Chapter Twenty-One

Carina

IT SEEMED SO CONVOLUTED and complicated at first glance. Given our difficult histories it was hard to come to terms with how it truly boiled down to something so simplistic—honor. Smith’s honor. I wouldn’t love him as fiercely if he didn’t have it. It’s the single most appealing quality in a man. I think because so few actually have it. It’s poetic because that’s what stole him away from me. I’m trying to move on as Smith asked, but it’s been slow going for various reasons.

Sean kisses like a wet dog after a swim in a pool. I broke things off with him before they evolved into anything more than friends who kiss. He was upset and in turn it made Jasmine upset. She forgave me when I wrote her a detailed scene of me kissing her brother. I think the words she used were “utterly disgusting.” It’s not easy going into the dating world knowing no one will ever stack up to him. Not ever. Not even close. I haven’t heard from anyone in Smith’s life since the letter either. I can’t bring myself to contact Moose or Megan. The jagged wound he left in my heart is still raw and bleeding. I’m still trying to figure out how you can love a person too much, because that’s what his words boiled down to.

It’s been several weeks since I read the letter than changed everything. “Come here, Poppet,” I say, then click my tongue. The solid white juvenile kitten jumps into my lap. Moments after I finished reading Smith’s words I heard a tiny meow from the hallway. Smith broke my heart and left the white kitten to mend it. I hated Poppet and loved her in equal measure for a long time. My overall desire for this cat won out in the end and now she is basically the most important thing in my life. She has a red and white stripped collar that reminds me of a peppermint stick. She licks my face and pounces on my feet anytime they’re under a blanket.

“I’m three months away from becoming Bridget Jones, Teala,” I say into the receiver of my phone. “Can I come over tonight?” I ask.

“Are you bringing Poppet again? Last time she chewed the handle of my Louis Vuitton and who knows when I can get it fixed.” The mail is still incredibly slow. Mailing the handbag in for repair isn’t an option. I checked into it after my sweet girl teethed on my friend’s bag. “Macs is here right now. Give me an hour or two.” She giggles. I close my eyes at the sound of her happiness. Macs is a SEAL Moose introduced her to when their date didn’t go as planned.

I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry, Carina. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Ugh. Stop it. I’m not some wilted flower. A love scorned woman without any prospects,” I reply. “A woman who has multiple book and movie offers about the above mentioned scorn. A woman who has a life.” I lighten my tone and laugh as she groans with each of my points. My work will tie me to Smith for the rest of my life. It’s worth reconsidering and I have several times.

“And a woman with a bitch cat,” Teala jokes.

Smiling, I scoff. “Take it back now or I’ll poison your chai.” Coffee shops are coming back into business after the attacks, but the one by my house is still closed. I’ve taught myself how to make a mean chai tea latte. I bring them for my friends when we get together. “Jasmine will be over before me, I think. I have a quick errand to run first.”

“Finally entering the world. I like the new Carina.” She wouldn’t say that if she knew where I was headed. “Don’t make it so sweet this time. I haven’t been to Boot Camp lately, in case you weren’t aware.” We’re finally at the point where a joke about the sad state of affairs in our world is acceptable.

“Your ass is too big to fit through the door even if it was open for business,” I say. “We can try that workout video tonight if you want?”

“Nah. Less sugar. That will take care of the problem,” she responds.

I smile and agree to make hers with less sugar.

“Oh, and for your information, I entered the world a long time ago. If you came up for air out of your sex cloud you might notice it.” Macs is with a troop of SEALs that are stationed here in San Diego. Oftentimes I wonder if I would even know if Smith was back here. I’m sure he would try to be, to be closer to Megan. “Will he be here long?” I ask, fishing.

She giggles again. “He’s here long,” she says. I hear a satisfied male grumble in the background.

“Oh, ew, Teala. Get out of here with that.”

She sighs. “Smith is still gone, Care. That’s what you’re asking, right? I don’t know why you just don’t talk to Moose. You said he’s called you a few times. I’m sure he has all the information.”

I shake my head. “I have to go. Remember I’ll be a little later. Go…have fun,” I say.

“Drive safe,” she says. “Quit. Stop it.” I roll my eyes at my friend’s obvious daytime romp. I bet she’s naked right now. Lucky bitch. “Remember to just breathe and turn off the radio. It distracts you. Nothing will happen that you can’t find out about when you get here, okay? Pack Poppet some fucking toys, please.”

I laugh. Because I can’t help but smile when I think about my cat, and hastily agree. With a quick goodbye, I hang up the phone. “Sleepover tonight, Poppet! Let’s pack!”

I send a quick text to my errand. I’ll be there in an hour. You’ll be home?

His reply is immediate. Waiting 4 u.

I get ready quickly and have everything packed and in my car in no time. I head in a direction I don’t typically drive. The security checkpoints are run differently than the ones I’m used to and it makes me nervous. I put Poppet in her carrying case and she hates it. The officer asks me to unzip the flap. I raise a brow, but oblige his request.

“Curfew is soon, ma’am. Get to where you’re going,” he says, satisfied that my precious cargo isn’t something more sinister. Teala would disagree and show you the handle of her expensive handbag.

“Of course. I’m almost there,” I say, motioning to the road in front of me that he’s blocking. A car honks behind me and beside me. It’s annoying and it makes me nervous. He waves me through. I turn into the gated community while I talk to my cat about how the politics of the world are a clusterfuck of epic proportions. She listens and doesn’t judge. She even meows back in irritated intervals. I can tell her anything. Talking to my cat distracts me from the stupid thing I’m about to do. Jasmine would kill me if she knew, but I’m determined. Pulling into the driveway sends shivers down my spine, but it’s not enough to stop me. I have everything to prove. The car stays running because I won’t be long. I unzip Poppet’s bag to give her freedom to roam while I run this quick errand. I kiss her on her white fuzzy head and leave a smear of dark pink lipstick.

The sight makes me smile. As much as I hate to admit it, Poppet is the best gift I’ve ever received. She represents something so dark and painful. If I can love her, maybe one day I’ll be able to love the wounds that accompany her existence. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper. Then I walk up the driveway and ring the ornate doorbell.

The same doorbell I chose a few years ago. Roarke answers the door. It takes him a long time. He’s finely dressed and presentable, but a bad feeling lodges in my throat. A hint of distrust creeps in and my fight or flight kicks into gear. The car is running, I remind myself. “Carina. Come in. Please,” he says. His voice is clear, in control. Not like the last time I saw him.

I hold my shoulders up straighter in an effort to portray confidence. “Poppet is in the car. I have to be quick,” I explain, hiking my thumb over my shoulder.

“Finally got a dirty rat of a pet, did you?” Roarke asks. I slide by him. He stands too close, so my shoulder rubs against his chest as I pass into the foyer. The scent hits me the same time a wave of bad memories does. This place. This horrible, horrible place where an emotional prison sentence was served.

“Stop it,” I say. You don’t call my cat a rat. “Is my legal file where it used to be?” There’s paperwork I need, that was long forgotten when Jasmine and I moved out of here in a frenzied rush. Roarke eagerly agreed to let me pick it up when I texted him last week. That’s when I was trying things with Sean and I figured he’d come with me to keep things on the up and up. After proclaiming him fish lips I couldn’t very well ask him to escort me here.

“Join me for a drink,” Roarke replies.

“Are you drinking?” I ask. My heart pounds out a warning against my chest. This, this is the moment I should turn around and get into my car to leave, but that odd tether that always appears when he asserts control shows itself.

He cocks his head to the side as he eyes me up and down. “I’ve had a few.” I shake my head and head for my old office. It’s redecorated and my filing cabinet is nowhere to be seen. Roarke stands behind me. Too close for comfort. “Come here, Carina. I’ve missed you.”

“Fuck you, Roarke. Where is my file?” Spinning on my toe, I face him. He glowers down at me. The scent of expensive bourbon lingers in the air surrounding his body. “Do you even have it?”

He laughs—a caustic, evil sound. “I burned it. But it was the perfect excuse to get you right where I want you, wasn’t it? And he’s not even here to save you this time,” Roarke says, accentuating each word in a drunken slur.

I take a step back. There’s a lamp on the table next to his mahogany desk. It’s stainless and solid. Another step back. He follows, leaning over me, trying to scare me. It works, because it’s always worked. “This is how it’s going to work. You’re going to fuck me. The way you used to. Like you love me. Maybe I won’t beat the shit out of you after. I haven’t decided yet. You ruined my life, you know? I can’t forgive that easily. Now, I’m going to make you a drink. Your favorite and then I’ll show you how my girlfriend redecorated the master suite.” I taste the bile. It mixes with hot anger as I watch his back disappear from the room.

Scurrying like a frightened mouse, I head for the lamp and unplug it. I test the weight in my hand. On a second thought I grab my cell phone and send a text in the group message with Jasmine and Sean back from when they were doing all my errands. I type, Help. At Roarke’s. Sorry. I picture Jasmine’s face as she reads my message. Horror. Anger. This was backup. I’m going to take care of myself this time. I walk out to the wraparound porch out back. The cement is this beautiful lavender color. When he selected the color I thought it was odd, but it’s stunning with the décor, and I do miss this room a little. The Mace is in the pocket of my sweater and the lamp in my hand when Roarke walks in with two martini glasses. The cops are too busy to deal with trivial things like domestic disputes.

“Don’t be rude. I made you a drink,” he says. “I like your choice of room. Drop your weapon. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. It’s me, babe. I took care of you all those years. Remember?”

I want to beat him to a pulp. I want to cry, but the feeling that overrides them all is that of love. I do want to go to his embrace. It’s fucked up and I know it. He set this trap specifically for me.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me if I fucked you. That’s not happening, buddy. Not by a long shot. So either you let me go right now, or I’ll use the weapon,” I explain. “I can’t believe I trusted that you’ve changed. Do you beat her too?” How does he do it? Keep women under his control. There’s nothing special about him.

I need to buy time and make him think I’m not actually scheming. I’m going to kill him. It’s the only way out of this for good. Deep down I think I knew this would happen when I agreed to come over here tonight. That’s why I slipped the Mace into my pocket. My phone buzzes in my pocket. That draws his eyes from my face. It’s a phone call, not a text.

“Did you call someone?” he asks. His face transforms into something resembling a monster. A dangerous one. He drops both glasses and they shatter on the beautiful cement. A million pieces of glass dancing across the floor where horrible memories call home.

He springs, and I swing the lamp like a baseball bat. The phone continues to buzz against my leg. It keeps me grounded in this moment—it focuses me on what I need this outcome to be. I hit the side of his arm as he blocks me. Stumbling, I catch myself on the back of a chaise lounge. Swinging once more, I miss.

Roarke is strong. Much stronger than I will ever be. This is a fact I shouldn’t know firsthand. I have to use my wits to beat him. I take a step back as he strikes out, a clenched fist aimed directly at my face. I cry out, a loud, ungodly noise of fury as I swing the base of the lamp at his head. It connects this time because my war cry distracted him. He wasn’t ready for a determined Carina. He wasn’t ready for my blood lust. The crack is satisfying and he goes down hard. Blood trickles from a deep gouge by his eye as he brings himself up to his elbows. I’m breathing heavy, adrenaline pumping through my body when he gets to his feet. I’m frozen to the spot as I watch the dark red liquid pour down his face. It doesn’t look like I dreamed it would. My phone vibrates again. He’s incapacitated, so I take it out and look at it. The text from Jasmine says she’s here.

He sucker punches me. I hear the whiz of his knuckles the second before they crunch into my cheek. I’ve taken worse from him, but I lose my grip on the lamp and it falls down by my feet. I cry out. Jasmine is going to get hurt. Why did I text her? Through the stars and dizzy sensations, I yell for her to stay away, to let me solve my own problems. Roarke kicks me in the ribs like I’m some animal, something not worthy of standing upright. The Mace in my pocket is in reaching distance. It’s my only chance to right the mistake I made.

The words of rage passing his lips are incoherent at this point. He won’t stop until I’m not breathing. And neither will I. There’s a lull in his abuse, so I’m able to get the small bottle palmed in my hand. I scream out and through searing pain I make a lunge toward him, grabbing his pants with my free hand to help myself up. He can’t shake me off.

As I’m spraying the repellant in the general direction of his face, Smith is breaking down the screen door on the side of the porch with Jasmine and Sean close behind. He makes light work of the titanium masterpiece Roarke had specially made for this room. I cough on the fumes of the potent spray. “Get the fuck away from her,” Smith roars, charging toward us like a battering ram. I think it’s the blood leaving my body, but time starts slowing down—the moment crystallizes in a dreamy sort of way.

I can compare it to how I feel when I’m writing a scene. I’m there, but yet I’m not. I have control, but no true power. Smith’s beautiful, tired eyes turn to me on my knees, and the grimace on his face shifts to that of fury—untamed, unmatched, tangible in quality. I could reach out and touch it, taste it, hide from it. Roarke goes down in one solid blow from Smith. I don’t know what he looked like moments before it happened. I wish I could have seen his face as he watched Smith rush him, know what terror truly looks like. But Smith is here. He’s real and he’s alive and there’s no way I can turn away from the sight of him.

Jasmine has me wrapped in her arms in the next second. While her gesture is tender her words are sharp and cruel. “I deserve this. It was a stupid decision to come here,” I reply, nodding my head into her chest.

After confirming Smith doesn’t need help, Sean stoops down next to us. “I would have come with you. That was the plan. First and foremost I’m your friend. How could you do this? Come here?”

I shrug. Blood trickles down my face and falls onto the shoulder of my blouse. “I needed the legal file. He came over a few weeks ago to apologize. He seemed different. As dimwitted as it sounds I thought he would give me the file and I’d be on my way,” I explain. “What’s he doing here?” I whisper, nodding toward the living breathing caricature of anger and jagged, life-altering beauty. He’s restraining Roarke with plastic zip ties even though he’s knocked out and looks to me like he’ll stay that way for quite some time.

Jasmine closes her eyes and takes in a deep, long breath. “I’ve been in contact with him. Just quick calls so he can check in on you. He happened to be over my house when you texted. It must be fucking fate, Carina, because you’d be dead if he wasn’t.” This wasn’t part of the plan. He wanted me to move on so he could be with Megan without guilt. I was a piece of his past he was moving on from, not checking in on.

Fate is a bitter, lying bitch. I shake my head. Not only am I in physical pain, but my best friend went behind my back. It stings. “You act like I wouldn’t have stopped it,” Sean says, pride wounded.

Jasmine sighs. “They took away your guns, remember? There’s no way you could have gotten in here as quickly as Smith did.”

Sean sits back. “Whatever, Jaz. Fuck you,” he snarls. “I’ll be in the car. You need anything, bulldozer?” he tosses Smith’s way.

“I need to talk to Carina. Alone.” I take my sweater off to press it to the cut on my cheek and hobble to my feet. Not taking my eyes off his, I walk past him, over the bloody glass and into the house. He’s following me, his gaze boring a hole in the back of my head. I feel hot and cold at the same time. The blood is rushing to my head and not to my heart. It’s the oddest of sensations. This hasn’t been my house in a long, long time, and I feel at home as I open the freezer and grab a bag of peas to press against the side of my head.

When I turn around I find Smith inches from me, seething mad, his teeth clenched together and his arms coiled. “How could you be so stupid? How could you do this?” he asks. Smith is controlling his breaths, and I realize I’ve never seen him angry. Not like this. Not like Roarke.

I swallow down the sweet emotions I feel at seeing him and focus on hurt. “Seems to me you gave up the right to worry about my actions and my stupidity. I don’t understand why you’re even here.”

He shakes his head and takes another step toward me, his presence more sinister than ever before. “I don’t understand how you could be so fucking stupid!”

I take in a sharp breath. “What? Are you going to bounce me off the walls? I’m out of practice. Just so you know.” The metallic taste of blood makes my stomach heave and the headache I knew was coming arrives. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to make sense of all of this.

He backs away immediately. “How dare you say that? How fucking dare you, Care! I’m angry, yes. I’m so angry that I can’t see anything but red, but you came here knowing what he’s capable of. If you recall the only thing I’m bouncing is your fiancé’s head off the fucking ground. Don’t you ever insinuate I would harm you again. That’s not fair. Why did you come here?” His tone takes on a desperate plea. “Look what he did to your face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

I lick a drop of blood off my lip and smile. “Tell me how it was supposed to be then? This is always how it’s been for me, Smith. Tell me! You enacted this master plan without consulting me. How is that fair? You go behind my back to talk to my best friend. You crush my heart by way of a written letter. You don’t call me. Or text me. Or email me. You proclaim to love me so much that you have to honor your word to Megan. Tell me, Smith. How was it supposed to be?”

He leans back on the island behind him, his muscles causing his dirty shirt to pull across his wide chest. This side of him, this avenging angel dipped in dirty charcoal is breathtaking.

With his face aimed at the floor he says, “You were supposed to find a nice guy, fall in love, and stay the fuck away from your past. The past being me, but mostly that asshole outside. Nothing was worth coming here for. You know that. I know that.”

“If I want to play Russian roulette with my life it’s mine to gamble. Pardon me if I can’t find my Prince Charming and settle down with my two point five kids after having everything I thought I knew about love turned on its head.” I cough and then wince at the pounding heartbeat in my head. “And I write romance, so that’s saying something. There aren’t nice guys anymore, Smith. There are men like Roarke and men like you—the type that pretend to be nice, but then use superhero, fake rules to crush anything good in their lives. At least Roarke knows who he is and what he wants.”

Narrowing his eyes, he shakes his head. “You’re cruel.” Biting his bottom lip, he looks at me from under his lashes. “I’m sorry if you think I didn’t handle the break-up properly.”

I hold up one finger. “Correction. It was a letter not a break-up. I thought it would take more than a piece of paper to tear us apart.” I was so, so wrong.

He throws his arms wide out to his sides. “This is war, Carina. You can’t even imagine the things I’ve seen happening on American soil, how much blood is on my hands. It’s a different kind of combat without rules or plans. It’s enough to mess with anyone’s head. It’s not fair,” he says. The urge to ask him to elaborate rises, but I squash it quickly. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.

“Nothing is fair in love and war,” I reply. A profound sadness washes over me as I realize the truth in my own words. “Whoever said the opposite was acutely wrong. I think we can both agree.”

Smith inhales deeply and closes his eyes. “Seeing you. Merely seeing you standing here makes me whole. I’m so angry I could spit nails and that anger is directed at you and still, I want nothing more than to hold you, to touch the skin on your face with my palm.” He reaches out his hand, then fists it back to his side as if he’s lost control of his own reactions. “To touch all of you.”

His expression is earnest, and my heart is thudding in agreement. I shake my head and remember his letter of words. I studied them for hours and days trying to decipher a hidden message. “The worst strain of heartbreak is when both parties are unwilling participants, when life forces your hand,” I say. My voice catches. “War forced your hand, and I went along with it because you didn’t give me a choice. I was the one left behind without a choice.” The days of black, dark depression gut me. The memory leaves me feeling weary and unprepared for the conversation.

Carefully, I peel the bag of peas off my face. Smith winces when he sees the cut. “I have to know something,” he says, approaching me slowly. He closes the space between us in seconds. Just when I think he’s going to take me into his arms, when he’s close enough to kiss me, he stops.

“We’ve gone from verbally abusing one another to this in no time at all, so by all means, ask away,” I say, studying his beautiful features up close. It takes me back to a happier time. I’m transported to Balboa Park. My head nestled on his shoulder, the red and black blanket spread beneath us. I’m gazing off at the trees swaying in the breeze and Smith is telling me a story about his friend Henry. I play with his blue T-shirt and tap my fingers on his chest to the rhythm of his pulse. The war never happened and his memories and promises to Megan stay buried. Like broken glass in a landfill no one ever sees again.

A sob escapes as my vision turns to dust and cracks to a million pieces on the floor next to the olive laced vodka. “What, Smith?”

“I need to know the honest to God truth. Had tonight gone differently, had Roarke really shown you a changed version of himself, would I have walked in on a different scene? Would you, I mean, could you, really have taken him back?” Pain resonates in his tone and a grimace transforms his face as he envisions a totally different scenario.

I could lie. That’s always easiest when given a question of this magnitude, but I want to give him an answer he can believe. I turn around, grab a glass from the cabinet above the sink, and fill it with water. I drink a full cup and set it down next to the sink. With my back turned to him, I find it easier to coerce my thoughts. Seeing him makes everything foggy. I want him so badly. More than anything else. I spin on my toe to face him. “There’s one man I want and I can’t have him. That’s the truth, Smith.”

He sighs a long drawn out noise. “She may be the gun aimed at my chest, but you’re the only one who can pull the trigger,” Smith replies, his eyes tilting down in the corner. His proximity is too near and I’m not sure how much longer I can avoid touching him. The last time he was this close I wasn’t able to see him, or understand what happened. “I want you,” he says, swallowing so hard his neck works.

When he lays his hand on the side of my face, I sigh. He clears his throat. “I don’t feel anything,” he whispers. He drags a thumb down to rest of my bottom lip. I watch in awe as he looks at me, truly taking in my every detail. “That’s what remembering got me. I’m devoid of everything.” I have to close my eyes. His pain is so blatant and strong it’s taking us both down. He continues, “I found myself and lost everything. Loving you made me myself. Without you I’m this,” Smith growls, palming his chest with his free hand. “Empty and alone. How easy it would be to pretend I still had amnesia. A joy—it would be freedom. Blissful ignorance. I’d have you. I wouldn’t have to look at you and feel this pain deep in my gut.” One solid tear runs down his face. “A longing so profound I know I’ll never escape it. It’s unbearable.”

I sob and it hurts my chest when I try to control it.

“That’s why I spoke with Jasmine. Knowing the tiniest things about you and your life ease my pain and heartbreak. Going cold turkey wasn’t an option. I’ll never stop caring about you.”

I fall back against Roarke’s counter because I can’t hold myself up any longer. Dizziness hits me in a wave and stars cloud my vision. “Why fight this, then? Why escape it? Why not embrace it? The honorable thing to do is to honor your heart, Smith.” Henry would respect a decision made out of love. I don’t dare bring his name into this already emotion fueled conversation.

I wipe a tear from my cheek and the stinging burn of my own salty tears reminds me of the deep gash. Smith lets his hand fall from my face and steps away from me. His chest moves deeply, up and down. It takes more effort than I realize for him to distance himself.

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. My feelings mean nothing in this equation.”

His decision is solid. I’d bet a wedding date is set. I sniffle. “You should have let natural selection play out tonight. The reason for your pain and angst would be gone. You can’t love me for the rest of your life, Smith. How honorable is it to marry Megan and have feelings for me?”

He turns to the side. It’s the profile of the uninjured side of his face. From this angle I can imagine what he looked like before. What he looked like as Megan’s Smith. “Natural selection my ass. You made a bad decision. I will never let anything bad happen to you!”

“People like me always make bad decisions. You won’t be able to stop me from living life and making decisions. This is it. Right here and right now. It may be the poorest decision I’ve ever made, but you need to stop this. You can’t profess this tragic love for me and be with her. I love you. I’ll always love you and want you. But I won’t be the other woman. Megan deserves more from you. And me.” More guilt rises to the surface.

“Go to her. The memory of me will fade away until I’m merely a black and white snapshot in your new memory. Or kiss me. Embrace your feelings. Don’t stalk me or talk to my friends to keep tabs on me. A clean break or a sharp love. Your choice.” They’re strong words, but I feel anything but. My voice is hoarse and my face is throbbing. My stomach is coiled with anxiety and my ribs sear with a sharp pain anytime I sob.

“One last kiss then,” Smith says. He’s asking permission.

I nod, the finality of our situation hitting me hard. Smith closes the distance between our bodies and when I think he’s going to take me completely, mouth, heart and soul he leans his head to the side and kisses my cheek, right next to my wound. His hot breath sends shockwaves to my core and I hear him moan as he breaths me in. His warm hands run down my arms as he separates from me. On a second thought he kisses me on the other cheek, down by my jaw.

“It will never be enough,” I say, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.

“It has to be,” he replies. His lips press in a firm line. He shakes his head and runs both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Looking at the ceiling for some divine intervention telling him to make the other decision, I’m sure. “It has to be the right choice or nothing in this fucking world makes sense.”

I could convince him otherwise, but this isn’t my decision to make. I just have to live with it. “You should check on him,” I whisper.

He nods, looking around the kitchen—any place except at me. He walks out of the room with more confidence than he should have at this moment. I slide down to sit on the floor. Leaning over, I open the freezer and grab another bag of frozen vegetables out and hold it against my face. I let a few tears fall, but ration them. I know tonight the flood will break. I’ll be alone with the new, horrible words he’s given me.

“Poppet,” I exclaim. When I throw the front door open I see Jasmine inside the cab of my car with the white cat on her lap. She rolls the window down and asks how my conversation went. I shrug and grimace when the tears begin. I hold my hands out and she puts the cat into my arms. Jaz talks to me for a few more moments, tells me to call her when I can, and she leaves with Sean. Smith’s truck is parked next to mine. After a longing glance and a tearful thank you to my friends I return to the house of horrors.

The kitchen is silent when I breeze in, so I make my way into the back porch. With one hand on his head, Smith squats next to Roarke, two fingers pressed against his neck. Cocking his head to the side when he hears me, he raises his brows. “One less person I have to worry about,” he says. Standing, he looks at me cautiously, pausing to give me room to take in his words.

My eyes widen as I realize what he’s insinuating. He nods several times as I try to catch my breath, clutching my scared cat to my chest. Smith’s gaze darts down to the cat and I catch a hint of a smile on his full lips. It seems twisted as hell, but also sweet. “Go in the house. I’ll take care of this.” He slides a cell phone out of his pocket and dials quickly. I look down at Roarke. It’s the most helpless I’ve ever seen him. I wish I could take a photo. I’d develop it in black and white. “It was in self-defense. No one is going to doubt that when they see your face, or when you tell the story.” It was a single punch that did him in. It’s been that simple all along.

Sean returns with a few of his co-workers. They all look tired and they aren’t wearing their police uniforms. They’re here to help off duty. Next, several large hulking men enter the house. I stay glued to the white sofa in the living room. The men have names that match their muscles and sheer size. Smith peeks in every so often and assures me that everything will be okay, that neither of us did anything wrong. Sean is here on the law side, and the SEALs on the government side. Under Martial Law the government side runs everything anyway. Roarke’s mother. His family. I think of all of the personal attachments of a person who is gone. That’s what I mourn in this moment. I don’t mourn him. How could I possibly?

“We’re almost finished. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Smith reiterates, his head behind me over my shoulder. Lost in thought, I didn’t hear him approach. The men have been cleaning up and taking care of whatever loose ends need to be tied up legally, and I assume removal of the body.

I don’t say it, but I think it. We did everything wrong. We fell in love when we had no right and the resulting chain of reactions lead to this moment. The goddamn love didn’t do anything for either of us except cause pain. For the first time I’m completely free, but my deepest desire has been taken away. Loneliness smells like flowers—gardenias. Now devastation has a scent. I inhale deeply and let it tear the rest of my heart to shreds.