Rogue Hearts

by Tamsen Parker

  Then they were driving again, back on the highway, turning onto the Turnpike and toward an uncertain destination.

  “You sure about this?”

  She nodded. “You wouldn’t have mentioned your place if you thought it would be a problem,” she replied, smiling. “I trust you.”

  “And you trust that we’re adults?”

  She burst out laughing. “I trust that we have ethics.”

  “And,” he managed, “we haven’t gotten to later yet.”

  The possibility of what later was going to mean made her smile. “Yes. We haven’t gotten to later yet.” And once she figured out how to crack the story behind the files, and how to tell it before she handed them over? Later couldn’t come soon enough.

  Three: Harrison

  John had no idea why he’d mentioned his place as a potential stopping ground, and even less of a clue why she’d taken him up on the offer.

  No, he understood. Technically he was closer to where Paul would be, guarded as he was by family and a few friendly neighborhood cops. If Sophie was going to pull something together quickly, she’d need to talk to Paul immediately, and not wait.

  That was what he focused on as he pulled her car into an unexpectedly empty space not far from his apartment, trying not to think about what they were doing, or what he wanted to do to her as she stood next to him once they got out of the car. He felt her; felt her movements as she took the box out of the car; the box with the heavy red folders; Nunzio’s notes, the extras and his annotations in one, and the copies in the other.

  Her deep breath broke his concentration and power of thought, stole his own breath as he turned to meet her eyes.

  “This is going to be hard, right?”

  He didn’t have the strength to comfort anybody, let alone himself. “Yeah.”

  She nodded, tightly, as if one wrong movement would break her. He knew it because his bones were at wrong angles underneath his skin. He wasn’t supposed to break like this, but apparently this kind of stress ground you down and spit you out if you weren’t prepared for it. And he hadn’t reached a game seven in his young reporting career.

  “Well then,” she said out of nowhere, seeming to pull herself, her bones and her strange angles all together. “Let’s do this.”

  This, for him, meant holding his breath, stepping into the cold winter air alongside her, and walking down the street towards either the best decision he’d ever made, or the worst.

  Walking beside John on the streets of Harrison made Sophie forget mostly everything. The stress she’d been feeling, the impending deadline itself and the make or break success that the brand-new television show would demand. All of that fell by the wayside, leaving her…happy. Whether it was because she had a clear plan or whether it was because she was with a tall, smart, hot guy she wasn’t sure. All she knew is that she hadn’t felt so calm in a while, not in her own apartment or in her own skin.

  “How much further?” she asked.

  He grinned, pointed towards the small group of townhouses in front of them. “Here,” he said. “So really not far at all.”

  She nodded, hefting the box and her bag. “Good to know.”

  “Do you want me to carry anything?”

  The fact that he asked was a good thing, a nice thing. But. “It’s not far, so it’s fine.”

  He nodded. “Keep me posted,” he said as they crossed the street into the tiny cul-de-sac. She watched as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, and then climbed up the stairs to one of the tiny houses.

  “Here,” he told her unnecessarily. “This is it.”

  She smiled at him. He was adorable, the way he ushered her inside as he backed down a step to make sure she was able to get in, then followed her.

  “Closing the door,” he said. “Cold out here.”

  She watched as he closed the door, reached around and put a few lights on.

  “Ok. So. Couch is there, where I’ll be…”

  “But…but.” She waved her arm, staring at the setup. “It’s small…”

  He shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ve slept there before. Many times. You need the bed.”

  When she looked up at him, there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t ignore. It was deep, longing and just…No. She couldn’t. He looked so perfect, standing there, staring at her. Like he was unsure what to do. Perfect, adorable and untouchable.

  “Thank you, she whispered. “I mean…you didn’t have to do this.”

  “What? Follow your lead on your story?” He raised an eyebrow, as if she’d forgotten who he was, aside from an adorable big lug of a guy. He was a journalist, too. “Of course, I did. I’m just the conduit.”

  “You’re right,” she replied. “Thank you anyway.”

  And there it was. The sudden tension that tended to flare to life between them in random moments. It was tight, pulling them closer, drawing her towards him like a tractor beam.

  Suddenly, he looked at her and leaned down. She had time to move, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to catch his lips with hers, wanted to drown herself in the sensation. And when their lips touched, it was magical. The sensation washed over her in waves, his tongue dancing with hers…until she realized what an idiot she was.

  “We can’t,” she said as she pulled back, her heart slamming against her chest. “We absolutely cannot. Not yet.”

  He nodded, bit his lip and took a deep breath. “You’re right. No. Not yet.”

  And as he walked towards the living room, she wondered whether she’d made the best decision she’d ever made, or the worst.

  She hated both options.

  The lure of the forbidden was going to kill him.

  Dammit.

  “So,” Sophie said as she walked past him and settled onto the couch. “It’s comfortable.”

  “Which is why I’m going to sleep on it tonight.”

  “What? Like your bed isn’t?”

  He sighed, shook his head and stared at her. “It is, but that’s not the point.”

  She glared at him. “You’re bigger,” she told him. “Don’t contort yourself.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh; the simple admonition and the understanding of the pretzel like position he’d slept on over the last twelve hours, possibly more, ran through him like a freight train and bubbled out of him before he could stop it. “Yeah.”

  “It’s been so hard,” she said. “If I wasn’t a sane person, I’d ask for a glass of wine.”

  He laughed again. “I have wine, or frozen food or something. Probably better than what we had…wait. We didn’t really stop much.”

  “At all, really. Which means the last thing I had to eat was that French toast when I woke up. Which was amazing. But no problem. It’s late, I’m tired and, honestly? I think better on an empty stomach anyway.”

  He nodded. “Good to know. You were talking about a clearinghouse earlier. What is that, exactly?”

  She sighed, lay back against the couch. “Everybody wants to see these papers: the attorneys for Jessica Crosby’s custody hearing, the intelligence committee, and any random member of Congress who’s considering voting for impeachment. And my producer’s not giving me any help.”

  “That sucks. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Sweet of you to ask. But that’s where the clearinghouse comes in. Last time, all I had to do was give them to whatever service it was, and they took care of the rest. My old editor was the one who organized the last bit. My producer should know what to do, but I may ask Baum for that information instead.”

  John grinned. “That man has had rows with more people than I’ve met, I think.”

  “This is true.” She tapped the armrest. “If he doesn’t have it, he can get it. And that,” she said smiling back at him, “is something I can sleep on.”

  “Good,” he said. “Um…”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Look. I feel guilty about taking my bed when you’re the one who’s been crazily str
essed. I know you’re not going to budge, but…well I’ve got a huge bed. And though I’m big, I’m not that big.”

  He hoped it sounded innocent. Because it was. Even though he was a mess of hormones, he was a gentleman and he just…he knew she wouldn’t take his bed. Even though she was over stressed, and even though he adored his couch, there was nothing like sleeping on a bed.

  He continued, despite the fact she was laughing at him. “Maybe,” he ventured, “maybe we could share? Maybe so I won’t feel so guilty about taking the bed?”

  She covered her mouth and rolled her eyes. “No. Also? Stop being a gentleman. “

  She saw right through him, god, of course she did. Presenting her an offer he hoped she couldn’t refuse and she saw right through it. “Can’t,” he said, somehow managing to echo his mother’s accent as well as her lessons. “Sorry.”

  “Dyed in the wool.” She grinned. “Like asking a leopard to change its stripes.”

  He laughed, couldn’t help himself. “Yeah. About that.”

  “Confused animals everywhere, DiCenza,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Anyway, we’ll see how it goes. Offer open after the light goes off? Even though that would be a horrible idea?”

  He nodded, smiled. “Bathroom’s in there,” he said with a wave. “Bedroom you’re shoving me into is just this way,” he gestured towards the door. “The blankets and pillows on the couch are comfortable,” he moved just a bit, “but there are more in here…even though it is a horrible idea to use the…”

  “I’m good for now,” she said, in her way of trying to assure him. “Exhausted but fine. “

  He looked at her, tried to gauge. But as he could see nothing beyond what she showed him, he nodded. “Night.”

  In the dark, Sophie woke to pain in her back, and in a strange position…were her legs atop the armrest? She’d never slept that way before, and it wasn’t doing her any favors now. She looked across the room to the bedroom door.

  The hell with it.

  She crossed the apartment, the wooden floor to the door, and opened it just slightly. She saw the bed in the dark and the empty spot. John was on his side, his back to the space; it…he called to her. She could see the fall of the blanket and the spread of his hair. He looked comfortable.

  Amid the mostly clean room, she was envious, jealous of John’s position, of his body, of his comfort on top of what had to be a huge mattress. And maybe he meant it; maybe he was serious about the invitation.

  She stood just beyond the threshold, staring at him. He didn’t move. Not at all. Not one inch away from what she’d started to think was his side of the bed. And that meant she was going to take him up on his offer to share. Never the twain shall meet.

  Bare feet hit the wooden floor, as she carefully, slowly made her way to the head of the bed, her hand following the lines of the mattress. She’d made her decision, sitting down on the mattress, using her hand to judge the distance to the pillow, sinking down into it and closing her eyes, not once thinking of anything other than the sweet oblivion.

  Four: Harrison

  John opened his eyes, realizing the pressure on top of his shoulder was, in fact, Sophie’s head. Moving was going to be impossible despite the buzzing of the alarm on his wrist. He didn’t move, barely an inch for fear of waking her.

  He felt comfortable, natural. As if some point in his life he’d like this to happen maybe without as much clothing separating them. But now? Now he had to plan. And that meant moving.

  “Sophie,” he whispered.

  She came awake with a start, turning towards him, then quickly moved off of him. “I’m sorry…”

  He shook his head, smiling back at her. “It’s fine,” he said. “Really.”

  She bit her lip and stared at him. “Are you sure?”

  He sat up and sighed. “Look. Yes. You crossed into my space, sure, but you didn’t violate it or me. You put your head on my shoulder because for some reason you thought it was comfortable. Whatever floats your boat.”

  “But…?”

  He shook his head. “No. If there were things to discuss, we’d discuss them. We’re discussing what happened. And if there were different words to say, I’d say them, sure. You didn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. Okay?”

  “You’d tell me?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I would.”

  She seemed a little calmer; the lines on her face a little less drawn. “Good.” She smiled back at him. “You’re definitely the guy I thought you were. And, for the record, I genuinely think later can’t come soon enough.”

  He nodded, smiled ruefully. “Same,” he said. And before he said, or did anything he’d regret later, he left the room.

  Sophie couldn’t stay in bed once John had left, gorgeous, and still in his clothing for a reason she probably could figure out if she tried. But thinking about John was not something she could really afford to do right then.

  What she needed to do was to get up. So, she stood, stretched and headed towards the bathroom, grabbing her backpack from the spot by the couch where she’d left it, and closed the door behind her. She splashed cold water on her face, changed her clothing, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Raccoon eyes, redder than her favorite lipstick, skin the color of whiteout, random red spots of stress acne everywhere.

  She was a mess. Handy makeup kit was reachable in the bag, so she yanked it out and plastered on enough to keep her from looking like she had the chicken pox or was the star of a random horror movie. Once she was satisfied, she left the bathroom, only to see John hanging up the phone in the kitchen. His smile was more welcoming than she deserved.

  “Morning.”

  She nodded, smiling back at him. “Morning.”

  “Just talked to Paul. He’ll see us. “

  The sigh of relief was so cliché, but she wasn’t going to fight perfection.. “Oh thank god,” she said, the words more like a prayer than she meant them to be.

  He smirked, not a mean one; his eyes twinkled along with it. “Yeah. He’s pretty excited about meeting you. That means he’s going to feed us, which means there’s no big deal about breakfast. I need to go change, so we’ll leave right after, if that’s okay?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “There’s coffee, I assume?”

  “We can grab some on the way. There’s an A to Z store not far from his house.”

  She blinked. Did he know her? “And you expect me to survive until then?”

  He shrugged. “There are AZ’s everywhere. Or are you…”

  And then he looked at her, and she wondered what he saw. Probably the pure exhaustion in her eyes or the bad makeup job she’d managed in his bathroom. “I mean…do you have tea?”

  He nodded, ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. You like it black, right?”

  “Yes. Let me have a cup and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Cuppa, hm? Ok.”

  She watched as he pulled everything together and put the kettle on. “Mug, tea, water,” he said, grinning back at her. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  Sophie nodded and watched him walk away. It was safe to say that she was mesmerized. Not just by that smile, but by everything she shouldn’t want.

  She’d gone to the bathroom one more time, leaving him by himself in the kitchen. He’d washed the cup she’d used, put his jacket on and was ready to leave when there was a knock at the door. He hadn’t been expecting anybody and wondered what was going on.

  But all the same, he made his way to the door, looking through the peephole. And his breath caught when he saw two gentleman wearing severe suits on the other side. He didn’t bloody fucking know when he’d ordered suits, or they’d ordered him.

  “Mr. DiCenza,” one of them said as he opened the door, proffering a badge in one hand, a paper with a scrawled signature that looked vaguely familiar in the other. “We’re from JAB Security. We have an authorization you gave the Palisades for us to provide security for this address.”

  There were sketchy
details, but he remembered the amount of time he’d spent trying to scan his signature into an email before sending it back to them. “Yes…yes.”

  “We just wanted to let you know that everything is okay, that there’s been no trouble here. We’re here and we’ve been quiet, but, we can put together a more active presence should you think it necessary.”

  He shook his head, the implications clear and breath stealing. “No…I’m fine…for now, I think.”

  “Whatever you wish, sir.”

  He nodded. “I…I’ll be back in a few hours. Can we talk when I get back?”

  “Of course, sir,” the gentleman’s voice was more understanding and much more comforting than he’d have expected or wanted otherwise. “Would you like someone to accompany you?”

  He swallowed. “No,” he replied once he remembered there were words to be said. “No. It’s…not necessary.” He bit his lip. “I think it’ll be okay.”

  “Would you check in with us to make sure you’ve arrived at your destination?”

  He bit his lip again, shoved his hands in his pockets and took a breath. “I…I guess. Yes. Thank you.”

  And as the gentlemen nodded, closing the door and disappearing to wherever they’d come from, he found himself unable to do very much except close his eyes and breathe.

  Jersey drivers were worse than anybody else he’d ever seen, and John could say that because he was one of them. Thankfully he was able to keep control. Barely, holding on by a thread. The drive let him focus on something that wasn’t the raging panic that stole his breath and his coherent thoughts. Somehow, he’d gotten Sophie into her car without trouble, a well-placed smile and a quick walk did well for both of them.

  Made sense. They’d see Paul and she’d leave, drive out of his life for good. Because he couldn’t handle this stress, this pressure any more.

  “What’s wrong?”