest.

  He held her there for the longest moment, the rise and fall of her slowed breaths moving through his hands pressed to her back. The cold damp of her clothes seeped into his, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that, with this simple gesture, Agathe let him in.

  He could have held her like that forever, or at least until the chill from her body eased, and she offered a chance for him to get her into something warmer. She seemed suddenly so small and not her usual formidable self. Holding her made his heart quicken and his mouth dry, and even with such overwhelmingly deep reactions, he didn’t want this to end.

  But then her muscles went stiff beneath his touch, and the little spell between them broke.

  She reeled back a step, her expression turning hard, like maybe she’d caught herself enjoying the moment too much and rejected any hint of tenderness. “Just hand me the towel. I can do this myself.”

  He frowned and dared to step forward, reclaiming the ground she’d put between them. “Why are you here?”

  Despite his desire to strongarm her into accepting his help, he gave her the towel.

  “You told me the next time would be at your house.” Her stare drilled into him. Even as she shivered before him, her narrowed pupils pleaded with him to catch on fast.

  His shoulders slumped. She had to be joking.

  “Can we talk about this first?” To his shame, the question came out a husky whisper.