“Do you…do you have any other questions? For me?” I ask. Ask me what I want to do to you.
She takes a while to respond, though she never breaks eye contact. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than it has been. “Thomas Carey.” She clears her throat. “I saw his file in your office. I’ve seen him before…on the news.”
I nod.
“Was he a client of yours?” Her eyes are wide and inquisitive, her lips pressed together as she waits for an answer I shouldn’t give.
“No,” I say, going against every ounce of my better judgment. “He was an employee.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from her side of the sofa. “He was my assistant, actually.”
“Were you…close?”
“Very, actually.” It’s the truth. “He’d worked with me for just under eight years and he was, well, to say I considered him a son sounds cheesy, I guess, but I don’t know how else to phrase it.”
“I can’t believe you worked with him. It must be so hard to live with knowing what he did,” she says.
It is, but not for the reasons she thinks. “I had no idea how troubled Tom was when I hired him,” I say, trying to clear my mind of the emotions I feel. None of it matters anymore. “I knew he had a past. He was up front with me about a drug conviction when he was a teen, but I thought he’d changed. It wasn’t until after the Vance bombing that I learned the truth about the man I thought I knew.”
She’s looking away from me now, and I’m incredibly grateful. I need to compose myself, get the conversation anywhere but where it’s heading. “I’m so sorry, Orrick. I just…can’t imagine.”
Her hands are shaking, and I reach for them without volition, squeezing them between both palms. “Hey,” I whisper, drawing her eyes back to mine. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. If he’s still out there, they’ll find him.”
“Do you think so?” Her green eyes glimmer with hope.
“The FBI is doing everything they can to make sure Tom Carey never hurts anyone else ever again.” I’m not supposed to talk about the case until it’s officially over, but something about being in her presence makes me want to protect her. I want her to feel safe in my arms. “If anyone can find him, it’s them.”
She doesn’t pull her hands from mine as a fresh tear escapes her eyes. “I just keep thinking about all of the people in that building. They were…they were innocent, you know?” She closes her eyes, looking pained as her brows knit together. “Don’t you just hate him?”
I shake my head, letting one of her hands go to dry her tears with my thumb. “I hate anyone who can cause another human pain by their own will.” Her bottom lip quivers as she stares at me, her skin warm under one of my palms, hands still trembling in my other. “Did you know someone in the building?” The thought only just occurred to me, but judging by the defeated look on her face, I’ve hit the nail on the head.
She shakes her head, prepared to tell me no, but her eyes give her away. Her shoulders shake with sobs as she falls into my arms, and I sit, bewildered and unsure what to do. I run a hand over her back, loving her scent as it overwhelms my senses. I rest my chin on her head, whispering softly.
“It’s going to be okay, Olivia. I promise it’s going to be okay.”
She’s quiet for what must only be minutes but feels like hours as she rocks in my arms, her body quivering against mine. “Shhhh…” I lull.
When she finally pulls away, she wipes her eyes with both hands, and I immediately feel her absence, as if my body has grown dependent on hers in such a small amount of time.
“My fiancé worked there,” she says finally, a knife straight to my gut. My jaw drops, poker face gone, as I stare at her in horror. She waits for me to say something, the moment between us fleeting yet never-ending all at once.
It’s my turn to say, “I’m so sorry, Olivia.”
“It’s not your fault,” she tells me, her gaze falling to the space between us on the sofa. “You couldn’t have known.”
She’s right and wrong all at once. The bombing wasn’t my fault, I didn’t purchase the equipment or set it up. But I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve gotten those people out. I can never tell her the truth, but it sits with me. What I know about that day will haunt me every day for the rest of my life.
From the look in her eye, I’d say what she lost will haunt her just the same.
“You never get over losing someone that way, you know,” she says, her voice a low whisper. She’s just inches from my face, and it catches me by surprise. “It hurts every second, even when it’s just a dull pain.”
I’ve never lost anyone in such a violent way as she has, but I can imagine the pain. I know what it feels like to lose someone, I remember the pain of my dad’s death well. I know what she must be going through, and I wish I could help. I glance down, where the front of her sweater is draping off her chest, giving a peek inside. I swallow, my body too hot. If she knows the show she’s giving me, she doesn’t let on. Instead, the tears are still drying on her cheeks as she leans in even further. She’s so close I can see a teardrop on her lashes.
“I wish there was something I could do to make things better for you,” I whisper, leaning forward to meet her advances. Her breath is hot on my lips, and if either of us move even a millimeter forward, we’ll connect.
“Me, too,” she whispers as her eyes close. I push forward just a hair, and my lips are on hers. The air around us seems to collapse as the room contracts, leaving space for only us. The kiss is soft, gentle; her lips taste of salty tears as she pushes further into me, expelling a low groan. I lift my hand to her jaw, cupping it gently so my fingers are touching her hair.
She lifts her hands to my neck, pulling me closer so her breasts graze my chest. Now it’s my turn to groan with pleasure. I lift my other hand to her neck, not wanting the moment to end.
But like all moments, it does, and much too soon.
She freezes as I slide my hand around her neck, pushing me away and standing from the sofa with a hand over her lips. “I should go.”
“No, Olivia, it’s…it’s okay,” I tell her, reaching for her hand. She steps back.
“This was a mistake.”
“Why?” I ask. “Did you not want it?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m your employee, not your…girlfriend. You’re married, Orrick.” She whispers it in a sharp tone.
“I told you, Iris and I aren’t together in that way anymore. We haven’t been in a long time. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but girlfriend, employee…the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I…I’m interested in getting to know you more, Olivia. Aren’t you?”
She steps back again, shaking her head, and I stay still, my heart pounding for fear she’s going to bolt. Perhaps I misunderstood, but I don’t think I have. She likes me, so what is she afraid of? Iris? My wife couldn’t care less.
“I promise you, you aren’t going to get into trouble. Iris doesn’t care, but she doesn’t have to know, either. I swear I can protect you.”
“I need this job,” she whispers. “I can’t afford to lose it.”
“You won’t,” I assure her. She meets my eyes for the first time since we broke apart. “I promise you, I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can. Trust me, with all that Iris has done, she doesn’t have a leg to stand on to ask me to fire you, if she’d even want to. Truth be told, she may be glad to have someone to distract me.” I say that last part before I mean to, and I swallow, feeling a bit embarrassed to have said it out loud.
“Is that what I am? A distraction?”
I take a step toward her, my hands a few inches in front of my torso to let her know I’d like to hold her again without seeming aggressive. “You are…beautiful and funny and…easy to talk to. It’s easy to get distracted by you, but no, you are not a distraction. I care about you, Olivia.” It’s a stretch, but not by much. I could
grow to care for her if given enough time, though I don’t want to. Caring has done little more than hurt me.
She calls my bluff. “You don’t even know me.”
“On the contrary, I think the conversation we just had counts as getting to know you.”
“My fiancé just died.”
“You deserve time to grieve,” I say, there’s no denying it. “You’re right. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.” I place a hand on my stomach, reaching for the button that actually is there this time. “I’m really, very sorry.”
She nods quickly, her lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear.
I sigh, realizing that her resistance to me is back. Whatever it is about her, I can’t control her with a smile like I’m able to most women. It’s what delights and infuriates me about her. “Danny brought you here last night. Do you need a ride home?”
Again, she nods.
“He’s out right now, but I can drop you off on my way to work, if that’s okay with you?”
The heat that had filled the air just moments ago is completely gone as she pulls the door open. “Thank you.”
Together, we make our way out the door, down the stairs, and to my car. I wonder if she’s impressed by it. It costs more than her annual salary with us, and I pay to keep it in excellent condition, with detailing no less than twice a week.
She is silent on the car ride to her home, except for occasionally telling me when to turn or where to go. The neighborhood where she lives is filled with boarded-up stores, graffiti-covered stop signs, and knocked-over trash bins on every corner. I hate to think of her somewhere like this, but it’s not my place to say so.
“Turn in here,” she instructs as we pass a small gas station with bars on the windows.
I turn right into the gravel parking lot behind the station, pulling up to the building she indicates. It’s tall and tan with rickety, wooden railing and window air conditioning units hanging out of a window on each floor. She unbuckles, opening her car door.
A man wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts climbs from a black car with more rust than paint. He watches as Olivia pushes open the car door.
“Thank you for the ride,” she says simply. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I eye the man through the windshield. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Do you want me to walk you up?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You should get to work. I’ll be fine.”
She steps from the car and shuts the door, and I remain still as the man watches her walk, then looks back to me. I keep an eye on her until she disappears, an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I want to run after her, make sure she makes it inside her apartment safely, but I don’t want to scare her off.
Like a coward, I drive out of the lot without a second glance. I’m halfway across town when the feeling of dread eventually subsides. It shouldn’t have, but I’m good at hiding away what worries me. I have plenty of practice being a coward.
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia
I wrestle with my guilt the rest of the day, crying over what I’ve done, crying over what I’ve lost. It’s not fair, probably. I have to do what I have to do to move on, and if this is what it takes, so be it. But kissing Orrick only makes me feel guilty. Because I’m not supposed to be with him, I’m supposed to be in love. Supposed to be married. Supposed to be planning the rest of my life.
If the bombing hadn’t happened, that’s exactly what I’d be doing.
If I hadn’t found those files, my plans wouldn’t have been disrupted. I would’ve kept a clear head, but finding out what I had, talking to Orrick about what he knew, it brought it all back. The phone call, the fight, the voicemail still on my phone that holds his last words to me.
I lie in the bathtub, sinking under the water and holding my breath until my lungs are screaming for air before resurfacing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
So much of my life is spent gasping for air nowadays. The rest is spent searching for answers.
I want to know why, and the Lockes are the only ones with those answers. They are the ones closest to what happened. I want to know what they know, in hopes that it will clear the guilt that burdens me. When the FBI asked me, I couldn’t even recall what he’d been wearing that day. As time passes, I lose more and more of him. The way he laughed, the way his kiss felt, the way his voice sounded when he was sick. He’s slipping from my memories, inch by inch, day by day, and that scares me. My stomach tightens, sending pain throughout my body as I think about all that has been stolen from me. He should be here. I should be holding him, kissing him, letting him dance me around the living room. We were so in love it scares me. And I know, no matter how I try, I’ll never find a love like we had. Never find someone to look at me like he did. I press my lips together, my face growing stiff as I try to fight back the tears of anger I feel. The tears of resentment. The tears of anguish. I miss him so much it’s destroying me. Every day, I lose a bit more of him, and with it, a bit more of myself.
I don’t know who I am without him, and I’m not sure I care to know.
I pick up the phone from the edge of the bathtub, opening it to the screen with the unopened voicemail, the blue dot a constant reminder of all that I’ve been avoiding.
I touch the screen, the water droplets left from my thumb making a halo around the play button, and press the phone to my ear.
His voice fills my mind in an instant, and I am choking back sobs as I push it harder to my ear.
“Hey baby, it’s me. I don’t have long…something’s happening here. I, um—” He stops. There is a loud rumble in the background. BOOM. “Shit!” I pull the phone from my ear, each breath painful as it ricochets around my chest. I push the pause button, only halfway through the voicemail. Two seconds longer than last time, but still not far enough. The blue dot remains.
I can’t do it, baby. I’m not strong enough. It hurts too much. His voice is a knife to the heart, ripping open the still-fresh wounds that I’ve duct taped together just to staunch the bleeding.
I toss the phone onto the rug beside the tub, hearing the neighbors screaming at each other through the walls.
Again, I dunk my head underwater.
Hey, baby, it’s me…
Chapter Eighteen
Iris
It’s the last night of our trip. In the morning, AJ and I will board a plane from Portland and head home, back to reality. He’s been quiet for most of the trip, more so than usual, disappearing as soon as we get to each office and only coming near me when it’s necessary.
I can’t blame him, I know. I did what I did and there’s no going back, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting.
It’s over, done. No point dwelling on our past, no use wondering what could’ve been. I thought he was stronger than this, and I’m disappointed to say the least. Why is it the men in my life can’t seem to keep themselves in line? Can’t seem to keep their emotions in check? There is a time for feeling and a time for shutting it all off, and this moment is the latter.
I thought he’d gotten over it, thought he’d decided to forgive and forget, but apparently it was all a charade for Orrick’s benefit. Once our Orrick-shaped buffer was gone, it was fair game, and he’d made it obvious how much he’d rather be anywhere but here with me.
I rub circular motions of moisturizer across my face and use my ring finger to apply my eye cream before unclipping my hair and letting it fall to my shoulders. I’m exhausted, and it’s obvious, the dark circles under my eyes more prominent than ever, the wrinkles in the corners deeper. I run a hand over my hair; it’s thin compared to what it used to be, and I don’t know if it's from stress or age. I’m just forty-one, but the age seems to have crept up on me quicker than most people. I sag in places I shouldn’t yet, and there are lines where they didn’t used to be. I’ve paid a price for the life we have, and each day it becomes more obvious.
I fli
p off the light and walk from the bathroom, the cold tile quickly replaced with itchy carpet against my bare feet. AJ is on the laptop, his brows drawn down.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
When he looks up, there’s a moment—just a fleeting second—where I see the old AJ, the way he looked at me before. “Warren found a bug in Orrick’s office during a sweep.”
My heart plummets, and I freeze in place, one arm wrapped around myself. “A bug? A literal bug or recording device—”
“The latter,” he says, back to the computer screen. “It was in a box of employee files.”
“What does that mean? What could it have come from?”
“We don’t know yet,” he says simply. “We’re testing it now to see if we can learn anything.”
“Orrick’s not really in his office that much,” I say, and I’m not sure whether it’s a whispered prayer or an official statement. “Who could it have been?”
“Orrick said he caught Cathrine in there the other day during an installation. He suspects it was her.”
“Could it have been?” I walk toward his bed, sitting down on the edge.
“Anything’s possible,” he says, “but I don’t think Cathrine has any reason to eavesdrop. It’s too much of a risk to her.”
“Could it be the FBI? Because of the investigation?”
“No one’s been in the house,” he says. “They could tap phones maybe, though it's doubtful. Everything is still focused on how and why Tom was involved. There aren’t any whispers we’ve gotten wind of that involve either you or Orrick.”
“So what do you think, then?” My knee bounces up and down with fear and adrenaline, and he places a palm atop it. When I stop moving, his hand stays put, forming a lump in my throat.
He looks up at me with a guarded expression. “Warren caught Olivia going into the office this morning.”
My blood runs cold, no longer warmed by his touch. “What? Why?”
“Warren questioned Orrick about it, and he said he gave her permission to be in there. She was only inside minutes before Orrick joined her. We don’t have any reason not to believe him, except…”
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