by Krista Holt
As much as it irritates me, I do. “Arnoldo is feeding me information as it comes through the committee, but it’s been quiet the past few days. The FBI turned over records in response to a subpoena, but from what he’s told me, it’s a bunch of nothing. It’ll take time for them to get any closer.”
“Which means you need to work harder to get there before they do,” Saul says.
“I am aware of this.” I keep my eyes trained on my father, unwilling to give him any more of my attention.
“Good,” he mumbles.
My father cuts his eyes to Saul, and then back to me.
I clear my throat. “Get out, both of you.”
Enzo bails out of the room. Saul waits to get a nod from my father before following him more sedately out the door. It latches with a click.
“What the f—”
“I understand your frustration,” he cuts me off.
“What is his problem?” Anger vibrates off of my words.
“He has a point. You were gone for a while and,” he holds up a hand to stop me from interrupting, “while I don’t agree with the way he handled it, you need to understand that he got used to his opinion being heard, and valued. With you back, taking what’s rightfully yours, it’s only natural that some insecurities arise. His pride is hurt.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m not saying you should.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk. “But I’m not going to prop you up either. If you want this, prove it. To him, and to me.” Annoyance tinges his words, and his eyes glint darkly, filled with something I can’t quite identify.
“Fine.” I sit up straight.
He waves toward the door. “You’re free to go do whatever you had planned with your mother and sister.”
I rise from the chair, taking his dismissal in stride. Walking down the hallway in search of Gabriella and my mother, my mind replays the look in his eyes. The one from right before he dismissed me. Maybe I misread it.
CHAPTER 20
Reagan
I’m sitting in the back of a bar, thinking about work, which is a little pathetic, but when the chief of staff calls for happy hour, apparently it’s a mandatory thing. Even on a Friday night. So I sit here, with a warming beer in my hand, thinking about the investigation. And Nic.
Even with time and distance, he is still very much present. It’s only been four days since our fight, and I was ready to cave by day two. I must have reached for the phone close to a dozen times, but each time I talked myself out of making the call at the last possible second. I don’t know what it is about him. He’s like a drug. Addictive. And I want more.
A cold gust of air breezes through the crowded bar, bringing my gaze up. Scott steps inside and heads straight toward my booth.
“How’d it go?” I ask as he sits down.
He left the office earlier with Cameron to record a press interview on the status of the investigation, hoping that by raking the Bureau over the coals for refusing to fully cooperate, we’d gain some leverage.
“Cameron was happy and so was the press secretary. But he did get an email from the committee afterward, apparently the two agents in question are claiming the so-called bribe money was part of their cover.”
“Wait, so are they still undercover?”
“That’s what we don’t know. They were supposed to suspend them, but the FBI is being dodgy about whether they actually did. You’d think that with Congress bearing down on them and knowing their names might be leaked to the press any day, they’d pull them. Who knows, though.”
“So, how do we prove that the bribe money wasn’t part of their undercover assignment?”
“We assume it wasn’t because of the tipster, but this is getting dicey. If it turns out the whistleblower is lying, we’ll end up with egg on our face. And that’s not good.”
“We can just subpoena them to testify, right?”
“Yeah, but then it’s a we said versus they all said scenario. We need proof, and what the FBI gave us isn’t turning up anything. I need to call my friend at Justice and ask if he’ll unofficially tell me what the IG is finding. But if we don’t get anywhere, the committee is contemplating subpoenaing everyone on that task force, including their superiors.”
“But I thought you just said that wouldn’t work.”
“It won’t, but if the FBI is faced with outing some of the guys they have undercover, they might reconsider giving us the information they’re holding back.”
“And we know they’re holding back something because we haven’t found anything useful?”
“Exactly,” he confirms with a sighs.
I take a sip of my beer. So far the committee hasn’t found anything useful in the boxes from the FBI, and with the number of boxes dwindling, we’re running out of information sources.
Christmas is next week, which means everything is already slowing to a crawl. Members and staff are fleeing town, exchanging the political chaos for fireplaces and lit Christmas trees in far-flung locales. Those not taking vacation days will be working from home, so the office will be a ghost town. All of our work on this investigation will be sitting at a standstill until Congress comes back into session after the holidays, even though this investigation is becoming a bigger news story with every late night broadcast.
“I’m going to grab a beer,” Scott stands, “you need another one?”
“I’m good.”
He walks away, standing at the packed bar. I take another sip as April sits down in the seat he just vacated.
“I need to talk.”
“Okay.” I set my beer down. “What’s up?”
“I went on a date with Scott,” she blurts out.
“Okay,” I repeat, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. “And?”
“And now he hasn’t said anything else about it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She twists her hands together, looking over her shoulder at him. “We went to dinner and a movie over the weekend. I thought it went well, but we haven’t talked outside of the office this week, so I don’t know.”
“Nothing weird happened?”
“No. It was amazing.”
“I don’t really know what to tell you.”
“Come on, you spend the most time with him at work. Has he said anything?”
“No.” I shake my head gently. “But he wouldn’t. We aren’t close, April. We’re working on the same thing, that’s all.”
“Still, I was hoping.”
“Sorry,” I say sympathetically. “Maybe you should buy him a beer? Talk to him and let whatever happens happen.”
“You think?”
“It can’t hurt. Besides what’s the worst that can happen?”
“Rejection,” the word flies out of her mouth. “That’s pretty bad, and then I’ll have to work with him every day—that’d be awkward.”
I don’t have a response for that. She’s right, it could end badly and I’m really not in a position to be giving advice. I’m stuck in my own relationship impasse.
“I’m probably the last person you should listen to, but tell me this—will you regret not knowing?”
“Yeah, I would.” She blushes.
“There’s your answer.”
She stares intently at the back of Scott’s head.
“What are you waiting for?” I encourage her.
“A sudden burst of courage,” she says dryly.
“Well,” I push out of my seat, “I don’t know where they sell that, but I can get you a shot, and that’s kind of the same thing. Whiskey or tequila?”
She licks her lips nervously. “Whiskey.”
I get our shots and bring them back to the table. “Here,” I pass one to her, “bottoms up.”
“Why are you doing one?”
“Solidarity.” I grin. “Now, drink up.” We both swallow the shots, coughing as the alcohol burns our throats.
“Oh,” April coughs, “that was awful.”
“Really, really bad.” I grimace, looking at the bottom of the shot glass, expecting a toxic warning.
“Okay, that helped. I’m going.” She slowly gets up, straightening her dress. “Wish me luck.”
“I’ll be here, sending moral support your way.”
She takes a deep breath before marching toward Scott. He turns around, greeting her warmly. They laugh about something. April touches his shoulder, and he responds by sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her to him.
I sink back into the booth, trying to ignore the pang of longing that slices through me. I had that. My eyes drop to the table in front of me as I blink back the tears that insist on appearing.
I miss him. And I think I’ve always missed him. I just didn’t realize it. My anger hid it so well. But I miss us, the way we used to be.
I don’t know if it’s even possible to get back to that, to us. All I know is that I want to try. He can me forget he ever left. He’s good at that, making me forget the bad things and only focus on the good. And I want good. I’m so tired of trying to find the problems. Anticipating them, so I can prepare for the fallout. It’s exhausting. I thought I could cut him off, I thought it would fix my problems. But it didn’t. And I don’t want to stay away anymore.
My phone sits on the table, mocking me. All it would take is one call. One text. And he’d be here.
I run my hands down my tailored pants. Can I do this? Swallow my pride, and let go of my hurt. Do I have it in me to hold him close again and trust that he’s not going to hurt me? I don’t know. But I do know, years from now, when I look back at this moment, I will regret not trying.
He was, he is, my first love, and you don’t get to walk away from those unscathed. They either work out, or they burn you. Scar you. Leave you marked for the rest of your life. You don’t just walk away with your heart in one piece. And Nic, he still holds too many pieces of mine. I can’t just walk away. I’m in love with him and despite what he did, I don’t think I ever really stopped.
I tap the screen of my phone. 1:13 a.m. My fingers tremble as I hit his name. I bring it to my ear and hold my breath.
“Reagan?” he asks, voice gritty with sleep. “Are you okay?” His tone becomes alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just . . .” I pause, pushing a few strands of hair out of my face. “I need you.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Where are you?”
“Cap Lounge.”
“Don’t move. I’m on my way.”
I hurry outside, not even bothering to tell anyone goodbye. I suck in the cold air, hoping it’ll calm me down, settle my racing heart. It doesn’t. I pace the sidewalk as I wait, but it seems like only seconds before the Mercedes appears, skidding to a stop in front of me.
Nic climbs out of the car. His hair is a mess, and he’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, like he used to back at Stanford.
“You okay?” He strides toward me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” My brow wrinkles. “Why?”
“You call me in the middle of the night, and I’m going to worry.” He reaches for me, wrapping me in his arms and tucking me under his chin. “You scared me a little, sweetheart,” he whispers in my ear.
I close my eyes, holding him just as tight as he’s holding me. “Sorry.”
“I’d tell you to not do it again, but I’m just glad you called.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Are you done here?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go then.”
The ride is quiet. He holds my hand as he drives. His thumb moves over the back of it in some pattern only discernable to him. Every time I glance over at him, I catch him watching me, and the easy grin that plays on his lips sends my heart racing.
At my apartment, he gently takes the keys from me and unlocks my door.
“Are you going to come in?” I hold it open.
“That depends, is your roommate here?”
“No, she’s out for the night.”
He still doesn’t budge from the doorway. “You want me here?”
“Yes, I want you here.” I’m expecting a grin, or at the very least a smirk, but he only nods and moves into the living room. I turn on the lights and take off my coat. “Want anything?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Let’s talk about why you called me.”
“Can we not?” I bite my lip.
“Reagan.”
“I know, I know.” I sigh, dropping onto the couch and curling my legs beneath me. “It’s been a long week. And I’m a little drunk.”
He smirks, and sits down beside me. “Tomorrow?”
I deflate with relief. “Thank you.”
“Come here.” He tucks me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s watch a movie.”
I rest my head on his chest and he tugs the remote from my hand, flipping through the channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life.
“I like this movie,” I mumble.
“I know you do.”
We settle in, watching the story unfold. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
He turns and gently kisses my forehead. “I will always come for you.” His hand runs along my arm.
I try to pay attention to the movie but my eyelids grow heavy. He pulls me tight against him before grabbing a blanket to spread over us.
“Don’t leave me, okay?” I sigh, grabbing a fistful of his sweatshirt.
He stills. “I’ll be here.”
“Good.” I close my eyes. Just for a moment, I tell myself. But, I end up falling asleep before Clarence can earn his wings.
* * *
I wake up, cold and alone.
Reaching out, I search for some warmth, patting the bed randomly. Coming up empty-handed, I force my eyes open, slowly placing my surroundings. I’m under the covers in my bedroom.
Nic. He must have put me to bed after I’d fallen asleep.
I crawl off the bed and peek out of my room. He’s asleep on the couch. He didn’t leave.
I work my way around the couch, shuffling my feet against the cold hardwood floor. Nic jerks upright, hair scattered from sleep, eyes wide.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
He slumps back down on the cushions. “Why are you up?”
“My room’s cold.” I sit on the edge of the couch.
“Huh,” he replies, running a hand down his face. His arm stretches wide, inviting me to join him. I crawl over him, wedging myself between the couch and his body. “Better?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my lower back.
“Yeah.”
“Your room has a heater, right?” I glare at the smile appearing on his face, and it cracks even wider. “Just checking.” He moves in for a slow kiss and I don’t have it in me to deny him. I want it too.
“Are you trying to make me mad?”
“No.” He brushes errant hairs off my forehead. “I’ve just missed you.”
“I’ve been here all evening.”
“Old Reagan. She’s the one I miss, but she’s back now.”
“Nic,” I say softly.
“I know,” he replies, kissing me again. “We’re going to talk tomorrow. Promise me we’ll figure it out.”
“I hope we can.” I press myself even closer to him, resting my head on his chest.
His arm tightens around me. “We will.”
This shouldn’t feel this right. This . . . perfect. I slide an arm around his waist.
“I love you, you know?” His lips brush against my forehead.
“I know.”
Laughter shakes his chest. “That’s it?”
“I’m working on the rest of it.”
“All right,” he says, pressing another kiss to my skin. “Tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
He falls back asleep. I lie awake for a while, studying his face. It’s carefree and relaxed. There’s no sign of the stress or fatigue I’ve seen t
he last few times we’ve met. Just like the Nic I used to know.
I’ve missed him, too.
CHAPTER 21
Nic
My ringing phone peels my eyelids open sometime later.
I shift away from Reagan, who thankfully still sleeps like the dead, and grab it before it wakes her.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping, you should try it.”
My father scoffs. “It’s done.”
I run a hand down my face, trying to wake up. “Leroy?”
“Yeah. I need you up here to follow up with Michael.”
“Can’t Saul do it?
“No, I want you. You have a history with him.”
A less than stellar history, but I don’t remind him of that. “When?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Fine.” I quietly wrap up the rest of the call and set the phone on the coffee table. I pull her back into my arms, running a strand of her hair through my fingers. “You don’t know how long I waited for this.”
She doesn’t reply, not that I was expecting her to. She just keeps breathing softly in her sleep.
She wants to talk today. I’ve got one last chance to fix this, but there are so many things she doesn’t know. Like how I felt when I got that call our last night together. It was like watching the world end. A cataclysmic event, a death, having something you wanted so badly, something you would do anything for, ripped right out of your hands. And it wasn’t even my mother’s call that did that. It was Saul’s. He called right after she did, while I was still away from Reagan.
“Nicola.”
“Saul.”
“You have to come.”
“She already called. I know about the heart attack.”
“It’s worse than she knows.”
“How?
“The odds aren’t good. He’ll probably die during surgery.”
“I see.”
“His instructions were very clear. You’re to return and take over.”
I couldn’t breathe. My tie was suddenly strangling me.
“Nicola?” Saul shouted.
“I heard you.”
“What are you going to do?”
