Tension

by R. L. Griffin

  “I’m going to head to George’s. I’ll walk.” She hugged Millie first. “Thanks for lunch, Mil.”

  “You didn’t eat anything,” Millie commented.

  “But the sangria was good,” Stella laughed.

  “Fuck y’all. Frito Pie is awesome.” Billy pouted. He stood up and gave her another bear hug; this time he was gentle. “I’m so glad you’re okay, El.”

  “Okay is yet to be determined, Billy,” Stella reminded him and moved toward the door.

  “I’ll walk you,” Patrick said, following her.

  “No, thanks, Patrick. I’m okay,” Stella rebutted as she opened the door.

  “Then I’ll follow you.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  “Patrick, I said no.” Stella walked down the stairs.

  “I don’t care.” Patrick followed her out the door.

  “Like usual, right?” Stella retorted.

  Millie stood at the front door, listening to them. “El, you may want him to go with you because of the media. Are there paparazzi outside George’s house? Patrick may be able to help.”

  Stella’s shoulders slumped a little. Fucking paparazzi.

  “She’s right, El. Let me do this.”

  “I don’t want anything from you.” Stella waved at Millie and started walking down the block.

  Patrick hurried after her and easily caught up to her. “I know.” They walked a couple of blocks in silence, Patrick trailing Stella by a couple of steps. When they turned on King Street, Patrick grabbed her hand. “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said honestly, shaking her head.

  His shoulders fell and he released her hand. “Really?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it and I just don’t think I can, Patrick. In some ways, I feel more betrayed by you than by him.”

  Patrick stared down at his hands. “El, don’t you remember any of the good times we had?” His voice was low and full of regret. “You mean a lot to me.”

  “Patrick, all those good times seem like a lie to me now. I can’t separate them from all the lies you told. You broke the only thing that I had left, trust. I can’t trust anyone now because of you.”

  “Fuck, El. Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you. Give me a chance.”

  “Give you a chance for what? To break what little I’ve got left? No thanks.”

  “When I found out you’d been shot… I—I’d thought I’d lost you with you hating me. I couldn’t deal with it. You’re important to me, El. For four years we’ve been friends. You’re MY person. It wasn’t a lie when I helped pull you through that first year without Jamie. It wasn’t a lie when I held you during all your nightmares. It wasn’t a lie when I talked to your parents every day for an entire year, assuring them you were okay. It’s not a lie that you’re my best friend. I would do anything for you. I honestly thought I was doing something good for you. It was a mistake, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.”

  Stella stopped walking and stared at him. His person. Damn it. Patrick had been her person for so long; she’d told him so four years ago, on their first Christmas together. Tears stung her eyes. I’m supposed to trust my person. “I don’t—” she started.

  “I fucked up, Stella. I’m sorry. Haven’t you ever fucked up?” He was pleading now, his voice rising. He knew the answer.

  Her resolve softened a little. “Of course I’ve fucked up. You had a front row seat for that. I just don’t know if I can trust you again.” She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m just being honest.”

  “Let me try, El.” Patrick couldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re my person.”

  They started walking again and were quiet for several blocks. They turned left on Cameron. Stella grimaced when she saw a few photographers outside of George’s house. Patrick put his hand on her back to guide her but she shook him off and kept walking.

  “I’ve got it from here, Patrick,” she said.

  “El, come on.”

  She turned around and looked him in the eye. “I’ve got it.”

  They looked at each other for a few seconds.

  “Okay. We can try.”

  She turned on her heel and walked swiftly up to front door and left him standing there.

  Chapter Ten

  Admiring the View

  Stella was getting out of the shower when she heard Ray LaMontagne singing from the speakers throughout the house. Smiling, she toweled off and walked into George’s study. He was hunched over paperwork and didn’t notice her, so she stood for a minute and studied him. The perfect features on his face would be too pristine if he didn’t have that crooked nose. His nose had been broken several times over his life, mostly football injuries, but the last break was from trying to separate some patrons at the bar. His v-neck t-shirt exposed a delicious glimpse of his pecs. His mom had bought him every color of the shirt when she found them at an outlet five years ago. It was just the right balance to show off his physique without being too showy and Stella didn’t know what he was going to do when those shirts wore out. She sighed. His dark hair fell casually over his eyes and made her want to brush it out the way.

  Realizing he was being watched, he looked up. “What?” he asked, gazing openly at her barely covered body.

  “Nothing, just admiring the view,” she said as she walked over to him. “What you working on?”

  “Looking at bids for repairing one of the taps at the bar.” He dropped the paperwork and stood to meet her. He wrapped his arms around her still moist back, pulling her into him. They swayed to the music and she put her head on his shoulder.

  “Wouldn’t life be perfect if we could do this forever?”

  “We could.” George leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I can do everything from this house. Run my business and draft articles.”

  “Whatever,” she said, laughing. George was a micro-manager at Finnegan’s; it was hard for him to be gone for a week.

  “So what did they say?” George cradled her in his arms and set his chin on top of her head. He loved how perfectly they fit together.

  Stella had a conference call with the General Counsel yesterday. George was hopeful, but it went the same way most of the meetings had gone.

  “Same shit. They want me focused on the investigation.” She shook her head. “The doctor cleared me to go back to work a month ago. I don’t understand why they won’t let me get back to work.”

  “You heard from Stan?”

  “Not since lunch. Maybe I should get in touch with him again and see what’s really going on. They talked to me about getting cleared to come back. I read every word of the paperwork my doctor sent, it should’ve been enough. They’re now saying they need an FBI psychologist to meet with me and clear me. The problem is they are all backlogged. It’ll be the end of January before they can get me in. Delay, delay, delay.” She attempted to blow her bangs out of her face but they were wet and stuck to her forehead.

  “Well, what do you want to do?” George asked.

  “I don’t know, George. I always figured I’d go back. Now I have to figure what I want to do if I can’t go back. No firms are going to hire me; I wasn’t in the top third of my law school class. None of my friends can get me a job; they all just started, too, so nobody has any connections. I feel like I need to regroup.”

  “Take time and assess what you really want to do?”

  “I want to be a fucking lawyer. That’s what I went to school for. Now, I don’t know who would hire me with all the media coverage. I’m barely making ends meet and I’m not even paying rent. My school loans are kicking my ass.”

  “I can cover them, if you can’t swing it,” George said sincerely.

  She pushed back from their embrace. “No. Way.”

  “Why not? You can pay me in other ways,” he assured her.

  “George, I’m not going to make you cover my bills. You’re already paying for enough women in your life. I’m not going to be a reason you have
to stay burdened with Finnegan’s. I’ll pay for my own shit.”

  “It’s not a burden for me to help you.” He kissed her. “One day I’ll stop paying for my sisters’ stuff.”

  “Sure you will,” Stella agreed, her mind wandering to her future and whether she would ever be able to do what she wanted to do. Surely the press coverage would die down soon.

  Cooper sniffed around the Reflecting Pond in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Stella squatted down to retie her shoe and looked around the pond. They’d just finished a five mile run on The Mall. Due to her inability to run in Old Town, she started driving to DC with Cooper once or twice a week to get a run in. She usually went under the radar. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him move toward the Korean Memorial, so she moved to that side of the pond and looked around for any cameras following her. Millie had already texted her that there was a picture floating around the twitterverse of her and Cooper running on The Mall. Apparently it was a picture of her on the stairs of the Capitol, she bought a shirt from a vendor on The Mall and pulled it over her tank top to cover her tattoo.

  Cooper strained against the leash and pulled her toward the memorial, which showed soldiers made of stainless steel moving through terrain that mirrored that of Korea. She checked her phone, it was ten past two. Sweat slid down her spine and pooled at the small of her back. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the memorial. He was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a hat pulled down low, sunglasses hiding his eyes from view. Stella walked over and Cooper went nuts, his entire body bending back and forth.

  Patrick was elated. “Here,” he said and handed her a file. “This is everything I know.” He bent over and rubbed Cooper’s sides. Cooper’s tail wagged so hard it was whipping the side of his head at each pass.

  “Come, Coop.” Stella put the file in her shirt, turned, and jogged off to where her car was parked.

  Cooper climbed into the passenger seat and sat looking out the front window, content.

  A seed of hate was planted in her the day she realized he was alive. It was as if a bag of fertilizer was added to that seed when he’d shot her. The seed had grown into a vine of anger that consumed her insides. It’s all she thought about.

  She brewed coffee and reviewed the file; it gave her all the information she was lacking about the whereabouts of her former fiancé. A knock sounded from the front door. She set her coffee mug down and hid the file under her bag. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It was probably just a reporter. She hated when the reporters had the balls to come to the door. She put her eye against the peep hole and gasped, swinging the door open and quickly pulling Jesse in the house.

  Shock. She didn’t think she could be surprised by anything anymore. She stopped talking to him on a regular basis a few weeks ago because George kept nagging her about it.

  “What are you doing here?” Stella asked incredulously. They hadn’t seen each other since they’d had sex over four months ago.

  Jesse grinned, his sienna face bursting with happiness. He looked as gorgeous as she remembered. His muscles were barely contained in the simple black sweater he wore, and Stella could see portions of his tattoos reaching up his neck. His shaved head was covered with a black wool cap and he wore sunglasses in a rather blatant attempt to disguise himself from the photographers.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” He pulled her into his expansive arms. “You really are okay. I’ve seen the photos on TV, but I’m glad to see it myself.” He released her and gave her body the once over.

  “What are you doing here, Jesse?” She walked back to the den area and sat down. “There are cameras everywhere. You know I’m fine.”

  “I haven’t heard from you lately. I already went to your old house. Millie told me where I could find you.” He sat down next to her. “You aren’t returning my calls or texts.”

  “George,” she answered honestly.

  “Well, I can’t blame him for that, I guess.” He leaned back on the couch, draping his arm around her. “Where is George by the way?”

  “Work, but I’m sure he’ll love seeing the pictures of some dude at his house.”

  “Wait, he doesn’t know who I am?” Jesse started laughing.

  She shrugged. “Why make it worse than it already is, Jesse? He knows we’re friends, but we fucked. He doesn’t want us to be friends. I’m trying to do right.”

  “You’re the one person I’ve met in the past couple of years I trust, Stella. You don’t want anything from me; I’m not losing you.” He put a hand on her shoulder to put the period on the statement.

  “Don’t make me choose. You won’t like it,” she warned.

  “No shit, Stella. If it can’t be you and me, then I guess he’s the second best guy for you.” He got up and paced the den floor. “I had to stalk your ass to find out you’re living with him, though. TV didn’t tell me that, nor did you.”

  That was something she’d omitted during their chats; she didn’t know why she’d left out that information. “I’m sorry. It’s been all over the news, cameramen have followed me around for weeks. But, you’re right, that’s shitty. I should’ve told you I wasn’t living with Patrick anymore...”

  “I don’t like him,” he interrupted.

  “Patrick? Join the club, man.” She walked over to the bar and picked up her phone. It was a text from Millie warning her about Jesse.

  “You doing okay, though?”

  “I guess... I’m going stir crazy. I feel trapped in this house. I go outside and it’s ‘look what she’s wearing... Look at her hair... She’s not limping today...’”

  “Look at her jog in slow motion...,” Jesse said with a huge grin. “That’s my personal favorite so far. Wait, no I liked the see-through white tank top.” He laughed with abandon. “What were you thinking with that, anyway? You work out, you know you sweat. You really didn’t consider the possibility of looking like you were in a wet t-shirt contest?”

  She punched him in the arm while he paced; it hurt her fist, he was like a brick wall. “You joke, but I’m a fucking laughingstock. I busted my ass to become a lawyer and now I can’t return to my job because I’m the fucking ‘FBI Beauty.’” She did finger quotes for emphasis.

  “Well, you are beautiful,” he pointed out.

  “No flirting.” Stella smiled. “If we’re really going to be friends, no flirting. Please.”

  “Okay, but that wasn’t flirting. That was me being honest.” He grinned. “Look, can you drop me off at my hotel; I took a cab here. I’m supposed to be back in like 30 minutes.”

  “Sure,” she agreed. Stella grabbed her purse. “Let me text George real quick.”

  “Oh, it’s like that?” Jesse asked.

  “It’s like that. I’ll be photographed dropping you off at your hotel. Better tell him in case it goes viral.” She sighed. “It probably will. ‘The Falcon and the FBI Beauty’ or some other crap.”

  “Sorry,” he said, still smiling.

  “No, you’re not.”

  George picked up a clean case of pilsner glasses and loaded them on the back of the bar. “Will.”

  George heard his name called and turned to see Emanuel sitting down at the bar. “Hey, Man.” George shook his hand across the bar and set about getting his best friend a beer. “I didn’t know you were coming by tonight.” He put a glass of Guinness in front of Man and leaned on the bar.

  “Yeah, well. It was a rough day.”

  “I know the feeling.” George took off his hat, rubbed his head, and pulled it back on.

  A woman sat down next to Emanuel and smiled, leaning into the bar and giving him the full view of her huge tits. “Can I get a beer?”

  George sighed. “Sure. What can I get you?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Fuck, these women were annoying. He put a menu down in front of her. “There’s a list in there,” he said and then looked at Emanuel, who had an amused look on his face.

  “I’d suggest the Guinness,” Emanuel said to the wom
an.

  “I like light beer. Is it light?” the woman asked George.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Emanuel hedged. He leaned back and examined the woman a little more.

  George smiled. “We don’t have a ton of light beers, but they’re on the list.” He pointed at the menu.

  “What do you think?” She leaned into Emanuel, showing him the list.

  George shook his head.

  “Get an Amstel, that’s light,” Emanuel suggested.

  “Okay, that’s what I’ll get. Will.”

  George blinked at her. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” she replied with a wink.

  Seriously?! George shook his head and filled her glass with beer.

  “Um, Will?” Emanuel asked.

  “Yep?”

  “You may want to see this.” Emanuel handed his phone over to George.

  It took him a few seconds to realize he was looking at his house. Emanuel had Stella’s name on a search where if anything was posted about her on Twitter he would see it. There was a large black man at his front door and Stella was pictured, smiling. He wasn’t an agent because he was in casual clothes and wearing a black wool cap. He looked to Emanuel. “When was this taken?”

  “Today,” he said. “Did you read the caption?”

  George looked down at the phone again and read. NFL star Jesse McIntyre, in town for the Monday night football game, stops by to see Stella Murphy.

  What the fuck? He looked at Emanuel for some sort of support, but he was staring at the busty woman’s chest; the look on her face making it clear she didn’t drink beer.

  “So Stella knows Jesse McIntyre?” Emanuel asked, not even taking his eyes off the woman.

  Once Emanuel said the name out loud it all clicked. Holy shit, Stella fucked Jesse McIntyre. That was her “friend” Jesse. Son of a bitch.

  “They’re friends,” George barely got out.

  “Oh,” was all Emanuel said. “Did you know he was coming—” Emanuel started to ask, but the look on George’s face cut him off.

  George’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Stella.