Page 45 of Burn Protocol

The words tumble over each other, but don’t seem to come out the right way. I suck in a deep breath and shake my head again.

“I’m not some caged animal up for display,” Elena snarls.

The blow lands so hard, that I physically startle back at her words. My gaze travels up to find hers, but I am only met with those raging, blazing eyes. This fury that she lashes out at me. I can barely recognize the strong and caring lieutenant that made kids stop, drop, and roll. That jumped into dirty water head first to save a kid from drowning. The woman who held me tight when I was shaking. Instead, I am met with an ice-cold wall of stone. She doesn’t want you here.

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

It’s that last lashing, that makes my eyes burn and my hands twitch. I swallow hard before I nod once more and turn around on my heels. After three steps I hear soft cursing behind me and I fold inward even further. It was never my intention to upset Elena. I just wanted to be there for her, as she had been for me. It looked like she could use… a friend.

Slender fingers curl around my bicep and keep me in a hold so tight that I come to an abrupt stop. The grasp is almost desperate and needy, nothing like the cold words she’d just thrown at me. I startle and whip my head toward my side, the tears falling from my eyes with the sudden motion. Elena stares at me, a deep line between her eyebrows. She scans my face, my eyes, like she did that day in the ambulance. As if she is searching for answers to questions she hasn’t asked me yet. She opens her mouth as if she wants to speak, but then closes it again, loosening her grip on my arm but not letting me go just yet. Her frown deepens as she stares at the ground, swallows, and then looks back at me again.

“I…shouldn’t have said that,” she whispers so softly that I can barely hear it. “Please don’t leave.”

Her eyebrows twitch and her bottom lip trembles slightly as she utters the words. Then she swallows and schools her face back into that controlled neutral mask. The ease with which she does it startles me, but I can see her eyes flicker over my face and feel her nails dig a little deeper into my arm.

“Do you… want to come in?”

Her question almost sounds like a plea. I am not sure if she asks it because she wants me there, or because she feels guilty about what she said. My eyes dart toward her door and then back to her face, as if I can find the answer somewhere in between. Maybe it is better if I don’t. Her reaction to my being here was so strong, that I don’t want to risk frustrating her more when what she needs the most right now is relaxation. I part my lips and lick them unconsciously as I’m about to answer, but her eyes dip lower and stay on my lips as she cuts me off.

“Please, Maya,” she begs now. “I want you too.”

Her eyes flick up to mine again. I feel the tears well up as I nod softly.

“Okay,” I say softly.

“Okay,” she repeats, the word not much more than air moving.

She gently lowers her hand to my wrist and tugs me softly toward her door, her hand finding the small of my back as she guides me inside. The warmth of her hand feels pleasant and makes the skin tingle, even under my shirt.

We walk through the small hallway into her living room and I try my best not to let my eyes wander. Elena’s apartment is different than what I had expected it to look like. It doesn’t look tight and clinical, but warm and lived in. Nothing like the hard and professional mask that she wears at the station, but more like the woman I had dinner with and who comforted me when I panicked.

I take in a deep breath and smell the sandalwood that always seems to cling to her skin. It nestles deep in my chest and I exhale in near pure bliss. I gaze into the living room, where warm light streams in through two large windows and over the wooden floor. The doors to a small balcony are open and inviting. I smile softly and let her guide me to a comfortable couch that looks out on the kitchen, only divided by a small bar.

“Do you want some tea?” Elena’s voice sounds deep and rough, but calm now.

I turn my head to face her and softly shake my head. My hand reaches out to cup her cheek.

“Let me,” I whisper.

I take her hands in mine and turn her, gently pressing her against the couch. Her eyes grow large and she parts her lips as if she wants to protest. I cut her off before she can even think about it.

“Any specific flavor you like?” I quirk my eyebrow.

Elena shakes her head and keeps quiet as she watches me walk toward the kitchen. My heart breaks open, knowing how much it must cost her to let someone take care of her for once. I immediately make it my mission not to disappoint her, and when I set my mind to something, failure is no longer an option.

I set the teapot down and place two mugs on the table without a single question. Elena is standing on the balcony, looking out over her street. I doubt that her eyes can see anything since she appears to be in deep thought. Her shoulders are slightly folded in and there is a soft frown between her eyebrows. But it’s her eyes that gut me. Those warm, beautiful, dark eyes stare into nothing, seeing something I probably can’t even fathom.

As I pour the tea, I fight the strong urge to ask her about what happened. Something clearly went wrong underground, but none of them wanted to talk about it. They did not even tell Rosa and Nando what happened, but they somehow understood. There were no questions asked. As a journalist, that kind of silence tells me more than any answer ever could. I took my notes and tucked them away carefully.

But being here as Elena’s… as her what really? …as her friend, withholding those words isn’t as easy.

I add a little drop of honey to both mugs, pick them up, and casually stroll over to the balcony. Without a word, I hold one of the mugs out to Elena. She glances at it once, shakes her head, and reaches for the cup in my other hand. I lift an eyebrow but let her take it from me.

“It’s my favorite,” she just shrugs.

My eyes dart to the mug. It is a bright warm yellow, like the color of the sun on an early spring morning, with embossed vines running over it. Her fingertips absentmindedly trace them now and I smile. Just like that, I have a favorite cup too.