by Jayne Blue
I hugged him again. The bailiff had already called the next case and we were herded toward the back of the courtroom. I burst through the doors looking for Mitch. He wasn’t there. Then I saw his tall form leaning against one of the marble pillars outside on the courthouse steps. I pushed my way past a group entering from the other direction and walked outside. The bright sun blinded me.
Mitch turned and smiled.
“Thank God,” I gushed. I wanted to collapse into him. He brought his hands up and put an arm around my shoulder.
“I told you it was going to be okay. Now, let’s get you home. Put all of this out of your mind for at least the next twenty-four hours. I’ve got to take you over to the impound lot so we can get your car.”
“How much is that going to cost?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve handled it. Had a friend down there who owed me a favor.”
“God, I’m sorry. I feel like you’re having to call in every favor you have because of me.”
He smiled and led me down the steps. “I’m not. And I wouldn’t care if I was. You’re one of us, Stella. We take care of our own.”
A chill went through me when he said it. It’s what they all said. Everyone on the force saw me as Brian’s girl still. Brian’s property. Even Mitch. Sometimes, it comforted me. But right now, it felt like the heaviest of yokes and I didn’t know why. Except that I did. I didn’t deserve it. Not in the way that Mitch thought.
He led me to his car and opened the passenger door for me. The elation I felt just a few moments ago receded. The cold reality of the next few days settled over me. Now I had a lawyer to pay. Tony’s retainer alone was five thousand dollars. He’d told me he’d take me on for half of that out of respect for Brian’s memory. But he charged four hundred an hour once we burned through the retainer. I just prayed that clearing my name wouldn’t require much more than that. I’d have to drain my savings account anyway. All the money I’d saved for the down payment on my house was gone. Poof! In the blink of an eye for something that wasn’t my fault. Plus, the Smith job was probably gone along with the three other referrals Judy Smith had made for me. I’d call her in the morning to try and explain, but appearances were everything to her. I knew my chances weren’t good.
Mitch drove me to the car lot just outside of town. A seedy-looking place with high fences and barbed wire. He had me wait for him as he dealt with the manager. A few minutes went by and Mitch drove out with my Taurus. It had ugly orange numbers painted on the windshield. Mitch assured me a trip through the car wash would take care of that. Still, I felt branded as I slipped into the driver’s seat and forced a smile as I looked up at him.
“You sure you don’t want me to follow you home?” he asked.
“For the millionth time, no. I’ve taken over your life enough. You probably didn’t sleep more than an hour last night and I know you took off work to be here for me today. I’m good, Mitch. I’m fine. I just want to go home, soak in the tub, and pretend I’m on some tropical island for a few hours.”
He leaned into the window. “Okay. And stop telling me you’re sorry. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” He shot me a devastating wink, tapped the window frame, then took a step back. I waved and turned the key. Part of me wanted to ask him to stay, or beg him to come home with me. When all was said and done, I wasn’t feeling very brave anymore. I felt vulnerable. Violated. My car didn’t smell the same. They’d searched it. Someone else had driven it. I adjusted the seat but it still didn’t feel right. But the call of my bathtub won out over everything. I gave Mitch one last slow wave as I backed out of the lot and headed toward home.
Home.
I just hoped the Phils weren’t waiting to bombard me with questions. Old Phil would know I hadn’t come home last night. I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine. I didn’t even want the noise of my electric garage door opener to draw attention. But it didn’t matter. Phil hovered at his back door and burst out of it the second I opened my car door.
“You okay, honey?” he said, taking that side step off his porch as he walked toward me as fast as his bad hip would let him. Then suddenly, I felt like a giant ass for trying to avoid him. He had real concern creasing his brow and his breath heaved as he got to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Young Phil wave from his own front porch and nearly fell to pieces.
I leaned forward and hugged Old Phil. He wasn’t expecting it. Neither was I. But it felt so good to know they’d been worried about me. Until that moment, I hadn’t really appreciated how lonely a decision I’d made coming back to Northpointe after all this time.
“I’m okay,” I said, smoothing a stray wisp of hair away from Old Phil’s forehead. I didn’t know what to tell him. I couldn’t tell him the truth. At least, not all of it. He might not understand and it would make him worry. I had enough on my plate managing my own feelings, let alone his. “I’ll tell you what. Next time I plan on staying somewhere overnight, I’ll call you. Or maybe I could even text you. Philly said he set you up with a smartphone. We’ll drag you into the twenty-first century one way or another, eh?”
Phil waved his hand and scoffed. “Damn thing. I miss the days when people would just talk to each other. All this texting. Just leads to bad grammar and sloppy spelling.”
“You’ve got a point there. And we should have a whole discussion about it. But right now, I’m beyond tired.”
“Leave her alone, old man,” Philly shouted from across the street. “None of your damn business if she decides to stay over someplace.”
A blush colored my cheeks. Of course the Phils would assume I had some hot man in my life. For now, it was easier to just let them think that. I gave Old Phil another peck on the cheek and waved to his son.
“I really do appreciate your concern. But if you don’t mind I’m going to head on in and take a shower.”
Old Phil snorted, but he was already yelling at his son across the street. That quick and everything was back to normal for them. As I waved again before closing the garage door, I wished desperately it could be that easy for me.
Normal. That’s exactly what this move back to Northpointe was supposed to bring me. I’d spent so much of my life living for other people or doing what was expected, when the time came to finally follow my own path, I’d ended up right back here. Now everything seemed fluid again. A part of me wished I could just get in my car and drive to a place where no one knew me and start again. But I’d tried that before, more than once. It never worked. Northpointe and everything I’d left behind just seemed to follow.
I took the longest shower of my life and changed into knit shorts and a tank top. It was after four o’clock. My stomach growled so loud I worried Old Phil might hear and rush over here with a heaping pot of spaghetti. And that sounded like heaven. I opened my fridge and realized my dinner prospects were bleak. Leftover shrimp fried rice and a Diet Pop. I grabbed chopsticks from the kitchen drawer and sat alone at my kitchen counter.
Once I’d finished off the Chinese food, I opened the last bottle of wine I had in the house, Chardonnay a different neighbor had given me. Homemade and delicious. It also had a higher alcohol count than what I usually get at the store. By the second glass, I had a legitimate buzz going.
It was still light out, but all I wanted to do was go to sleep. I meant to just go outside to pull my car back into the garage and lock everything up. But when I stepped off the porch, Mitch’s red Edge slowed to a crawl in front of my house.
We made eye contact. If we hadn’t, I think he might have driven away again just like the other night. This time though, I wasn’t having it. With the wine bottle still in my fist, I ran across the lawn.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, aware this would probably draw attention.
Mitch rolled down the window. His eyes raked over me and I realized how woefully underdressed I was. He could probably see straight through my pink tank top. The wine warmed my blood along with something else.
“I just wanted to
see if you were okay.”
“You did that the other night too, didn’t you? You even pulled into my driveway.”
He let out a sigh but didn’t deny it.
“Well, don’t just sit there. Pull in like a normal person.” I swung the bottle of wine toward him. My step faltered and my head swam. Some rational part of my brain warned me how bad an idea this was. I was damn near drunk.
“Yeah, okay.”
I nodded. “Let me get my car out of the way.”
Mitch smiled. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to get behind the wheel. Even if it’s just to pull into your garage. I’ll take care of it.”
I meant to argue with him but just jutted my chin at him instead, then turned on my heel and headed back up to the house. I didn’t wait for Mitch. I went in through the garage and headed for the kitchen. I took another wine glass out of the cupboard and poured one for him. I hadn’t heard him shut the garage door or even come in. But when I turned with the glass in my hand, he was standing there. Broad and tall, like a sentry, filling the doorframe.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the glass in his hand while I took a sip of my own.
Mitch raised a quizzical brow and took a drink. His head reared back ever so slightly as the cool liquid coated his throat. “Good stuff,” he said, his lips still wet from the wine.
I wanted to kiss him. The urge slammed into me, making me sway on my feet. It was the wine talking. I knew that. And yet, every cell in my body seemed to draw me to him.
“My neighbor makes it,” I said; my words felt like some invisible shield, keeping me from moving toward him.
“You sure you’re okay, Stella?”
Anger rose within me, out of proportion to the question. “Stop asking me that. Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Well, I’m sorry. It’s just important. You’re important to me. To all of us. Stan Lewandowki’s even worried about you. He’s the chief of police now. Can you believe that?”
“Did he send you here?”
“What? No. It’s just, I want to protect you. Take care of you.”
“Because you promised.”
Mitch set his wine down on the counter and spread his hands flat on the cold granite. “Yes, Stella. Yes. I promised. We all promised. You and Brian. You’re one of us. You know that.”
I set my own glass down and went to him. The room started to spin. Fire flared in my chest. The closer I got to Mitch, that throbbing heat worked its way through me, settling in my core. It was the wine. It was the day. Those are the rational things I could tell myself hours later. Right now though, it felt like something else.
“Is that all I am to you? Brian’s? Is it all I’ve ever been?”
“Stella.” Mitch’s voice was no more than a whisper. His body seemed to vibrate with some barely contained emotion.
“You know he cheated on me?”
His eyes flickered. Of course he knew. He was Brian’s best friend. I barked out a laugh.
“Stella.”
“Don’t Stella me. It’s ancient history. I know that. And I forgave him for it. It’s just … he should have been the one to tell me about it. Or you should have. Instead, she showed up at my apartment. Jill something or other. She was drunk and nasty. She said she was in love with him.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again he didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he turned toward the counter. “It wasn’t my place.”
“Of course not. You were his best friend. That would have been a man code violation. Brothers in blue. I get it.”
Mitch shook his head. “No, you don’t. Dammit. You don’t. I’m sorry. For a thousand things you know about and more that you don’t.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and made him turn toward me. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he searched my face. Those cool, green eyes of his darted over me. He was holding something back. Something combustible. Just like I had always done.
“I can’t stand it,” I said. Just those three words made tiny cracks in the invisible dam I’d built around my heart. “Mitch. I can’t.”
“You have to.” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but not that. The way his eyes flared, I realized he probably hadn’t meant those words for me. He’d built his own dam.
I moved toward him. I couldn’t help it. I was weaker than he was, maybe. But I couldn’t stand being this close to him for another second without touching him. I slid my hands up over his chest. His solid muscles flinched as he tried to harden himself. In that moment, I was done trying.
“Mitch,” I whispered. I went up on my tiptoes, bringing my lips closer to his. His hot breath skittered over my cheek. Fire lit inside of me when his hand skimmed my waist, his fingers tentative at first, searching. Then he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer and up so I teetered on the balls of my feet.
Then he kissed me. His lips crushing, urgent, hot. Electricity zinged through me, making me ache with wanting. Oh God. This. Mitch. Always. I laced my fingers through his hair as he leaned forward; catching me in his arms I arched my back. We moved. He had me up against the wall. I wanted to tear at him. Rip his shirt off. Have him tear the clothes away from me. Just that tiny movement. His lips against mine. In an instant it was everything and yet still not enough. My God, not nearly enough. I’d been starved for him. All this time.
He whispered my name as he gasped for air. I did too. I clawed at him, freeing his shirt from his waistband. I would have him. I would let him take me there, against the wall, sprawled on the floor if he liked. It didn’t matter. I just needed him.
Mitch moaned as his tongue probed my lips. It was perfect. Everything. The greatest kiss of my life.
And then it ended.
Mitch staggered backward. I brought the back of my hand up and pressed it against my swollen lips.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Oh God. Stella. I’m so sorry.”
“Please, don’t say that. Say anything but that.”
He nodded. “You’re right.”
“If you ask me if I’m okay again, I just might stab you,” I said, realizing it was mostly true.
Mitch smiled and it gutted me, just like it always had.
“I’m going to go,” he said. “And I won’t ask you. But … well … you know.”
I nodded. God, yes. I knew. Mitch grabbed his keys from the counter and stood stock still for a moment. Then he blew out a breath, squeezed his eyes shut, turned and left.
I put a hand over my face then carved it through my hair. God, what a mess. All of it. My skin still burned, craving for his touch, and yet I felt the walls we’d both built starting to reform, brick by crooked brick.
Chapter Nine
Mitch
I sat in Ken Bardwell’s office again, staring at his yellow walls and cheap paintings while I waited for our third visit to start. I didn’t like being here. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t forced. But—and I’d never admit this to Stan or Ken—it ended up being better than I thought. Ken was a decent guy. He understood the job. And he didn’t have the habit of answering my questions with questions all the time. Even so, if five more minutes went by I’d be out of here. But just as I was about to say the hell with it and charge back out into the hall, the door opened and Bardwell walked in, his nose buried in my file folder.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
I put up a hand. “No problem. Probably part of my assessment, right? See how long you can jerk me around before I storm out of here?”
He laughed. Shaking his head, he sat in the chair opposite me and tossed the file on the end table between us. “Not a bad idea. How close did you come?”
“Within about twenty seconds,” I said.
“Well, I’m glad you stayed. We can mark that as progress. And thanks for coming in on short notice.”
“Let’s not pretend I had a choice.”
Bardwell raised a brow. “We back to that again? Careful, Gates, you might hurt all two of my feelings.”
I picked a stone out of the tread of my shoe and then put my palm up in surrender. “Just telling it like it is.”
Ken nodded. “Yeah? You want to tell me how shitty your week has been? Cuz if we’re having a contest, I’m going to win.”
I leaned back in my chair and rested my ankle over my knee. While Ken took a pen and pad off the table, I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t though. He just slid his reading glasses up his nose and tapped the pen against the pad.
“You just gonna leave that there?” I asked. “Tell me, Ken Bardwell, PhD, what desk-jockey tragedy happened to you this week?”
I meant it as a joke. Sort of. Ken gave me a sideways smirk and shook his head. “I speak from experience. As much as I understand what you go through, my current job does occasionally suck beyond explanation.”
“Try me.”
Ken put his pen down. He raised a brow and looked me up and down. “PTSD and anger management. That’s what I specialize in. Military vets, police, and fire. They’re not all as well adjusted as you, my friend. Sometimes it’s fatal.”
My heart dropped. I felt like an ass. The question formed in my head, a sarcastic comeback about what could possibly be the worst thing about what he did. Then I knew. Just like he said. Not all guys like me survived. They cracked up. They hurt themselves.
“Fuck,” I said, drawing it out like the word had two syllables.
“Exactly. Fuck. So cheer me up, Gates. Tell me what’s going on with you this week. I got an email the other day inviting me to the police memorial at the end of the month. They’re doing something special for Brian Macavoy. Has that been on your mind?”
My throat felt tight. My last night with Stella replayed in my mind. I’d almost committed the cardinal sin. God, I’d wanted to. It had taken everything in me to pull myself away and stop kissing her. The way Ken Bardwell looked at me now, I could almost believe Brian’s ghost had put the question into his head.
“Not really,” I lied.
