CHAPTER 17
Dylan
Tom arrived at Zoe’s house less than three minutes after I’d texted him. Almost as if he’d been sitting around, waiting for something to go awry. I hated that I’d proven him right.
I slid into the car wordlessly, hoping that we could avoid discussing the obvious implications of him picking me up from her house.
I hoped in vain.
“So,” he asked the moment I’d clicked my seatbelt in, “why am I here?”
“Because I had three drinks and needed a sober ride home.” That answered the question, technically.
Tom was having none of it.
“Let me rephrase. Why am I here?” The emphasis on location couldn’t be dodged, even by me.
“She needed a ride home.”
“Oh yeah? Then why were you drinking, and drinking enough that you couldn’t get home safely?”
Shit. I couldn’t smooth talk my way out of this, Tom was too insightful in general, but he knew me especially well. Nothing would escape his notice.
“Tom—” I began.
He cut me off. “Don’t bother answering, I know what you were doing.” He sighed deeply, the way only a man who’s seen too much of the world can sigh.
“Kid,” he continued. “You can’t do this. I taught you to do the right thing above all else. To conduct yourself admirably. And what you’re doing with this young lady? It ain’t admirable. It’s putting her case in jeopardy.”
I hung my head, staring at the leather upholstery between my thighs. The logical part of me knew that he was correct, the animal part of me didn’t care.
“You got anything to say for yourself?” Tom asked. His tone was fatherly, but not patronizing. I knew he meant well, for whatever that was worth.
“No, just… take me home, please.”
He nodded, understanding that when you had nothing good to say, you best say nothing at all. Before long, we came to a rolling stop in front of my house.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
“Okay. Good night.”
I slammed the door shut with more force than intended, making me seem like a petulant teenager caught smoking in the schoolyard. I didn’t need to look to know that Tom’s face was a mask of disappointment and concern.
I made my way inside where I found my mother sipping wine and reading a paperback.
“How’s the boy?” I asked without prelude.
“Bathed and in bed,” she replied. “Should still be up if you wanna give him a goodnight kiss.”
I nodded and strode from the living room to the door of his bedroom. Slowly, so as not to disturb him in case he had already fallen asleep, I turned the knob and entered.
Moonlight slanted through the blinds, falling across the bars of his crib and alighting on his angelic face. His eyes fluttered between sleeping and waking.
“Dada,” he bubbled.
“Hey, Danny boy,” I replied, moving closer to the crib until I was hanging over the edge, looking down on him. “You should already be asleep.”
“Dada,” he demanded. It was our little ritual. Obliging his request, I reached into the crib, and hoisted him up to my chest. I kissed his forehead, both cheeks, and blew a big raspberry on his tiny tubby stomach. I hugged him tightly to me and gave him one more kiss on the crown of his head.
“Dada,” he said once more, and I knew that he was drifting off into dreamland.
I replaced him in the crib, and snuck out on tiptoe, shutting the door behind me. Falling into normal footsteps, I walked to the living room, where I found that my mom had already skittered out into the night. Good. She needed some time off from taking care of the kid. She was in her early sixties, retirement age, and yet somehow was picking up the mantle of motherhood once more. It was enough to steep me in immense guilt.
I padded to my bathroom where I stripped down and stepped into a steaming shower, reluctantly washing off Zoe’s scent, a peculiar blend of cherries and cinnamon. Was it from the bakery? Was it her shampoo? I couldn’t tell, but it lingered.
Hefting a bar of mint soap into my palm, I began to scrub it along my arms, taking time to let the suds froth up. It was luxurious, peaceful. The pounding rhythm of the water was almost enough to distract me from questions of Zoe and what to do about our predicament. Almost being the key word.
Sighing, I stepped out of the water and into a fluffy white towel. The mirror had fogged up, so I took my forearm and dragged it along the surface, clearing a space in which I could gaze.
I examined my chin. Was some of her tinted Chapstick caught in my follicles? Next my neck. Had she given me a small hickey? Everywhere I looked, I saw traces of her, both real and imagined. It was as if her face had juxtaposed itself over mine in the reflection, and I couldn’t see myself without also seeing her. This left me with the eerie impression that I was no longer alone.
I dried my feet on the bathmat, and paced from the shower to my bedroom, where I shucked the towel off on the floor. There’d be time to deal with that later. Right now, I was exhausted from the mental gymnastics of trying to justify getting involved with Zoe.
I plummeted into bed, naked and more confused than ever. My hand weaseled its way down to my dick, which grew hard to the touch.
Enough, I told myself firmly. No more. Time to sleep.
Frustrated, I abandoned my cock and the prospect of fifteen enjoyable minutes, and instead turned to the laborious task of sleep. As predicted, Zoe’s eyes and pillowy lips haunted my dreams.
The following morning, I awoke groggy and ill-rested. Zoe had tormented me throughout the night, and I’d reentered the waking world with an immense hard-on. I was running late, though, and didn’t have the time to take care of it.
I fed Danny his breakfast, consigned him to my mother’s care, and after kissing both my loved ones, I hurried off to the station. Texting Tom for a ride seemed like a bad idea today, and my car was still parked outside of Zoe’s, so I was forced to make the twenty-minute walk to the station. The cold did me good, the air seeped in through my ears and nose, preventing me from thinking too hard about anything besides keeping warm.
I arrived at the station a few minutes later than usual. Perfect. Just the way to convince Tom that everything was totally fine and that I had shit under control. The day was already off to an uneven start.
I went inside the station and was immediately gratified by a blast of warmth. Throwing my coat over the rack, I walked to my desk, and collapsed in the decades-old spinning chair with a dramatic harrumph. In the center of the writing surface, somewhere between my pictures of Danny, was a cup of shitty drive-thru coffee — the kind that Tom drank daily.
It was his gesture of peace. The coffee said more than the gruff older man ever would. I smiled at the proverbial white flag.
As if on cue, Tom trod in from his office, which was secluded. Perks of being the senior unit leader. Whereas I, by comparison, was stuck on a desk, in the midst of a row of desks. No privacy. Tom came to a standstill in front of my desk and stared meaningfully at the coffee.
“Thanks,” I said, raising the steaming mug. “For this.”
“Welcome,” he replied.
Our eyes met, and I tacked on, “And for last night.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I knew he meant that literally, so I moved on to easier topics.
“What’s on the menu for today?” I asked.
“A little highway patrol, some more paperwork. We can finish back here and put in a few more hours on the bakery case.”
It was hard to miss the fact that he so purposefully left her name out of the itinerary. I tried to not take it as an affront, or as some kind of indictment.
We went about the day as Tom had laid out, first patrol, then paperwork. The whole time, my mind was elsewhere. Specifically, on the sweet curves of Zoe’s chest and neck. I fantasized about her nipples until they were nearly emblazoned on the inside of my eyelid. Several times, I had to forcefully redirect my attention, lest I get a work-inappropriate boner.
Tom spoke little, for which I was grateful. More time to run my thoughts over last night.
By the time we got back to the station, in the late afternoon, I’d had more than I could stand. I needed to text her.
“Can you get started on some of the leads?” I asked Tom as we settled down in the conference room. “I just need to take care of something.”
“Danny?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if he was on to me, or just being friendly.
“Mm-hmm.” A full ‘yes’ was unable to pass my lips, as lying to Tom was nearly impossible.
“All right, I’ll get started.”
I left the room, and found myself in the hallway, where I began to pace. Was this a good idea? Was it the noble idea? Did I give a fuck?
The answer to that last one was ‘no.’ I didn’t care anymore. My body craved Zoe like crack cocaine. I needed to take a hit. So I sent her a text.
I’ve got some follow-up questions on the case that I never got a chance to ask you. Are you around tonight?
Yes.
I suggested an out-of-the-way pub, one that was set just on the edge of the forest that encircled Fallow Springs. She agreed readily, almost as if she were perched on the edge of her chair, biting her fingernails and awaiting the influx of a new message ding.
Okay. See you there around seven.
See you then, she returned. She added a small wink emoji to the end of the text message, and I spent the next few hours wondering what, exactly, that emoji might mean.