Come Again

by Kate, Jiffy

  “Look, I know this is tough, so let’s just start with a few questions.”

  Exhaling, I flip the chair around and straddle it, leaning against the back as I try to calm my nerves.

  “Do you know of any birthmarks or scars this kid might have?”

  “No,” I tell him, trying to think back and remember seeing anything. “I don’t even think he had a tattoo, at least not that was noticeable.”

  Theo nods, but doesn’t give away any signs of whether that goes along with the person they found. “But you did say he’s about six one, maybe a hundred and ninety pounds?”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right,” I tell him.

  “Light brown hair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he was wearing a blue t-shirt and faded jeans when you last saw him?”

  “That’s right.” I don’t have to think too hard about that because the clothes he was wearing were some that I gave him the first night I met him. He’d been sleeping in the alley behind the bar and he was a fucking mess, hadn’t showered in days. I gave him fresh clothes, a shower, and a hot meal. Even then, I never got a good feeling about him. Something about his demeanor told me he wasn’t ready to let the drugs go.

  “Alright,” he says with a sigh. “I know this is tough but...” He pulls out a manila folder and opens it. Right on top is a photo of the kid.

  The blue shirt, just like I remembered seeing him in this morning.

  His eyes closed, again, just like this morning, but there’s something different.

  Pale.

  Lifeless.

  My eyes sting as my throat constricts.

  “Is this the kid?” Theo asks.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” I confirm, looking up to see the sadness on Theo’s face matching how I feel inside. Gone, just like that.

  “What a fucking waste, man,” I mutter to Theo...to myself. “I tried...” I tried. The words get stuck in my throat and push off the chair and turn to the concrete wall behind me. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry, Shaw. I know you tried,” Theo says, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands and walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Can’t save them all.”

  I hate it.

  I hate that I couldn’t do more.

  I hate what I did wasn’t enough to save him.

  And I hate that the one I couldn’t save just happens to mean something to the girl I’m falling for.

  Falling for?

  Thankfully, I don’t have time to dwell on that thought as Theo continues to talk. “I’m gonna need you to fill out some paperwork. We’re gonna have to track down his family. Any other information you might have on him would be helpful.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him, the numbness settling in. “Sure, whatever you need.”

  My words are rote and robotic, as are my movements, as I follow him out into the stark white hallway that leads to a room full of desks. People mill about, answering calls and talking amongst themselves, and all I can think about is Jeremy’s lifeless face.

  I already know it’s going to haunt me, like Liz’s. It’s going to stick with me and will be waiting for me when I close my eyes to sleep at night.

  Once the questions are answered and the papers are finished, Theo tells me he’ll call if they need anything else. Jeremy’s parents live in Texas, a suburb of Houston to be exact, which helps to explain the instant connection between him and Avery. I don’t want to stick around for the phone call. I’m pretty sure I might crack under the pressure of hearing Jeremy’s parents learn about their son’s untimely death. Although, if I had to guess, it won’t come as a surprise.

  Along with where he’s from, Theo also told me that he’d been picked up on possession before, the first time being before he was even sixteen years old. For that offense, he’d spent a few months in a juvenile detention center and he’s basically been wandering since then.

  Lost.

  Searching.

  My heart, albeit calloused, breaks for the kid. I still think he’s stupid, but addiction isn’t something I’ve had to deal with and I can’t pass judgment on something I don’t personally know anything about.

  When I’m back on my bike, I consider going home, but I don't want to. Just thinking about the big, empty, too quiet house makes me feel like my stomach is full of lead. So, I drive back to the bar with the intention of sleeping there for the night, somehow preparing myself to break the news to everyone tomorrow.

  Sarah probably deserves a phone call tonight, but I just don’t have it in me.

  After I park my bike, I walk up to the backdoor of the bar and when I go to stick my key in the lock, it turns. Opening it, I see the dim light up front is still on, which means Paulie must be waiting for me.

  I’m not surprised. When I was still at the police station, I missed a couple of calls from him.

  “Paulie,” I call out as I’m walking down the hall, tossing my leather jacket in my office before making my way to where he’s sitting at a back table.

  With Avery.

  “Hey,” I say in a softer tone than I’ve used in a long time.

  “Did you find him?” she asks, unfolding her legs from where they’d been tucked under her and sitting up straight in the chair. Her hair that was so beautifully showing off her lovely face is now falling in loose strands and her eyes are tired, worried.

  I swallow, nodding my head, still searching for the right way to deliver the news. I expected to spend the night alone, getting a grip on myself before I had to tell someone else.

  I wanted those hours to build back up the steel walls that have held me together for five years.

  “Where is he?” Avery asks, her quiet voice cutting through the silence of the bar. My eyes meet hers and I will her to understand. When I hear Paulie clear his throat and then cuss under his breath, I know he’s interpreted my silence for what it is.

  Worst-case scenario.

  Avery’s eyes dart to him and then back to me. As they begin to fill with tears, I know she now knows too. Leaning against the wall, I absorb its support and meld into it, my legs feeling like they weigh a ton.

  “Are you sure?” Her watery question spears my chest.

  I nod again, exhaling loudly. “I’m sure. I...I, uh, identified...” I can’t finish the sentence because with each word flashes of the kid enter my mind.

  Her soft gasp, followed by a barely audible sob fractures my heart wide open.

  “Boss,” Paulie starts, standing from his chair. As he walks toward me, his strong hand grips my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Paulie isn’t apologizing for the death. Just like the rest of us, he had nothing to do with that, but he’s apologizing for the fact I had to witness it. I’ve confided in him about the nightmares I had after Lizzie died. The one thing I couldn’t shake was feeling her skin go cold—all evidence of life leaving her as she left this world...left me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, breathing deeply through my nose.

  “Do you need anything else?” he asks, glancing back at Avery who’s staring out across the empty bar, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “We’re good.”

  With one last squeeze on my shoulder, Paulie walks to the front of the bar and leaves, locking the door behind him.

  “Let me take you home,” I tell Avery, pushing off the wall and holding out my hand to help her stand.

  “I don’t want to go home,” she whispers, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. “I...I’ll just stay here.”

  “Come on,” I insist. She hesitates for a moment before taking my hand. When she gets to her feet, I can’t help but pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and holding her tightly. The moment she lays her head on my chest and returns the hug, I’m falling.

  Any walls that were left standing crumble at her feet.

  Chapter 21

  Avery

  Standing there, with Shaw’s arms wrapped around me, the pain from lear
ning about Jeremy’s death subsides. It’s still there, but it’s no longer dominating my mind and my heart.

  Shaw is.

  This man who tries so hard to block people out and pretend like he doesn’t care is the polar opposite of what he portrays. He’s good. He has a huge heart. He cares about other people more than himself.

  If I had to guess, Jeremy’s death is hitting him harder than anyone, but he’s too afraid to show it.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” he murmurs into my hair before leaning back and smoothing it out of my face. My eyes are still leaking tears but I give him a small smile and nod my head.

  Taking my hand in his, we walk down the hall and he flicks a few switches, making the bar go dark. On our way out, he stops by his office and grabs his leather jacket and reaches behind the door to grab a denim one.

  “Put this on,” he demands softly. “It’s chilly on the bike tonight.”

  Slipping my arms into it, I close my eyes and inhale. I feel like I’m in a Shaw O’Sullivan cocoon.

  Warm.

  Manly.

  Fresh.

  The smell reminds me of the night he let me stay in his apartment and I used the shampoo and conditioner in his shower and it smelled like him. That night seems like so long ago...so many things have happened since then. So much has changed.

  “Ready?” he asks once we’re both seated on the bike.

  “Yes,” I reply, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, loving the way his body feels beneath my touch. Unlike the first time I rode with him, he’s relaxed and pliable, leaning back into me and letting me hold him. As we turn out onto the nearly empty New Orleans street, his hand comes down to rest on my calf. It’s a subtle gesture, but it affects me. Making me feel protected and comforted and good.

  I’m not sure where we go or how long we ride. I just get lost in the lights passing by and the feel of the wind hitting my face beneath the helmet Shaw insisted I wear. My thoughts drift to Jeremy and I let the tears fall at will.

  When the bike slows to a crawl and Shaw turns it into a driveway, I sit up straighter and take notice, looking around at our surroundings. We’re parking in the drive of a house. In the dark, all I can tell is it’s a large house with a porch on the front. The landscaping is well taken care of and thanks to the light by the back door, I see that it’s blue.

  I love blue doors.

  Call me crazy, but to me, they make a home feel welcoming.

  Shaw kills the engine and offers me his hand.

  Once I’m off the bike, I unbuckle the helmet and hand it to him, watching as he ambles off the seat with ease.

  “Is this your house?”

  “You said you didn’t want to go home.” His deep voice is low and gravelly, making me wonder if he might have shed some tears of his own on our drive.

  Shaking my head, all the while keeping my eyes firmly on him, I say, “no, I don’t.”

  “Let’s get inside.” He motions with his head toward the back door and takes my hand again, something I like very much and could get used to.

  When we step inside, I can’t help but gawk at the kitchen. This place definitely has a woman’s touch. I can’t help wondering who. Maybe it was Sarah or one of Shaw’s sisters-in-law, but something in my gut tells me it was someone who loved this place as much as him. The pristine stainless-steel appliances are surrounded by granite countertops and white porcelain backsplashes. With the hanging industrial-looking lighting, it’s something straight out of a Better Homes and Garden magazine. “This is beautiful,” I tell him, trying not to think about what woman had a hand in making it so. As I pull my arms out of the denim jacket and drape it over one of the tall bar stools that surrounds the large island in the middle of the kitchen, I glance up to find Shaw watching me.

  “Can I get you something?” he asks, walking to the refrigerator and opening it. “Water, tea...”

  “A glass of water would be great.” My throat feels dry, maybe it’s from crying or the bike ride...or maybe it’s because Shaw’s now taken his leather jacket off and he’s standing with his back to me in the white t-shirt and jeans I’ve come to love.

  The way his muscles move under the thin shirt has me swallowing hard and suddenly, out of the blue, I’m hit with the realization that I’m here...in Shaw’s home.

  With him.

  Alone.

  I feel the mood shift when he turns around and sets a glass of cold water down in front of me, his eyes scanning my face and then lingering on my lips.

  He feels it too.

  I know he does when he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip before biting down on it and shaking his head slowly.

  “What?” I ask, taking a slow sip of water, hoping it helps regulate my heart that’s now beating out of my chest.

  “You,” he murmurs.

  “What about me?”

  He shakes his head again, a tentative smile causing his lip to turn up on one side. “I shouldn’t want you.” It’s like a warning to himself and me and he lays the words down between us like a sad, slow love song.

  I walk carefully to where he is, leaning against the counter. The way his arms are crossed over his chest gives me a perfect view of the muscles tensing as if they know how tempted I am to reach out and touch them.

  “What are these?” I ask, wanting to distract him and pull him out of his head. When I let my finger gently touch the hint of black ink peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt, his muscles tighten even more.

  “Ink,” he says flatly, still watching my every move.

  “Do you have more?”

  He nods his response, not giving me any more than he has to and I wonder if those walls I’m so tired of are creeping back up. Maybe coming here was a bad idea...maybe I should ask him to take me back to CeCe’s. Turning to walk back to where I was standing, he grabs my arm and spins me around.

  Now, my back is to the counter and he’s hovering over me, caging me in with his strong arms.

  We stand there for a minute, both of us breathing heavily, inches apart.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, wanting to make sure that he doesn’t want to talk about Jeremy...what he saw. I don’t want him to feel like he has to shoulder that all alone. “If you want to talk, I’m—”

  Shaw’s hand comes up and he places a finger on my lips.

  “I don’t want to talk about that right now. Later, but not now.”

  I nod, relishing in the feel of his finger on my lips...one finger. What would it feel like for him to touch me with more...I want that. I want more. I want all of him, whatever he’ll give me.

  “I shouldn’t want you like this. . .but I do.” His words are raw and vulnerable and I feel them whisper across my collar bone. Closing my eyes, I let them wash over me, my body shuddering in their wake.

  “Why shouldn’t you?” I ask, my voice hoarse and deep and new to my ears.

  Shaw runs the tip of his finger along the sensitive skin on my neck, up to my jaw, “too many reasons.”

  I know I should care about those reasons, that I should demand them, but I don’t. I want him too badly to think clearly anymore. I just need this night and then I can let him go.

  “You’re everywhere,” he says like it’s a confession. “You’re in my thoughts, my dreams...I can’t get you out of my head. And to be near you all the time and not be able to touch you like I want, like I need...it kills me.” He lifts me by my waist as if I weigh nothing and sets me on the counter, settling himself between my legs.

  If he’d just step a bit closer—touch me, feel me—he’d know how wet I am and how much I want him—need him—and that scares me. But if he stays where he is—close but not close enough—I just might scream.

  His hands remain at my waist and I watch him as he takes in my body with his eyes, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory. I feel as though I’m under a microscope and he’s studying every shuddering breath I exhale, every goosebump erupting on my flesh, and every fiber of my being responding to
him. I hope he finds what he’s looking for.

  “I want you, Shaw,” I tell him, needing him to know I’m all in.

  When his eyes meet mine, they’re still searching, looking for something. The second he finds it, his lips are on mine—hungry, demanding, devouring. It’s an all-consuming kiss, one that steals my breath and makes me weak.

  Shaw’s hand grips my neck gently, tilting my head back to allow his mouth room to roam.

  First my neck.

  Then to that sensitive spot again behind my ear.

  His fingers tangle with my hair that’s now more down than up and he tugs, growling against my skin, “I want you so fucking bad.”

  “Take me,” I plead, desperate for him. “Have me. I’m yours.”

  When he pulls back, his hooded eyes travel from my eyes and down to my breasts before coming back up and settling on my mouth. After a second of internal debate, he licks his lips like he’s planning his assault.

  Yes. Please.

  The struggle is clear on his face but so is his desire. If I were to look at my own face right now, I imagine I’d see the same desire mirrored back, tinged with impatience.

  “Touch me, please,” I breathe out, barely keeping the whine out of my voice. His grip on my waist loosens, but he’s still moving too slowly, so I grab his hand and place it on my breast. It’s not exactly where I want it but it’ll do for now.

  Finally, finally, he snaps out of whatever mind game he’s been playing, and he squeezes then rubs his thumb against my nipple, eliciting a gasp from me which spurs him on. When he brings his other hand up and repeats his movements on both breasts, I moan.

  My cotton shirt is thin but tight across my chest and I wish he’d just rip it off of me already. I expected Shaw to be intense, but not this calculating. I want out of control. I want a distraction.

  “Lower.” I’m not above begging at this point.

  “If I start this...if I give into this...I won’t be able to stop,” he warns, his teeth punishing his bottom lip as he fights his carnal impulses.

  “I don’t want you to stop; I want you to take me. Please. I need you.” I unbutton my jeans and lean back to move them down my hips, the cool air doing little to tame the heat covering my body.