Anything For Us

by Lola StVil

  “She has a key and—”

  I storm past her and out the door. She takes off after me. That’s a bad idea because I am way too pissed off at Shelby to contain my emotions.

  “Cash, wait! Where are you going?” she asks as she runs down the steps.

  “I’m going to find Shelby and kill her.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “The hell I don’t! She had no right to—you know what, it doesn’t matter. I gotta go,” I reply as I make my way towards my car. She follows me.

  “She wasn’t trying to do any damage. I don’t think she had any bad intentions,” Sky pleads.

  “I don’t give a fuck about her intentions! Who the hell does she think she is? Why the hell is she letting herself into my house? And why are you defending her?”

  “I’m not; I just don’t want you to go over there and act crazy.”

  “Crazy? How exactly am I supposed to act when you tell me someone broke into my house?”

  “Okay, I get that you are upset, and you have every right to be, but you can’t go over to her place like this.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s married to your oldest brother, and I’m guessing he’s gonna have an issue with you killing his wife,” she says as she wedges herself between the car door and me.

  “I don’t give a fuck; now move out of the way!” I demand.

  “No! You want to get to Shelby, then you have to get past me,” she says as if she were a six-foot-seven, three-hundred-pound bodybuilder. I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head in disbelief.

  “I could literally throw you down the street with the same amount of effort it takes to toss away a box of tissues,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And you also know that I would never do that,” I conclude.

  “Yeah, I do,” she says with a small smile. She places both hands against my chest, and right away, the heat created by her touch calms me. I exhale deeply, drained and exhausted. I lean forward and lower my head to her chest. She takes me in and strokes my arm.

  “Let’s start again, okay?” she suggests. I nod. She whispers in my ear, “Hi, Cash.”

  I straighten up and look into her eyes. They are always so warm and so inviting.

  “Hi, babe.”

  She gets on the tips of her toes and says, “How was your day?”

  “Rough.”

  “I’m sorry. How can I make it better?” she says, and she leans in and gives me a fiery, long, lingering kiss.

  “Sweetheart, you just did.”

  ***

  When we go back to her place, we order Thai food, and she pours me a drink. We get comfortable on her sofa. I brush against her arm, and she winces.

  “Babe, what’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” I ask.

  “I kind of bumped into something,” she says as she looks for something for us to watch on TV.

  “What did you bump into?” I ask.

  “I’m clumsy, so there’s no telling. Anyway, my upper arm is a little sore,” she admits.

  “Do you want me to take a look? I’ve had more bruises than I can count,” I reply as I go to pull back the sleeves of her robe. She says no, and she assures me she’s fine. Something in my gut tells me there’s more to the story, but I know she wouldn’t lie to me. So, I’m guessing she is just feeling a little embarrassed about bumping into furniture. And for some reason, I find that fucking adorable.

  “Tell me about your day. Why was it so rough?” she asks.

  “Crazy woman. Foot chase. Roof. Hard landing.”

  “Am I going to get complete sentences out of you?” she jokes.

  “It’s not worth it. And sometimes I won’t be able to tell you everything about my day at work. Sometimes there are things I won’t be able to mention at all,” I caution her.

  “Yeah, I figured that,” she says as she looks away. I place my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so that we are eye to eye.

  “How do you feel about that?” I ask.

  She looks off to the side and twists her lips to the side. “I’m not crazy about it,” she admits.

  “I know, but that’s how this works. Some cases I can talk about because they are study cases. That means they are over ten years old and are closed. We sometimes review them to see if we can learn something that might help us out in current cases. But as far as the cases we take on now, there’s nothing I can say about them. I know you don’t love that, but I’m kind of good with it,” I admit.

  “Why?”

  “Babe, I see some awful things. Things that I have no desire to bring home to you.”

  “Yeah, but you should have someone to share that stuff with, it’s crazy not to.”

  “I never stopped to think about what it would be like to share that stuff. I never had anyone that wanted to know what my day was like,” I reply mostly to myself. She leans into me and plants a quick kiss on me.

  “Well, now you do. So share what you can, I want to know about it. For example, what’s the best part of your job?” she asks.

  “When we take down someone who has managed to evade us for years. It’s rare but it feels really good knowing we dismantled a drug ring that would end up killing hundreds of people in the end.”

  “That’s got to be gratifying.”

  “It is.”

  “And what’s one of the worst parts?”

  “I would say the lives that are lost, but I knew that going into this job. The thing that gets me is the endless trail of lies. I mean, everyone lies, but addicts are proficient liars. I spend most of my day being lied to: I didn’t know there were drugs in the car; it’s not mine, I’m just holding it for someone; or I can’t remember the name of the guy I bought it from.

  “It’s just endless. I think that’s one of the reasons I try to be upfront with people; I just hate lies. And I don’t want that shit in my life,” I reply. She shifts her weight and looks off to the side.

  “But what about you?” I ask.

  “What about me?”

  “What happened to you today, aside from doing battle with a menacing unidentified piece of furniture?” As soon as I ask the question, the doorbell rings, and she leaps to get it. She tips the delivery guy and brings the food over to the dining table. I’m missing something. I know it. There’s something she’s not saying. But I don’t want to dig, not now.

  Sometimes I can’t shake being an agent, but if ever there were a day to try, it would be today. I’m already mad at Shelby and plan to kill her—slowly. I just want us to have a nice dinner and be with each other. If I push her and it’s nothing, then I’m to blame. And if I push her and there is something she’s not saying, I doubt it’s something that I will like hearing. And right now, I just want to have an easy night with my girl.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask before I drop the subject.

  “Yes.”

  “And there’s nothing you need to tell me about today?”

  “Like what?” she asks as she opens the container of pad Thai.

  “It’s easy to get lost in what happens with me, and I don’t want to do that with you. So I just want to make sure you’re good.”

  “No, I’m not good—I’m starving. Let’s eat,” she says. I’m satisfied that everything is fine, and the smell of the food makes my stomach rumble, so we dig in. The rest of the night goes by smoothly. We pig out and watch a little TV.

  We don’t talk much and it’s crazy, but we don’t really need to speak. The silence is comfortable. I feel like I have known this woman my whole life. It’s like she’s a part of me I didn’t know I was missing.

  When it gets really late, I ask her if she wants me to leave. I’ve never stayed over at her place, and I’m trying not to be a complete jerk and take over her space.

  “No, stay,” she replies. “In fact, I have something you can wear.”

  “I’m not sure I want to wear whatever the guy before me left behind.”
>
  “It’s been three years, there is no ‘guy before.’ I ordered something from Amazon and they sent me the wrong thing. I meant to return it but forgot about it. They should fit you,” she says. I follow her to the bedroom, where she searches her dresser and finds dark plaid PJ’s, still in the original packaging.

  “You can wear the pants,” she says.

  I examine the shirt. “I think the shirt will fit me.”

  “I know, but I say you are going shirtless. And since it’s my apartment, you have to do what I say,” she informs me.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply as I place my hand on her waist. We begin to kiss, and things get really hot, really fast.

  She pulls away. “I’m sorry, my arm is still sore, raincheck?” she says.

  “Okay, but only because you are so worth the wait,” I reply as I kiss her neck.

  “Okay, no more, Agent Hunter. Get in that shower,” she orders.

  I get into her shower. It’s small for me and a little hard to move around in, but I make do. When I get out of the shower, she’s curled into a ball, asleep on the bed. I can feel my heart swell; damn I love her so much. It’s insane that it’s only been a few weeks because right now, I don’t remember what life was like without her.

  I really wanted to tell Cash what happened at school. I had my words all picked out, and he certainly gave me more than enough chances to come clean. The whole time he was sitting there telling me how much he hated liars, I kept thinking, “Sky, tell him, tell him, you idiot,” but the words just couldn’t make it out of my mouth.

  I’ve realized that I’m not the only one holding something back. All night Cash tossed and turned. He had nightmares and was jarred out of his sleep twice. The first time I asked him about it, he said it was nothing. He then pulled me to him and went back to sleep. But the second time was worse; he sat up, terrified. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, his body was tense, and his eyes were dark with anxiety.

  I make him breakfast and hope I can get him to talk. I know it’s not fair to ask him for information when I haven’t been straight with him. But I’m sure that whatever he’s dealing with is far more pressing than my encounter at school. I hate to think of him being haunted by some unspeakable event and worse, not being able to share it with anyone.

  “How are the eggs?” I ask.

  “Huh?” he replies as my voice pulls him out of a trance.

  “The eggs, how are they?”

  “Good, babe, thanks.”

  “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” I begin.

  “I got enough, at least to get me through the morning.”

  “I’m going to ask something—don’t be mad, okay?”

  He smiles, but his eyes narrow with suspicion. “What is it?”

  “Who’s Hank and why were you begging him to stop?”

  Cash frowns and puts his fork down. His eyes turn dark with a hint of anger.

  “It’s nothing,” he lies.

  “It has to be something; you were having nightmares.”

  “I have trouble sleeping at times, it’s not a big deal.”

  “But Cash—”

  “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

  “But why can’t you tell me what—”

  “Sky, just drop it.”

  “But why can’t you just tell me what—”

  “I SAID, DROP IT!” he says as he slams his hand on the table.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I tell him as I get up from the table and collect the dishes. I remind myself that I have no right to feel slighted, not after what I am keeping from him. But it doesn’t help the sting that comes from his outburst. I walk to the sink and begin to wash the dishes. He comes up behind me.

  “Skylar, I’m sorry,” he says. I shrug and tell him that it’s okay. He knows I don’t mean it. He asks me to turn around and look at him. I don’t. He gently turns me to face him. Remorse is etched on his face.

  “I was being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “I get that there are things you can’t tell me, but I don’t appreciate being yelled at. And it’s not something I plan on getting used to,” I warn him.

  “You’re right; I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

  “Fine.”

  “Tell me you forgive me,” he says as he glances down at my body. I’m pretty sure he’s mentally taking off every article of clothing I have on. I blush and try to put some space between us; he won’t allow it. He drops his eyes down to my lips; the desire in his eyes is unmistakable. My heart pounds faster and faster. I swallow and try to steady myself. How is it that every impending kiss feels like the first time? My need to connect his lips with mine is so overwhelming the room begins to spin.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asks, knowing full well I can’t turn him down.

  “No, I’m mad at you.”

  “Aw…please, just a little kiss.”

  “No,” I whisper, knowing it won’t stop him from inching closer to me.

  He glides the pad of his thumb over my lower lip and desire swells inside me. Fuck it, I get on the tips of my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. When our lips collide, my knees get weak, and my stomach quickens.

  God, it feels so good to be in his arms.

  He palms my breast with one hand and works his way under my skirt. All the while, he never stops kissing me. I’m certain we are both about to be late when the doorbell rings. He groans in frustration. I laugh and head for the door.

  “Hi, Kenz!” I say as I open the door.

  “GUESS WHAT?! GUESS WHAT?! GUESS WHAT?!” she shouts as she dances her way through my apartment. Before I can warn her, she wanders over to the kitchen and sees Cash in the doorway. Her eyes are wide with shock and mischief.

  “Oh, hi Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaash!” she purrs like a kitten. I roll my eyes.

  He laughs and says, “Hi, Kenzy.”

  “So…what were you two doing before I came in?” she teases.

  “Nothing!” I scold.

  “Um, lies! You’re all flushed. And Cash looks guilty. So, out with it, what were you two doing?” she says like a cat that finally caught the mouse. She goes over to the dining table and helps herself to what’s left of the eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

  “So, what did I miss?” she says as she shoves food in her mouth.

  “Nothing!” I assure her.

  “Sky, don’t lie to your best friend,” Cash says as he turns his focus to Kenzy. “We were just about to have wild passionate sex on the floor when you walked in,” he says.

  “I knew it! I can go back out and wait in the hallway. So, how much time do you need, stud?” she asks Cash. He leans in and whispers something in Kenzy’s ear. Her mouth drops. “Wow, congratulations, Sky. I’m so happy for you!” she says, pretending to get misty.

  “You stop giving her the wrong idea,” I scold Cash.

  “Hey, we burn hot, baby. Can’t deny it,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss.

  “Okay, okay. I hate to stop this, but I have something amazing to tell you,” Kenzy says.

  “Should I be here for this?” Cash asks.

  “Um…yeah, I think it’s fine, in fact, it’s better than fine. I have an announcement to make.”

  “Oh no, Kenzy, did you join another cult?” I ask, growing worried.

  “‘The Children of Light’ were not a cult. They believed in a higher power—that’s called religion,” she reminds me.

  “When the higher power is Jesus, Allah, or any one of a thousand Hindu gods—they are a religion. But when they believe the high power is a fat bald guy name Billy-Ray who lives in the Wal-Mart parking lot, they are a cult,” I reply.

  Cash laughs and both Kenzy and I look at him. “Wait, seriously?” he asks, trying to suppress his laughter.

  “For your information, he was a very spiritually connected man,” Kenzy says as she crosses her arms in front of her.

  “Yes, and he connected with her bank account,” I add.

  “Kenzy!
How much did he get?” Cash asks.

  “I was only with them for a few days; I had things to sort out,” she counters.

  “How much?” Cash frowns.

  “Two thousand dollars,” she says.

  “Kenzy!” he scolds.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replies.

  “I’ll check with my brother Jackson; he’s an FBI agent, and maybe he can find out something for you,” Cash offers.

  “Yes, please!” I reply.

  “Yes, thank you, Cash. But can we get back to my announcement—and no, it’s not a cult. Remember the raffle we entered a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah.” I turn to Cash and explain, “It was a charity dinner for ‘Feed the Children.’”

  “Yes, and guess what? We won!” Kenzy announces.

  “Really? What did we win?” I ask.

  “A trip to Jamaica! We will be there for a week!” she says as she begins to dance around, acting silly. I join her; Jamaica is on our “must see” list.

  “I’m happy for you two, but I gotta take off,” Cash says. He asks me to walk him out. Once we’re out in the hallway, I can’t help but see the concern in his eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Jamaica is beautiful, and I’m happy for you two. But it’s also a place that is a breeding group for crime and over twenty percent—”

  “No you don’t, Agent Hunter. You will not ruin my vision of Jamaica.”

  “But what about—”

  I point my finger at him. “No!” He grins and agrees not to tell me any more crime facts about Jamaica.

  “There’s just one more issue with you going away,” he says.

  “Oh really, what’s the issue?” I ask.

  “You’re going away,” he says, genuinely dismayed by the thought.

  “Yes, but I will be back soon, and that means ‘welcome home’ sex.”

  “You know what’s better than ‘welcome home’ sex? ‘I’m glad you never went anywhere’ sex.” I laugh and kiss him. When we pull apart, the laughter is gone, and we have settled down. I don’t dare ask again, but he knows the subject of his nightmares is still on my mind. His face falls once again, but this time he doesn’t have an outburst.