Beautiful Redemption

by Jamie McGuire

  "Oh," I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

  A young waitress approached our table with a smile. "Hi, guys."

  Sawyer looked up at her with a familiar gleam in his eye. "Someone's got a date after work. I'm jealous."

  Tessa blushed. "New lipstick."

  "I knew it was something." Sawyer's eyes lingered on her a big longer before he looked down at the menu.

  Thomas rolled his eyes, ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the list, and then she was gone again.

  "So," Sawyer said, turning his entire body toward me, "did you figure out the painting?"

  "No," I said with a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "I don't know why it's so heavy. It's still propped against the wall where I want to hang it."

  "So weird there's not a stud anywhere along that wall," Sawyer said, desperately trying not to seem nervous.

  Thomas shifted in his seat. "I have anchors. How heavy is it?"

  "Too heavy for the drywall, but I think an anchor would work," I said.

  Thomas shrugged, looking far more comfortable with the situation than Sawyer or me. "I'll bring one down later."

  From my peripheral, I saw the smallest movement in Sawyer's jaw. Thomas had just secured time alone with me later. I wasn't sure if other women enjoyed being in this position, but I was borderline miserable.

  Tessa returned with a bottle and three glasses.

  As she poured, Sawyer winked at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

  "You're welcome, Sawyer." She could barely contain her glee as she teetered on the heels of her feet. "Uh, have you decided on an appetizer?"

  "The roasted stuffed marrow," Thomas said, making a point not to take his eyes off of me.

  The intensity of his stare made me squirm, but I didn't look away. On the outside at least, I wanted to seem impervious.

  "I'll just have the hummus," Sawyer said, looking disgusted at Thomas's choice.

  Tessa turned on her heels, and Sawyer watched her walk all the way back to the kitchen.

  "Excuse me," Sawyer said, motioning that he needed out of the booth.

  "Oh." I scooted over and stood, letting him get out.

  He walked by me with a smile and then toward what I assumed was the restroom, past the gray walls and modern rustic wall art.

  Thomas smiled as I returned to my seat. The air conditioner kicked on, and I pulled my blazer tighter around me.

  "Would you like my jacket?" Thomas said, offering his blazer. It perfectly matched the walls. He also wore jeans and laced brown leather Timberland boots.

  I shook my head. "I'm not that cold."

  "You just don't want to be wearing my jacket when Sawyer comes out of the restroom. But he won't notice because he'll be chatting it up with Tessa."

  "What Sawyer thinks or feels doesn't concern me."

  "Then, why are you here with him?" His tone wasn't accusatory. In fact, it was so unlike his usual demanding loud voice that his words nearly blended into the hum of the AC.

  "I'm not sitting across from him. At the moment, I'm here with you."

  The corners of his mouth turned up. He seemed to like that, and I inwardly cursed myself for the way that made me feel.

  "I like this place," I said, glancing around. "It sort of reminds me of you."

  "I used to love this place," Thomas said.

  "But not anymore. Because of her?"

  "My last memory of this place is also my last memory of her. I don't count the airport."

  "So, she left you."

  "Yes. I thought we were going to talk about your ex, not mine."

  "Did she leave you for your brother?" I asked, ignoring him.

  His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he glanced toward the restrooms, looking for Sawyer. As predicted, Sawyer was standing at the end of the counter near the drink station, making Tessa giggle.

  "Yeah," Thomas said. He puffed, like something had knocked the breath out of him. "But she wasn't mine to begin with. Camille has always belonged to Trent."

  I shook my head and furrowed my brow. "Why do that to yourself?"

  "It's hard to explain. Trent has loved her since we were kids. I knew it."

  His confession surprised me. From what I knew of his childhood and his feelings toward his brothers, it was hard to imagine Thomas pulling something so heartless.

  "But you pursued her anyway. I just don't understand why."

  His shoulders moved up just a tiny bit. "I love her, too."

  Present tense. A tinge of jealousy twinged in my chest.

  "I didn't mean to," Thomas said. "I used to go home quite a bit, mostly to see her. She works at the local bar. One night, I went straight to The Red and sat down in front of her station, and then it just hit me. She wasn't a little girl in pigtails anymore. She was all grown-up and smiling at me.

  "Trent talked about Camille all the time, but in a way--to me, at least--I never thought he'd go for it. For the longest time, I thought he'd never settle down. Then, he started seeing this other girl...Mackenzie. That's when I decided he was past his crush on Camille. But pretty quickly after that, there was an accident, and Mackenzie died."

  I sucked in a tiny sharp breath.

  Thomas acknowledged my shock with a nod and continued, "Trent wasn't the same after that. He drank a lot, slept with whomever, and left school. One weekend, I came home to check on him and Dad, and then I went to the bar. She was there." He winced. "I tried not to."

  "But you did."

  "I reasoned that he didn't deserve her. It's the second most selfish thing I've ever done, and both of them were to my brothers."

  "But Trent and Camille ended up together?"

  "I work a lot. She's there. He's there. It was bound to happen once Trent decided to chase her. I couldn't really protest. He loved her first."

  The sad look in his eyes made my chest ache. "Does she know what you do?"

  "Yes."

  I arched an eyebrow. "You told her who you work for but not your family?"

  Thomas thought about my words and shifted in his seat. "She won't tell them. She promised she wouldn't."

  "So, she's lying to all of them?"

  "She's omitting."

  "To Trent as well?"

  "He knows we were seeing each other. He thinks we were keeping it a secret from him because of the way he felt about Camille. He still doesn't know about the Bureau."

  "Do you trust her not to tell him?"

  "Yes," he said without hesitation. "I asked her to keep quiet about the fact that we were dating. For months, no one knew but her roommate and a few of her coworkers."

  "It's true, isn't it? You didn't want your brother to know you had stolen her," I said, smug.

  His face twisted, disgusted at my lack of finesse. "In part. I also didn't want Dad poking her for information. She would have had to lie. It would have just made things more difficult than they already were."

  "She had to lie anyway."

  "I know. It was stupid. I acted on a temporary feeling, and it turned into something more. I put everyone in a bad position. I was a selfish dick. But I did...I do...love her. Trust me, I'm getting payback."

  "She's going to be at the wedding, isn't she?"

  "Yeah," he said, twisting his napkin.

  "With Trent."

  "They're still together. They live together."

  "Oh," I said, surprised. "And that has nothing to do with why you want me to go?"

  "Polanski wants you to go."

  "You don't?"

  "Not because I'm trying to make Camille jealous, if that's what you're getting at. They love each other. She's in my past."

  "Is she?" I asked before I could stop myself. I braced for his reply.

  He looked at me for a long time. "Why?"

  I swallowed. That is the real question, isn't it? Why do I want to know? I cleared my throat, chuckling nervously. "I don't know why. I just want to know."

  He breathed a laugh and looked down. "You can love someone without wanting to be with t
hem. Just like you can want to be with someone before you love them."

  He looked up at me, a spark in his eye.

  From my peripheral, I saw that Sawyer was standing next to our table, waiting with Tessa, who had a tray in her hand.

  Thomas didn't look away from me, and I couldn't look away from him.

  "Can I, uh...excuse me," Sawyer said.

  I blinked a few times and looked up. "Oh. Yes, sorry." I stood to let him by, and then I returned to my seat, trying not to shrink under Thomas's unfaltering stare.

  Tessa placed the appetizers on the table along with three small plates. She filled Thomas's half-empty glass, the dark merlot splashing inside, but I put my hand over mine before she could pour.

  Sawyer lifted his glass to his lips, and an awkward silence hung over the table while the rest of the restaurant hummed with a steady chatter, broken up only by intermittent laughter.

  "Did you tell her about Camille?" Sawyer asked.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my mouth suddenly felt parched. I gulped the last of the red liquid in my glass.

  Thomas bared his teeth and squinted his eyes, looking regretful. "Did you tell Tessa about that rash?"

  Sawyer nearly choked on his wine. Tessa tried to think of something to say but failed, and after a few bounces, she retreated to the kitchen.

  "Why? Why are you such an asshole?" Sawyer said.

  Thomas chuckled, and I fought a smile but lost, giggling into my water glass.

  Sawyer began to laugh, too, and he shook his head before slathering his slice of pita with hummus. "Well played, Maddox. Well played."

  Thomas looked up at me from under his brow. "How are you getting home, Liis?"

  "You're driving me."

  He nodded once. "I didn't want to assume, but I'm glad you agree."

  "THANK YOU," I said quietly.

  I tried not to look at the sliver of beautifully tanned skin between Thomas's belt and the bottom hem of his white T-shirt. He was hanging the painting, one of the first things I'd purchased after training. It was a canvas print, wrapped around wood, and it was too heavy to be wall decor.

  "It's creepy as hell," Thomas said, stepping off my dining room chair onto the carpet.

  "It's a Yamamoto Takato. He's my favorite Japanese modern artist."

  "Who are they?" Thomas asked, referring to the two sisters on the painting.

  They were resting outside at night. One sister was looking on, quietly enjoying whatever mischief was happening before them. The other was looking back at Thomas and me, sullen and bored.

  "Spectators. Listeners. Like us."

  He looked unimpressed. "They're weird."

  I crossed my arms and smiled, happy that they were finally in their place. "He's brilliant. You should see the rest of his work. They're tame in comparison."

  His expression told me he didn't approve of this new piece of information.

  I lifted my chin. "I like them."

  Thomas took in a breath, shook his head, and sighed. "Whatever frosts your cookies. I guess I'll, uh...head out."

  "Thanks for taking me home. Thanks for the anchor. Thanks for hanging the girls."

  "The girls?"

  I shrugged. "They don't have names."

  "Because they're not real."

  "They're real to me."

  Thomas picked up the chair and returned it to the table, but he gripped the top, leaning over a bit. "Speaking of things that aren't real...I've been trying to think of a way to talk to you about certain aspects of the trip."

  "Which ones?"

  He stood up and walked toward me, leaning down just inches from my face, slightly turning his head.

  I pulled away. "What are you doing?"

  He backed off, satisfied. "Seeing what you would do. I was right to bring this up now. If I don't show affection, they'll know something is up. You can't pull away from me like that."

  "I won't."

  "Really? That wasn't a knee-jerk reaction just then?"

  "Yes...but I've let you kiss me before."

  "When you were drunk," Thomas said with a smirk. He walked to the middle of the room and sat on my couch like he owned the place. "That doesn't count."

  I followed him, watched him for a moment, and then sat on his right, leaving not even air between us. I nuzzled my cheek against his chest and slid my hand across his rigid abdomen before digging my fingers into his left side, just enough so that my arm stayed in place.

  My entire body relaxed, and I crossed my right leg over my left, letting my calf overlap his knee so that every part of me was at least a little bit draped over him. I cuddled up against him with a smile because Thomas Maddox--the astute, always-in-control Special Agent--was as still as a statue, his heart thundering in his chest.

  "I'm not the one who needs practice," I said with a grin. I closed my eyes.

  I felt his muscles ease, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, letting his chin rest on top of my head. He let all the air escape from his lungs, and it seemed like a long time before he took another breath.

  We stayed that way, without anywhere to be, listening to the quietness of my condo and the noise from the street. Tires still sloshed against the wet asphalt, horns honked, doors from cars slammed. Once in a while, a person would shout, car brakes would whine, and a dog would bark.

  Inside, sitting with Thomas--on the very couch we'd christened the night we met--felt like an alternate universe.

  "This is nice," he said finally.

  "Nice?" I was mildly offended. I thought it felt amazing. No one had held me that way since Jackson in Chicago, and even then, it hadn't felt like this.

  I didn't think that I would miss someone touching me, especially when I hadn't appreciated Jackson's affection before. But being without it for less than a month had made me feel lonely, and maybe even a little depressed. That was typical for anyone, I imagined, but I was sure that the sadness wouldn't have come so strong and so soon had I not experienced Thomas's hands on me during my first night in San Diego. I'd had to miss them every day after that.

  "You know what I mean," he said.

  "No. Why don't you tell me?"

  His lips pressed against my hair, and he inhaled, deep and peaceful. "I don't want to. I just want to enjoy it."

  Fair enough.

  I opened my eyes, alone and lying on my couch. I was still fully dressed, covered with the wool throw that had been folded on the chair.

  I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and then paused. "Thomas?" I called. I felt ridiculous. It was worse than the morning after our one-night stand.

  My watch read three a.m., and then I heard a bump upstairs. I looked up with a smile. It was nice knowing that he was so close. But then I heard something else, something that made my stomach turn.

  A groan.

  A moan.

  A yelp.

  Oh God.

  A rhythm of bumping against a wall along with moans began to filter down to my condo, and I looked around, not knowing what to think. Did he leave here and go to Cutter's? Meet a girl? Take her home?

  But Thomas wouldn't do that. I had been the only one since...maybe I'd gotten him out of his slump.

  Oh God.

  "Oh God!" a woman's muffled cry repeated my thought aloud, filling my condo.

  No. This has to stop.

  I stood up and began to search for something long to bang against the ceiling. His embarrassment didn't matter in the least. I didn't even care if I was that neighbor--the spinster downstairs who didn't like hearing music, loud laughter, or sex. I just needed that woman's abnormally loud orgasm to stop.

  I climbed onto the dining room chair, the same one Thomas had used earlier, with a broom in hand. Just before I started banging the handle against the ceiling, someone knocked on the door.

  What in the hell?

  I opened it, fully aware that either I looked absolutely insane or the person on the other side of the door would be the crazy one, and I would have to use the
broom on some psycho.

  Thomas was standing in the doorway with dark circles under his eyes, looking exhausted. "Can I stay here?"

  "What?"

  "Why are you holding a broom?" he asked. "It's after three in the morning. Are you cleaning?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "Don't you have company?"

  He looked around, seeming confused by my question, and then shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Yes."

  "Shouldn't you be at your place then?"

  "Uh...I'm not getting much sleep up there."

  "Clearly!"

  I tried to slam the door, but he caught it and followed me inside.

  "What is wrong with you?" he asked. Then, he pointed to the stray dining room chair. "What's up with the chair?"

  "I was going to climb up on it and use this!" I said, holding out the broom.

  "For what?" His nose wrinkled.

  "On the ceiling! To make it stop! To make her stop!"

  Recognition lit his eyes, and he was instantly embarrassed. "You can hear that?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Yes. The whole building can hear it."

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, Liis."

  "Don't apologize," I seethed. "It's not like we...it's not real."

  "Huh?"

  "Please don't apologize! It just makes me feel more pathetic!"

  "Okay! I'm sorry! I mean..."

  I sighed. "Just...go."

  "I...was going to ask if I could stay here tonight. But I guess if you can hear her--"

  I tossed the broom at him, but he hopped over it.

  "What the hell, Liis?"

  "No, you can't stay here! Go back upstairs to your one-night stand! Seems like you've become a pro."

  His eyes grew wide, and he held up his hands. "Oh! Whoa. No. That wasn't...that's not me. Up there. With her."

  "What?" I closed my eyes, completely confused.

  "I'm not with her."

  I glared at him. "Obviously. You just met her."

  His hands were moving back and forth in a horizontal motion. "No. I'm not up there, fucking her."

  "I know," I emphasized each word. I might as well have been talking to a wall.

  "No!" he yelled in frustration.

  The banging began again, and we both looked up. The woman began to yelp, and a low moan filtered through the ceiling--a man's voice.

  Thomas covered his face. "Jesus Christ."

  "Someone has a woman in your condo?"

  "My brother," he groaned.

  "Which one?"

  "Taylor. He's staying here for a few days. He texted me, wondering why I wasn't at home. I left here to meet him upstairs, but when I got there, he was pissed about something and didn't want to sit at the condo. So, I took him over to Cutter's. Agent Davies was there, and--"