Dawson
Yep. I was a fucking moron.
I didn’t need a marriage counselor to tell me that.
I really had no goddamn idea what had possessed me to go off on Mickie the way I had the other day. The only thing I’d come up with was that I still held some resentment over being kicked out of my own house, and that was the first time I’d ever expressed it out loud to her.
But I needed to get over that shit and fast.
Because it was no excuse to act like a dick.
Not to mention the fact that I’d ruined the day. I’d worked the rest of Sunday, although she’d been gracious enough to put off planting flowers with the kids until I was around again. Meaning, when I could control myself from having a tantrum like my five-year-old daughter.
And of course, this all had to happen right before the plans I’d made for this weekend. What I’d arranged for the two of us was supposed to signify the changing of the guard, if you will. It was a special occasion that I wanted marked as the turning point in this post-separation period.
In other words, I wanted it to mark the end of our separation.
Mickie didn’t know about the plans.
I’d wanted it to be a surprise.
Now, I’d be lucky if she agreed to go anywhere with me.
I was trying to keep these thoughts buried beneath the cool exterior I maintained at work. Especially since I was currently interviewing a witness, one who had the potential to break our burglary-homicide investigation wide open. The owner of the landscaping company we believed our perp worked for.
“Thank you for coming in to speak with us, Mr. Whitman,” Kyle said after we both sat down across the table from the witness.
“Whatever I can do to help,” Whitman mumbled.
He was a bit of a portly middle-aged man, with balding gray hair and wrinkled skin that had seen way too much sunlight.
“We have reason to believe that one of your employees was recently involved in an investigation we’re working on,” Kyle said. Whitman’s eyes widened in shock, but Kyle pressed on. “Young guy, maybe mid-twenties. Around six feet tall, skinny build. Walks with a limp. Sound familiar?”
The sweat dotting Whitman’s brow stood out under the harsh lights above the table. The man pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it across his forehead.
“Can I please have a glass of water?” he asked in a shaky voice. Only after I’d passed over his water and he chugged down the whole glass could he speak again. “That’s Oscar.”
Kyle and I briefly met eyes. “Who’s Oscar?” Kyle asked.
“Oscar Rivers,” Whitman answered. “At least, that was the name he gave me. I hired him on about two months ago after he showed up at one of my sites, looking for work.”
“Tell us about him,” I said.
Whitman blew out a breath. “He seemed good-natured enough, if not a little quiet. He was kind of the loner type. But he could handle a shovel and didn’t give me lip, so that was enough for me.”
“You didn’t complete a background check on him?” Kyle inquired. “Or call his references?”
Whitman’s face turned red before he ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. “I’m barely scraping by as it is. I don’t exactly have the luxury of turning away someone who’s willing to work for what I can pay them.”
So, that was a no.
“Did you ever have any problems with Mr. Rivers?” I asked. “Did he make a habit of showing up late, or were there any behavioral issues?”
Whitman shook his head. “Not really. Like I said, he was pretty quiet. Didn’t talk much. I didn’t know that much about him.” He tipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Although now that I think about it, he was pretty touchy about his limp. One of my other guys made a comment about it one day—just joking around—and Oscar got up in his face with a shovel. He didn’t hurt him or nothin’, but I think he made some threats. That was the only time I really ever saw him lose his cool.”
A train of thought popped into my head, and I decided to go with it. “Did Mr. Rivers strike you as particularly intelligent?” I asked.
“No,” Whitman replied. “To be honest, I would describe him as being on the slower side. Just doesn’t seem totally there.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Kyle asked.
Whitman squinted up at the ceiling and replied, “About three weeks ago, I’d say.” Around the time of the last homicide. “He just up and quit on me one day without notice. He never came back to work, and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.” I watched the man swallow nervously as he met my eyes. “Can I ask what he’s done?”
Sympathetically, I shook my head. “We can’t reveal information about an ongoing investigation.”
We hadn’t told Whitman what division of the department we worked out of. But all he had to do was run a quick Google search to find out we were from homicide. As it was, I was fairly certain he already knew Mr. Rivers was involved in a serious crime.
We asked him a few more questions, and then released him to work with our sketch artist to get a good description of this Oscar Rivers, who was now our number one suspect. I loosened my tie as we headed back to our desks. It felt more like a noose today than it normally did.
“Something wrong?” Kyle asked from his desk across from mine. “You looked a little distracted in there.”
I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Just tired. Haven’t gotten much sleep lately.”
He sat on the edge of his desk, facing me. “You and Mickie?”
I popped a few Advil in my mouth, swallowing them dry. This headache I’d had all day wasn’t going away.
“Still on the rollercoaster,” I replied. “My dumb ass had to go and say some stupid shit the other day, which probably set me back a few steps.”
“What about this weekend?” he asked. “You still need the boat?”
He’d been kind enough to lend me his boat for my surprise weekend with Mickie.
“That’s still the plan.” I hoped, anyway.
He studied me for a minute before pushing off his desk. “It’ll be gassed and ready for you.”
“Appreciate it.”
For the rest of the day, I threw myself into work, though I wasn’t sure how much good it did. My concentration was shit, and my energy was depleting fast. By the time I arrived at Mason’s apartment early that evening, I was ready to crawl into hibernation and not come out until winter was over.
I walked into the kitchen to see Sage cooking at the stove. She greeted me with a smile, spatula in hand. “Mason’s not allergic to shellfish, right?”
Once again feeling like an interloper, I shifted around on my feet. “Not that I know of.”
Satisfied, she turned back to the stove, as carefree as ever.
“I can leave. I don’t want to ruin your date night.”
She eyed me quizzically, then waved me off. “Oh, please. There was just a sale on shellfish and I was in the mood to cook. I’d planned on making enough for three, anyway.”
I knew she was lying, but I appreciated her efforts to make me feel less uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I’m going to go over to the house and watch a movie with the kids.”
That was a plan I’d made up exactly three seconds ago, but I would go with it. I wasn’t feeling any less welcome here at Mason’s than I had been at my own home lately. So, I couldn’t be any worse off if Mickie slammed the door in my face.
I changed clothes and grabbed a few things from the guest bedroom. As I was about to leave, Sage’s voice stopped me at the door.
“I know I haven’t been around very long,” she said. I turned with my hand on the doorknob. “But I’ve come to know Mickie pretty well. And no matter what is going on with you two, that woman loves you more than she could probably ever say.”
The sincerity I heard inexplicably hit me with enormous force. Emotions I never allowed myself to feel were overwhelming me.
“I know that,” I replied.
Because I did. I knew Mickie loved me as much as I loved her. Stupid things just distracted us from remembering that sometimes. Like pride.
I was confused when Sage’s expression turned to one of…admiration?
“I don’t know if this will mean much coming from me, but Mickie’s strong,” she stated. “The strongest woman I’ve ever met. I consider you a very lucky man to have her in your corner. And vice versa.”
I was kind of blown away by her accolades, and couldn’t think of a worthy response other than, “Thank you.”
Although I did pause when I had the door open to say one thing. “I should have told you this a while back.” She glanced up from the stove. “You’re good for Mason. He deserves someone like you.”
I shut the door before I experienced any more emotional upheavals.
I didn’t give myself the chance to ponder the repercussions of my actions on the way over to the house. Which actually ended up working in my favor. I found that out when I knocked on the door, and Mickie answered it in a stressed out, disheveled state.
She lowered the cell phone that was at her ear as soon as she saw me. “Oh, thank God, it’s you. I was just calling you.”
Okay. Not the reception I was expecting, but I’d take it.
She disappeared back into the house, so I followed her, not knowing what else to do. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”
She was running around in a frazzled state, looking for I had no idea what.
“Um, not really,” she said, sounding out of breath. “There was a problem with the hospital server, and all the computers are down. My staff’s kind of panicking, so I need to go back in. But Ashley’s already working, and I know Sage was planning a nice dinner for Mason. Today’s their six month anniversary.”
Six month anniversary? Damn. I was glad I’d left when I had.
And of course, Sage had been too sweet to tell me to get lost.
“I was going to call you to see if you’d care to watch the kids tonight—”
“Mickie, go,” I told her firmly. “I’ll stay here.”
Her head shot up, uncertainty in her gaze. “Are you sure? It’s not your night, and I know you’re busy with your cases.”
I took over the task of packing her work bag, since she was having trouble with it. I made sure all her files were in there, her usual toiletry bag in case she was there longer than expected, her phone charger, energy bars, and a cardigan because I knew she tended to get cold in the operating rooms.
I slid the strap over her shoulder, made sure she had her phone in her pocket, keys in her hand, and scooted her toward the door. In the doorway, she planted her feet and whipped around to face me, speechless.
I put my hand up when she opened her mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
She looked down at her bag, then keys, then back up at me. She didn’t have to ask the question.
“I pay attention more than you think,” I said, shrugging.
She still looked shell-shocked. And at the same time, her vulnerability was shining through. “I—” She shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. “Thank you.”
That was when I noticed her eyes. They looked a little puffy and slightly red, though it was obvious she’d tried to cover it up with makeup. After many years with this woman, I easily recognized the signs of her crying.
I really didn’t like seeing that.
Not one fucking bit. Especially since I figured that I was the cause of it.
I was so tired of upsetting her. I was beyond ready to get back to the point in our relationship where I made her nothing but happy.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in for a long hug. I felt mildly better when I felt her shoulders slump, relaxing the tiniest bit, and heard her sigh with what may have been weariness but could as well have been pleasure, too. I left her with a kiss on her forehead.
“Drive safe, okay?”
She nodded and walked away. I didn’t close the door until I watched her car disappear down the street. When I took in the living room, assessing the space we’d shared together for the last seven years, I was ashamed. Grateful—no doubt—but also ashamed. I’d allowed my job to cloud my responsibilities at home, and everything I was looking at was all Mickie’s doing.
Sure, I mowed the lawn and fixed the sink and replaced light bulbs when necessary. But the daily tasks like doing laundry, cooking dinner, washing the dishes, picking up after the kids… I’d shirked too many of those responsibilities that I should have been sharing with Mickie.
So, after I’d made dinner for the kids, played some games with them, watched a movie, and put them to bed, I cleaned the house from top to bottom. I swept the floors, scrubbed the toilets, dusted the furniture, and cleaned out the refrigerator.
It may not have been the most romantic thing in the world.
But I figured it would help her out in the long run.
Plus, the last thing I wanted her to have to worry about after working a double shift today was coming home to a dirty house.
Gee, it only took you ten years of marriage to figure that one out, genius.
I was passed out on the couch by the time she snuck through the front door, obviously trying not to wake anyone. I heard her tip toe through the room, approaching the couch. I wasn’t sure why, but I pretended to be asleep when she gently shook my arm to wake me.
I slowly cracked my eyelids and gave her a lazy smile, followed by a stretch. “Hey,” I whispered. “You okay?”
She looked tired, and something squeezed around my heart. “Yeah. Thanks for staying.”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “No problem. And you don’t have to thank me. They’re my kids, too.”
She went silent. When I saw the wounded look on her face I wanted kick my own ass. “Aw, hell, Mickie. I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”
“I know,” she said. She tried smiling, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just exhausted.”
“I’ll let you get to bed, then.” I walked to the door but stopped when she spoke softly.
“You could…stay.” She was nervously twisting her hands in front of her. “If you wanted to.”
Well, shit.
What the hell was I supposed to do here?
This could be one of those female moments when she said one thing, but what she really wanted was the complete opposite of that. Or, she could actually want me to stay because she’d had a bad day and wanted to be comforted. If it was the second, then there was a slight possibility she would wake up later and regret asking me to stay.
I never wanted her to regret that.
I had to remember what she’d told me numerous times about wanting to make sure we did this right. Not rush things. This weekend was my chance to change her mind about all that. We would have plenty of time to get everything hammered out in the forty-eight hours we were going to have all to ourselves.
But not tonight when she was already half-asleep on her feet.
It wasn’t the right time. Yet.
“I should probably go.”
I tried to act like I didn’t notice the disappointment on her face. Ha. Yeah, right.
“But don’t make any plans this weekend.”
Even though I already knew she didn’t have any plans. She wasn’t working, either. I’d made sure of that.
“Why?” she asked. “What’s happening this weekend?”
“You’ll see.”
I gave her a quick peck on the lips because I couldn’t not put my lips on her somehow. But any more than a peck, and I’d be hauling her over my shoulder and up to bed.
“Goodnight, Mick.”
I made sure she locked up behind me before I got into my car.
And even though I didn’t look back, I knew she watched me from the window, tracking my movements the whole time until I drove away.