Page 65 of His Wall

I looked at her.

She was still looking at the drawing in her hand. Calm. Like the question was a conversation.

"No. I had a mentor."

Something moved across her face. Fast. A piece fitting somewhere in her head where I could not see it. It was gone.

She set the sketch down. The corners aligned with the others.

I crossed the floor to her.

"Claire."

She turned.

"I'm in trouble. I can't tell you what kind. But I need you to know that I'm not who you think I am, and I'm not sure I'm who I think I am either."

She looked at me for a long second.

"What do you need, Julian?"

"I need you to stay."

She stayed.

We sat on the couch with the vinyl turning low — Bill Evans, the album I put on when I did not have words. She was beside me, close but not touching. I poured her a whiskey from the bottle on the side table and our fingers brushed on the glass and neither of us pulled away.

I talked. Not about Conrad. Not about the investigation. About my mother. How she had worked two jobs and made sure I had never felt poor. How she had died of pancreatic cancer four months before Vanguard's first regulatory approval came through, and I had not taken a single day to grieve because stopping had felt like falling.

She listened. She did not interrupt.

When I finished I looked at her. She was looking at me.

I reached out. The pad of my thumb tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear, and ran along her jaw on the way back. She leaned into my hand.

"Claire."

She closed her eyes.

She closed them like the name hurt. I did not know why.

I kissed her.

Slow. My hand on her jaw, my thumb on her cheekbone. She kissed me back and this time she did not push me away. Her hands came up to my chest, then my shoulders, then the back of my neck. I pulled her in. She moved into my lap. Her knees on either side of me, her hands in my hair, her mouth open against mine.

I ran my hands up her back under the sweater. Her skin was warm against my palms. She arched into me and made the sound.

I pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her gray eyes were dark. Her lips were swollen. She was breathing hard.

"Stay."

"I shouldn't, Julian."

"I know."

She kissed me again. Harder. Her hands pulled at my shirt. My hands found her hips through the denim. She whispered against my mouth.