AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"You get some rest, too, Will," Dalton says.
"I'm fine. You guys need--"
"We all need sleep. I'm going home after this, and I'm not coming into the station before two. If either of you sticks your head out before then, people are going to demand a statement. You'll need to wake me up early to give it. I'll be pissed."
Anders smiles. "All right. See you at two, then."
Once we're back at my place, Anders comes in, and I get halfway across my living room and it's like my battery cuts out. I just stop. Then I start to shake. Anders is there in a blink, his arms going around me, and I try to brush him off, to say I'm fine, but he says, "Bullshit," and hugs me tighter, until I give up and let myself fall against him.
I don't cry. I want to, for the first time since those months in the hospital. But tears don't come. Instead, I just shake harder, as much as I try to stop. After a couple of minutes, Anders leans down and whispers, "It's about Diana, right?"
I nod, and I don't elaborate, and he just keeps hugging me, and as the shaking stops, I become keenly aware of him, the smell of him and the feel of him, that rock-solid presence and the beat of his heart, and I think of more than a hug.
I think of complete distraction, of sex with a great guy who'd give it and understand it was just the moment and expect nothing more. All I need to do is give a sign. Touch his hip. Press against him. Some small signal that he can choose to act on or not, and if he chooses no, then the moment passes without awkwardness.
I don't make that move. I know why I don't, and I choose not to pursue that reason, not to analyze it, because if I think about it too much, I'll decide it's a damned stupid excuse and, really, if that's the reason I'm holding back, then it's also the reason I should push forward, because that's not happening, that shouldn't happen, and this is the better choice. No, that's not true. This is the safer choice. This is the one that won't break my heart.
Anders kisses the top of my head. Then my forehead. Just light, fraternal kisses, but that's his move, his sign. All I have to do is
lift my face from his chest, tilt it up, and let him put those kisses on my lips. I don't, and he gives my forehead one last kiss. Then I step away.
"I should get to bed," I say. "Let you go."
"Yes," he says. "You should get to bed. As for letting me go?" He takes my face between his hands. "I'm always here for you, Casey. If you need me, I'm here. If you don't? I'll still be here."
He kisses my forehead again, and I know he's telling me, whether I want more or not, he'll still be there. Which is, I think, the sweetest thing a guy has ever said to me, and I wish ... But there's no sense wishing, because it's only going to make me feel guilty and stupid--too stupid to take the damned good thing that's right in front of me, stupid enough to hold out for something I'm not going to get. That's the way it is, though, and one thing I won't be stupid enough to do? Tell myself I'm wrong and hurt Anders when it turns out I'm not.
"I'm going to crash here," he says, and waves to the couch. "Okay?"
I nod and smile. "Okay," I say, then I hug him and tell him thanks, a deep and genuine thanks, before I head upstairs.
I'm too exhausted to think about Diana. That does not, however, mean that I have a long and restful slumber. I set my alarm for one-thirty, but I'm up an hour sooner, waking from a nightmare.
I'm sure Diana would not commit cold-blooded murder. She wouldn't even do what I had--kill someone in the heat of the moment. Could a combination of booze and rydex have sent her into a murderous rage? I want to say no--that someone framed her. But I find that nearly as impossible to believe as Beth does. Which leaves only one conclusion. That something has snapped in Diana, and I saw it snap, and I backed off, like Isabel said. Which makes whatever happened partly my fault.
In that distracted state of mind, I make my way downstairs. I'm walking through the living room when I see a figure sitting on my couch, and I jump back fast before I realize it's Anders. He's sitting on my sofa and staring at me ... dressed only in my panties.
I know it's not my almost-naked body that has his attention. It's the scars.
I mumble an apology and hightail it back up the stairs. Anders follows, rapping on my door and saying, "Shit, I'm sorry, Casey, that was--"
"--one hundred percent my fault," I say as I yank on some clothes. "I forgot you were down there."
"Still, I wasn't exactly being a gentleman and looking away, which is why I'm apologizing."
"There are a lot of scars."
It takes him a moment to reply. "No, I never noticed-- I mean, you were naked, so I was--"
I crack open the door, hiding behind it as I smile for him. "It's okay. I know what I look like."
"You're beautiful. Hell, I have scars. Yours surprised me, sure, but it doesn't make you any less--"
"And we'll stop there," I say, my smile turning genuine. "I appreciate the flattery, but let's not make this any more awkward."
"It's not flattery. I..." He takes a deep breath. "And that's not making this any less awkward. Can I fix you a late breakfast?"
I nod and withdraw.
