Fool for Love (Believe #2)

by Karen Ferry

  “I have a scar,” I call out softly.

  That makes her stop, but she doesn’t turn around.

  “Some people never notice the ridge on my lips,” I continue. “They don’t pay close enough attention.” I take a couple of steps to her when she turns around to face me.

  “You didn’t see it – or even feel it when I kissed you for the first time,” I whisper.

  She shakes her head.

  “You’re right, I didn’t. Did you get it in the accident?”

  I nod. “Yes. I smashed my head into the window, and the glass left a long gash. It goes from here…” I raise my right hand and point at my left cheek, just below my eye, and leave a soft trail down the side, over my lips, to end on my lower part of my chin on the right, “…to here.”

  She tucks the blanket closer around her and frowns at me.

  “Why keep hiding it?”

  I sigh and run a hand over my chin.

  Shrugging, I say, “Habit, I suppose. I don’t want people to see it; to wonder about it; to pity me when I clearly don’t deserve it.”

  She groans and rubs her eyes before letting her arm fall listlessly to the side.

  “Good lord, Garrett, it happened so long ago.”

  “Maybe so,” I clip, “but that doesn’t negate the fact that I also like my beard.”

  “Then why not just shave it off to a scruff?” she counters.

  I don’t have a clever comeback for that one; and if her growing smirk is anything to go by, she knows that, too.

  I grit my teeth.

  “Fine, have it your way.”

  I stalk to the bathroom and hear her quick steps behind me as she follows me.

  “What are you doing?” her breathless voice sounds from behind me when I enter the bathroom and begin to open and close the cupboards above the sink.

  “Nonna gave me a shaving set when I turned twenty-one,” I mutter. “She had the box engraved with my name. No matter what, I could never convince myself to get rid of it.”

  I stop when my hands find the box at the very back of the last cupboard, and I take it down roughly.

  I open it as Suzy comes closer to stand next to me.

  “Wow,” she breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

  The box is black, and my full name is engraved on the lid in swirling script: Garrett Matteo Thompson. Inside, there’s a big brush, some shaving soap, and the razor. I change the blade quickly, as if I’m on autopilot.

  I clench my teeth and raise my head to look into the mirror in front of me. Suzy’s stubborn eyes meet mine, and I breathe deeply.

  “I need scissors first,” I murmur.

  “I’ll get them.”

  I watch her retreating back, and quick as lightening, she’s back with the pair of scissors I keep in the kitchen.

  “Will this work?”

  Nodding, I take them from her and turn back to the mirror. Pinching my lips shut, I quickly make work on the length of my beard until it’s easier to shave, trying to shut down the feeling of dread.

  I turn on the tap and wait for the water to get the right temperature. Mesmerised, I watch it swirling as it fills up the sink, and once it’s ready, I turn it off.

  I grab a hairband from the drawer next to me and gather my hair at the nape of my neck. Suzy’s hand lands on my shoulder, and she leans up to place a soft, lingering kiss on the dragon’s tail.

  “Come on, Garrett. Give me all of you, please,” she whispers.

  I take another deep breath and lean down to wet my cheeks before I reach for the soap on the vanity. Halfway to my chin, I notice the way my hand is shaking, and I grit my teeth, waiting it out. Once steady, I roll the tube across my beard and dip the brush in the water.

  I lather the soap until I’m covered in white foam and then look down at the razor.

  As I pick it up, I brace myself for what I’m about to see.

  For the first time in fifteen years, I’ll see my face.

  Stripped bare.

  And it scares the fuck out of me.

  WATCHING GARRETT SHAVE IS an experience that I never thought I’d be witness to.

  With each glide of the razor, he’s revealing himself to me entirely.

  His face, at least – and for a man like him, that’s saying a lot.

  I get the sense that he’s not only doing this to placate me, and I wonder if he has something to prove to himself as well.

  Even if there’s no real need to.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him as hard as I did, but I know myself now; this would keep bothering me until he’d given me all the answers, and time is running against us.

  Against me.

  The longer we’re together, the harder it will be to tell him goodbye in the end – but I’m prepared for it.

  The hair drops to the sink, and we keep silent the whole time until he’s done. Quickly, he splashes water on his face, and I hand him a towel to dry off. My heart beats loudly in my ears when he holds the towel for longer than is necessary, but this time, I daren’t push him.

  As he slowly lowers his hands covering him, I hold my breath and gaze into the mirror, waiting…

  I release it on a long whoosh when his shuttered eyes meet mine, and I take in the face he’s been hiding from me for so long.

  His cheeks are more hollow than I thought they’d be. His grooves are deeper. His lips are fuller, or seem like it now that they are not surrounded by the beard.

  The scar is very wide and white against the redness of his cheeks, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

  “Happy?” he asks me, voice gruff and angry. I smile and turn to face him. His head remains in profile, as if he can’t break free from the mirror, so I nudge my body in between his and the sink, not caring in the least that the sharp edge bores into my back.

  My physical pain is nothing compared to his emotional pain.

  I let the blanket covering my naked body fall to the floor, and when his warm skin touches mine, I press my breasts flush to his chest.

  “Yes.” I smile and reach up to cup his face. “You’re beautiful, Garrett.”

  His eyes widen in surprise.

  “You. Are. Beautiful.”

  Each word comes out strong and clear, and I let my passion for him shine through my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper before I lean up on my toes to kiss his lips softly. I trace his lips with my tongue, silently asking him to let me in, and I sigh in joy when he relents.

  Our kiss is slow. Tender. Beautiful.

  Perfect.

  Time stands still as I try to convey how much his act means to me, and I angle my head to deepen it. A low rumble sounds from his chest and his hands fall to my ass, gripping on tightly.

  In a quick and practiced move, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his back, holding on with all that I am. Without breaking our kiss, he walks back to our bed, and he places me gently down, his body covering mine.

  When he lifts his head and stares intently into my eyes, my breath catches from the lingering pain I see in them. But my heart flutters like mad when I also find the burning need he always reveals to me when we’re intimate.

  “How do you say ‘my love’ in Danish?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

  I breathe, overcome with hope. This is the third time in only twenty-four hours that he’s called me that, and I know to the very deepest part of my soul that he means it.

  “‘Min elskede’.”

  He repeats the words slowly, hesitantly, and hearing him try to say something so beautiful and revered in my own language touches me right to my very soul. I tear up, but I don’t try to wipe them away. They trickle slowly down my cheeks, without a sound, and I let him kiss them away as they fall.

  Then he begins to make sweet love to me, and I cling to him, telling him with every touch and kiss that I love him.

  I see him.

  I treasure him.

  Forever.

  The real world literally knocks on our door the nex
t day. It’s late afternoon, and we’re lounging on the couch – me reading a romance novel and Garrett reading the newspaper – and I’m only wearing my faithful yoga pants and a black t-shirt. Every so often, my eyes lift from my book and linger on the hard planes of Garrett’s bare chest, and I shake my head at my inability to keep focused on the story.

  I’ve never had this problem before.

  I guess it must be love.

  When the knock interrupts our lazy afternoon, Garrett quickly tosses the paper on the coffee table and grabs a T-shirt hanging behind one of the bar stools before he heads over to answer it.

  Thinking that it’s probably Garrett’s dad who’s brought back Rufus, I get up and walk closer. My hope is dashed, however, when Garrett opens the door and I see the other detective, Eddie McCloud, in the doorway.

  “I told you before, if you have anymore questions for me, you’ll have to arrange a meeting at your precinct with me and my lawyer present,” Garrett states in a firm voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, but I’m here in an unofficial capacity.” Detective McCloud sighs and pushes up his glasses that’ve slipped down on his nose. His brown coat looks warm, but a bit worse for wear, and his grey suit pants are wrinkled.

  The uncomfortable way he tugs at his tie makes me less apprehensive, and I walk to Garrett’s side.

  “May I come in?”

  “I’m sure there’s no harm done in letting him talk,” I tell Garrett as I take his hand in mine. I give the detective a friendly smile, and the way his apologetic gaze holds mine, I feel more reassured.

  He’s a good cop, not a bad one.

  Garrett’s hand tenses briefly in mine, but he takes a step back and juts his head.

  “Thank you,” Detective McCloud says, entering our home.

  A couple of seconds tick by and I almost cringe from the awkward silence. Then I remember what my mother has instilled in me from the day I was born. “Always ask guests for coffee – even the unwanted ones. That always works wonders as an ice breaker.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” I ask him. When he nods in thanks, I go to the kitchen to fetch a mug and the coffee.

  “What’s this about?” Garrett asks him brusquely.

  I turn to find them both standing on the other side of the bar.

  Right. Informal it is, then.

  Garrett crosses his arms, scowl firmly in place, as the detective’s eyes flicker towards me.

  “Mr. Thompson, your father made a call to my Captain this morning that…concerns me,” he starts. I stiffen slightly.

  “And?”

  I set about placing mugs on the bar and pour the coffee, wanting to seem unaffected by where this is headed.

  “Miss Christensen, am I correct to assume that my partner paid you a visit yesterday that was unpleasant?”

  I set the coffee pot down and face the detective. His eyes are kind but sharp, and I get the sense that he’s good at reading people.

  I wet my lips and rest my hands on the bar.

  “Something like that,” I answer.

  “I see.” He takes a sip of his coffee, and I glance at Garrett whose eyes are watching every move of the detective like a hawk.

  “This is completely unofficial,” Detective McCloud starts as he sets down his mug. “So I won’t ask for any details. But…it’s not the first time that the Captain has received a call from someone about Detective Easton’s questionable behaviour.”

  “Then why is the fucker still a cop?” Garrett’s growl makes me suck in a breath, but it doesn’t seem to bother Detective McCloud; he just shakes his head.

  “Lack of evidence. The woman who claimed that he assaulted her recanted in the end, so there was no case against him.”

  Garrett’s eyes meet mine.

  “Alright, I’ll bite. Why exactly are you here, Detective McCloud?”

  He takes another sip of his coffee, biding his time, and I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what he’s up to.

  “Well, to tell you that we will, unofficially, try to look into his past – dig around – see if we can find something on him that will lead to an official investigation by IAB.”

  Garrett’s scowl clears a bit, but his stance doesn’t let up.

  “In the meantime,” McCloud continues, “I suggest you don’t open the door to him unless someone else is with him.” His head shifts between us. “That goes for the both of you.”

  My answer is prompt. “Understood.”

  He smiles kindly at me. “Good. Thanks for the coffee.”

  He takes one last sip before he turns away and walks to the door, Garrett following him closely.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when he’s gone, and the tension in my body slowly ebbs away. I look down at my rainbow-coloured socks and ponder what’ll happen next.

  I doubt the detective will find anything on Easton quickly, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping that I’m wrong.

  “Well, that was fast,” Garrett mutters as he walks back to me.

  Lost in thought, I keep staring at my feet, but I give him a small nod when he comes to a stop in front of me.

  “I don’t want you to be alone at any time, Suzy.”

  He wraps his hand around my neck, his thumb pressing up on my chin. When I lift my head and take in the serious expression in his eyes, warmth fills me at his concern.

  “I wasn’t planning to,” I try to reassure him.

  His frown deepens. “You weren’t?”

  The suspicion in his voice makes me narrow my eyes, and my temper spikes.

  “No, I wasn’t; that would just be stupid. I’ve read enough books to learn that the minute the heroine goes against her man’s wishes, something dire and evil happens, and then she has to wait for the hero to come to the rescue. Uh, thanks, but no thanks.”

  His lips twitch, and his eyes soften slightly.

  “Books aren’t reality, waif.”

  “I know that.” I get up on my toes and place my hand on his cheek. “But lately, I’ve begun to feel like I’m in my own private fairy-tale, and I prefer to remain there, thank you very much.”

  His eyes lighten but then sadness fills them.

  “I’m hardly a Prince Charming,” he whispers.

  I shake my head, exasperated by his stubbornness, and roll my eyes at him.

  “You’re right, you’re not. You’re something infinitely better, Garrett.”

  Not giving him time to answer that, I give him a loud smack on the lips and fall back on my heels.

  “Now, when do we leave to go to Mama Rosa’s?”

  He blinks a couple of times while I grin and take great pleasure in his confusion.

  “Don’t you have a shift at The Vault tonight?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “But we have plenty of time.”

  He raises his arm to glance at his watch.

  “It’s only 3pm. Will you be ready in an hour?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Absolutely. I’ll just go take a shower.”

  With that, I walk away, but stop to look back at him when he calls my name.

  “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met,” he says. His eyes are the softest I’ve ever seen, and my stomach flutters with pleasure. I wet my lips and try to seem unaffected.

  “Good. Predictability is boring.”

  Then I turn away and head to the bathroom. My heart is light, and there’s a spring in my step; despite the unwanted visit, I’m excited to finally get to see Garrett in his element.

  At the place that gives him joy and peace from his past.

  An hour later, we’re in the cab and on our way. I’ve put on my most comfortable black jeans, a red, sleeveless top, and black pumps. I chose to go with a pair of simple diamond studded earrings and a couple of different rings, but nothing over the top.

  I’m not out to impress Garrett, but I want to look my best when we go inside together.

  I relax in my seat and grab his hand when I notice that he’s, once more, scratching at his n
ow beard-less chin.

  “Stop. Don’t fret,” I tell him softly.

  He gives me a crooked smile that doesn’t exactly reach his eyes.

  “Can I ask you a question?” It might not be the best way to distract him from his thoughts, but now that he’s started to open up to me, I want to soak up every little thing there is to find out about him.

  “You’re probably going to ask anyway, even if my answer is no.” His smile grows wider, and I wink at him.

  “Yeah, you could be right.”

  He turns more towards me and lifts the hand not joined with mine, indicating for me to continue.

  “Don’t you have a car anymore?”

  He lets out a long breath and shakes his head slowly.

  “No, I don’t. I haven’t driven a car since that night. I…” He hesitates and looks out the window above my shoulder. “It’s not like I really need one when I live in this city; there’s always a cab if I need to go somewhere that’s farther than a reasonable walking distance.”

  “Hmm…I get that.”

  And it’s true, I do. I don’t want to push him on the subject anymore, so I sit back and relax for the rest of the drive. When the cab stops, I feel like I'm buzzing with excitement from finally seeing Garrett’s pride and joy. I jump out to take in the entrance of Mama Rosa’s. The brown doors and marquee hanging down with the name gives it an understated, but homey impression; the red and white curtains in the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street look very Italian.

  Garrett comes up beside me and takes my hand. I look to find him staring intently at the marquee, and it makes me wonder what’s on his mind.

  “Well, here she is,” he murmurs as he turns to give me a soft smile. “Shall we?”

  I nod and smile at him. Hand in hand, we walk to the doors. Garrett holds it for me and I lose the touch of his skin as I walk inside, scanning the room before me. To my left, there’s a bar; it’s dark brown, and plenty of wine bottles on shelves are placed behind it next to glasses in practically all shapes and forms.

  The rest of the square room is filled up with tables and chairs; and while it looks very clean and nice, the brown colour is again the main feature. The table cloths are covered in white linen, though, breaking up the darkness of the room, but it still seems a bit old-fashioned. Then I notice all the picture frames on the beige-coloured walls, and I smile, hoping that I’ll get the chance to examine them closer.