by Jacob Chance
“Let’s think about something less depressing.”
“Such as?”
“You’re here working for the FBI just like you always dreamed of.”
I smile because she’s right. Sometimes it’s so easy to focus on the negative when we need to be thinking about all the positives in our lives.
“You know, it seems too good to be true. I can’t believe I’m working under you.” I know I had a leg up on other applicants because of who my parents were. They were mentioned during my interview. Of course my name would be recognized; I expected as much going in.
It also doesn’t hurt that Agent Karyn Smith has become a surrogate mother to me as well as my mentor. I know she played a part in them hiring me right out of grad school. Sometimes it really is who you know, but I’ll never take my position for granted. Being an agent is my whole life and what I’ve always wanted to do, even before my parents were murdered. But what happened to them adds fuel to the fire burning through my veins.
“I’m excited to make you the best agent you can be. Do you think you can handle it?”
“I’m ready for whatever comes my way.”
“With this job, there’s no way to be fully prepared, but I know you’re going to do great things.”
The rubber soles of my sneakers make a scuffing sound on the dirt path as I pound out the remainder of the five miles I run three times a week like clockwork. I joined the track team in high school, hoping my long limbs and natural endurance would help me excel. That gamble paid off with a full athletic scholarship to Boston University. Of course, I ended up deferring for a semester when my parents were killed, and I was immediately placed in protective custody until the trials against Sergei Balakin, the man who murdered them both, and Karl Vasiliev, the man who kidnapped me, were over. Once I’d testified in both cases, the verdicts came in quickly. Sergei was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole, and Karl got twenty years, no parole.
After the trials were over I went to live with my grandmother in Maine. She nursed me back to an emotionally healthy place with her love. The change of scenery also did me good. I spent my mornings running on the peaceful beach and afternoons working in a small bookstore. I saved up enough money to purchase a used car and still have a little cushion left in the bank. The money from my parents’ life insurance policy went toward paying off the mortgage on the house I grew up in. At the time, I was about to attend college, but didn’t want to sell the place.
Now, at twenty-four years of age, the track team has been replaced with focusing on my career and running has become a great way for me to deal with all the stress of my past and stay in peak shape for my job.
Twilight begins to turn to nightfall by the time I begin my last two miles on the path at Charles River Reservation and a shiver of apprehension washes over me. I don’t make it a habit to run alone at night, but I was late leaving work. Although it’s not technically dark out, and there are lights periodically spaced, it’s still disconcerting for me. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now except finish up.
When I reach the last mile marker, I recognize the staccato thud of heavy footsteps falling behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I notice a man about forty yards back. I increase my tempo slightly and focus on keeping my pace even.
He’s just another runner. You don’t own this path.
His footfalls sound faster to my ears, but maybe I’m imagining it. An inner sense of dread washes over me and the thick woods on both sides of the trail don’t help to calm my fears. This area has always reminded me of the path at the house where my parents were murdered. I force myself to run here because I refuse to let Popov take any more from me. If I give into my fears, I give into him and that can never happen. He’s taken enough from me already.
Peering over my shoulder, I realize the runner has cut the distance between us in half. Oh shit. My feet pick up the pace, matching the rapid drumming of my heart.
Up ahead I see the lights of the parking lot; not much further now. Pumping my arms and legs for all they’re worth, I accelerate the speed to my absolute limit. The toe of my right sneaker catches on the raised lip of a rock sending me tumbling forward. I sprawl face first, landing in the dirt. The wind expels from me violently as my stomach slams against the unyielding ground. My breath seizes, and the fear of the approaching stranger is forgotten as I struggle to draw oxygen into my lungs. Panicked, my fingers claw the ground, gouging furrows and trapping the dirt deep beneath my nails. My palms sting and burn from the scrapes I know must be there.
“Are you okay?” A deep voice questions, before a gentle hand settles in the middle of my back.
Raising my head, I gasp as my chest expands for the first time. Relief overwhelms me as I draw in another gulp of air and tears flow down my dusty cheeks creating muddy streaks.
“Let’s get you up,” the stranger mentions, wrapping his large hand around my upper arm.
Crawling slowly to my knees, I groan and with his aid, painstakingly rise to my feet. My legs tremble and my lower lip quivers from the razor-edged agony piercing both my battered kneecaps. Looking down, I see the dark stain of red seeping from my skin. Warm blood pools, then trickles slowly down the front of my shins, like hot wax dripping down the outside of a lit candle. Now that I’m not moving, I shiver from the unusually cool temperature of the May air combined with the shock to my system.
“I’m going to carry you to my truck. I have a first aid kit there.”
“No,” I yell, panicked at the thought of being at a stranger's mercy. “I can walk.”
“It’s okay.” He holds his hands up in front of him. “My name is Nash. I work in law enforcement and I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”
At the mention of his uncommon name, my eyes flick in his direction, widening as they trace over his masculine features. Oh my God. Does he recognize me? I’m six years older and my looks have matured. My hair is shorter than it was back then and swept back into a short, messy ponytail.
As if he feels the weight of my heavy stare, his gaze locks with mine. I can’t discern his eye color in the dim evening light, but I remember they’re the clear golden hue of warm honey. His hair is longer than the military cut he used to wear. The thick strands fall carelessly over his brow and are pitch black as midnight. A short growth of dark hair covers what I remember being a chiseled jawline.
“Zoe?” His voice is a deep husk. Hearing him say my name has the fine hairs on my arms standing on end and my stomach fluttering weakly.
“Hello, Nash.”
“Zoe.” He shakes his head as if I’m an apparition he can’t believe he’s seeing. “How have you been?”
“Good...I’ve been good.” I awkwardly stumble over my words.
“It’s great to see you. I almost didn’t recognize you.” He gestures from my face to my feet in a long sweeping motion. “You’re all grown up.”
“Six years will do that.” I press my lips together and think of how he told me to get over my schoolgirl - older man fantasy. Seeing him now...nope, I’m still not over it.
“What do you say? Can I tend to your injuries?” he questions bringing me back from memories of my days in protective custody to the painful reality of my throbbing knees and stinging palms.
“Yeah, I guess I have no choice. I’m a bit of a mess. I can’t really drive home, bleeding all over the place.”
He smiles, his white teeth lighting up his face. “If it’s any consolation, I am first aid certified.”
“Let’s get this over with. I’m way behind schedule and my roommate will be worried. I can’t call her because my phone is locked in my glove compartment.”
He pulls his phone from the pocket on his basketball shorts, types in a code and holds it out to me like he’s reading my mind. He always did have an uncanny ability to know what I was thinking.
“Do you want to call her?”
Hesitantly, I reach out and tentatively take his phone from where it rests on his open pal
m. Dialing Natasha’s phone number, I wait for her to answer, my eyes never leaving him.
“Hello.”
“Tash,” I pant her name, breathlessly.
“Zoe, what’s wrong?”
“I’m at the park and I had a little accident while I was running, but I’m okay. There’s an…officer here with me and wants to patch me up.” I can’t tell her he’s FBI and I’m not even sure if he’s still employed there.
“Is he cute?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Is he a hot officer or a paunchy middle aged one?”
“I’m going to get cleaned up and then I’ll be home.”
She giggles in my ear. “So, he’s hot, right?”
“Goodbye, Natasha.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I hang up and I’m grateful for the darkness. I hope he didn’t hear her side of our conversation. I hand his phone back to him. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I’m going to carry you now,” he warns before sweeping me off my feet as if I’m light as a feather.
“Be careful or you’ll get blood all over your shirt.”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse on me in the line of duty.”
“Gross.” I scrunch up my nose. I hate blood and every other bodily fluid. I could never work in healthcare. I’ve seen more of it than any one person should have to. My mom and dad’s, Nash’s. I can still feel the stickiness of his blood on my hands as I did my best to staunch the blood flowing from his wounds. Shivering with revulsion and bad memories, I try to focus on what’s happening now. His strong arms hold me close against his thick chest and it’s all I can do not to curl into his embrace. I want to rest my head on his shoulder and pretend we’ve been together for the last six years. What would my life be like if we hadn’t parted ways?
It only takes him a minute to situate me in the passenger seat of his truck, my legs dangling outward. Reaching into the glove compartment, he removes a small, white first aid kit. Opening the top, he rummages through the contents, before placing it on the passenger side floor. He hands me a wet wipe. “Clean your face and hands with this.”
Taking the cloth from him, I wipe away the stiffness of the dried dirt and tears on my cheeks and run the pleasant coolness over my palms. It feels nice to be clean again.
“I’ll tend to your knees. This might sting a bit,” he warns. The wipe falls forgotten to my lap as my fingertips dig into the soft leather of the seat beneath me.
Using an antiseptic wipe, he gently removes the blood and dirt. I hiss from the intense burning. Forcing myself to remain still, I observe Nash’s intent eyes and focused countenance.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gently dabbing the affected areas with the cloth. Watching him calms me. His naturally protective nature is soothing and I’m able to somewhat forget about the pain as I lose myself in his close proximity. I breath in the familiar scent of his cologne and when I close my eyes, I’m six years in the past and crushing on him hard.
Studying him once more, the overhead light inside the truck reveals how handsome he still is. He looks older than I remember, but in the best way possible. His face is leaner, and the angles of his cheekbones seem sharper. His brows are dark slashes lowered as he carefully cleans my wounds. His straight nose is narrow at the bridge and his lips are pressed together in concentration. One of his hands is clasped around the outside of my thigh, holding my leg steady. His large palm, warm and dark against my fair skin is comforting. I can’t remember the last time I was touched by another person in such a soothing manner.
Staring at the masculine shape of his fingers and closely clipped nails, I search for a wedding band and breathe in a sigh of relief when I don’t see one. My gaze wanders up his bare forearm. Veins and muscles flex under his skin as he maneuvers my leg to the position he needs. His arms were made for t-shirts - it would be a sin to cover such an attractive feature with clothing.
“I think I got most of the dirt out of these cuts. You might want to soak in the tub when you get home just to make sure.”
“Okay.” I nod, watching as he places a large rectangular bandage over each of the deep scrapes.
His head raises as he stands to his full height towering over me and smiles reassuringly. “You should be good to go.”
“Oh... I’m... sorry,” I flounder looking down. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” I scoot forward, prepared to jump down from the truck.
His hand on my arm stops me. “I didn’t mean you had to go right this instant. Bad choice of words I guess,” he chuckles. “Tell me where you live at least.”
My eyes hesitantly sweep upward to meet his. “I’m in Brookline, the house I grew up in.”
“I’m in Kenmore Square.”
“Are you close to Fenway Park?”
“I am, actually.”
“That must be a fun area to live in. There’s so much to do.” I realize I’m babbling and force myself to stop.
“Yeah, there is, but I’m usually too busy with work.” He glances at me, one brow raised. “I heard you were working at the Bureau now?”
I sigh. I was hoping to make an escape before he asked this question, but it doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen.
“Yeah, I started a couple weeks ago. Are you still working there?” I haven’t seen him or heard anyone mention his name.
“Yep, I am. I was out of town for a week and this past one was hectic, but I’m sure I’ll see you there.”
Was he on vacation with a girlfriend? I can’t stop the unwanted thought from popping into my head.
He studies my face, eyes darting from one feature to another as if he’s memorizing them, or maybe he’s just remembering.
“Thank you for this, Nash…” I pause and chew on my bottom lip as I search for words to say.
“Zoe...how would you….”
“I’ve gotta go,” I cut him off, nervously. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head.
“No worries. I’m sure I’ll see you at work sometime.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just...I have plans.” I don’t want to stir up all the old feelings again. I can’t allow myself to fall down that endless abyss. Nash wasn’t easy to get over and judging from the pounding of my heart, I’m still not.
“It’s all good, Zoe.” His eyes scan the surrounding parking area. “Did you drive here?”
“Yep. My car’s right over there.” I tip my head in the direction of the nineteen seventy-eight vintage VW Bug I purchased before I began college. It’s more than a little beat up, which is why I was able to get it at a fraction of the cost I’d expected. Dents, scratches and missing paint appear on various parts of the vehicle, but I love it just the same. It’s a beat-up version of the restored one my mother used to drive, and it reminds me of her. One of these days I’ll give it the paint job it deserves and some TLC.
I slide to the edge of the seat and wait for him to step back so I can climb down. His hand on my arm, assists me.
“Thank you.” I gingerly shift my weight from side to side and grimace when my knees scream out in protest.
“Are you okay to walk?”
“Yes.” I wave a hand. “I’m a little stiff and sore, but I’ll be fine.” I smile at him. “You patched me up like a pro.”
“It was the least I could do. I’m pretty sure I’m the reason you tripped.” He looks at me pointedly.
I flush, embarrassed he’s realized.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sprinting at the end of my workout is how I always finish.”
He grins and holds out his hand. “It was nice seeing you, Zoe. I wish it would’ve been under better circumstances.”
It’s better than the first circumstances we met under.
Slipping my palm against his, I watch as his large hand swallows my much smaller one. He’s so manly it causes a weird flutter in my stomach. “It was great seeing you, Nash. I’m glad you’re doing well. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“
Maybe I can take you out for coffee sometime,” he suggests, as I fish my keys out of the front pocket on my shorts.
“I’m pretty busy with being the new kid at work,” I offer, my refusal purposely vague. I want to say yes. I want to scream a resounding yes to his invitation, but I can’t. Work has to be my focus and dredging up all the feelings I had...have for Nash will have a cataclysmic effect on my life.
“I’m sure I’ll see you at work, but your friend now has my number on her phone. If you change your mind, give me a call.”
Rubbing my dry lips together, I give a slight nod of my head. “Thanks again.” I slowly walk toward my car, my knees shouting their protest with each step I take.
“Wow, what happened to you?” Natasha asks as I step inside my house.
“I took a header while I was running.”
Her wide eyes look me over. “You look like you ran into a brick wall.”
Dropping my keys on the coffee table, I carefully sink down on the couch with a moan. “I feel like I ran into a speeding truck.”
“Tell me about the officer who came to the rescue.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Ugh.” I grimace. “It was Nash.”
“Nash? Oh my God... Agent Garrison?” Her eyes open wider than I’ve ever seen them. She’s the only person who knows the humiliating truth about my one-sided love for Nash. When I started at B.U. I was still in a bad place after losing both of my parents and Nash. I was afraid to form any kind of relationships and Natasha had to force me out of my shell. From the moment I met her we clicked and we’ve been best friends ever since. She never gave up on me and I can never repay her for all that she’s done.
Aside from Tash, I’ve never told anyone what really happened to my parents. The secrets I carry weigh heavily on me, but they’re my burden to bear.
