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My shower lasts as long as the hot water does, and since this is a nicer hotel, I calculate that’s well over an hour. My fingers and toes look like raisins as I towel off.
I sigh, the irritation I’m feeling directed more at myself than anyone else as I realize I didn’t bring any clothes in here with me. I’m also beyond annoyed that I haven’t made plans to get more clothes. Leaving my house behind and everything in it isn’t even practical. My driver’s license is there, every stich of clothing because I have no idea what happened with my clothes from my attack. It’s possible they were taken into evidence.
The towel is wrapped around me when I step back into the room, but Sawyer is sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t take the hint I figured he would when I locked the bathroom door.
His face is a mask of calm when he looks up at me. His eyes don’t linger on my legs or the swell of my breasts against the taut towel.
He’s looking at me as if he sees me, and I don’t know how to feel about it. Being hopeful on any level would be a huge mistake, but it doesn’t stop my heart from kicking up a notch with the notion.
“I figured you’d be gone,” I say, because just accepting things and making assumptions has never been my strong suit.
“Do you want me gone or do you think I want to be gone?” he counters, remaining frustratingly stoic.
I shrug because I don’t really know how to answer that. My inability to determine exactly what I want is a major part of my problem right now, and only a few of those questions are in regard to him.
Do I still want to be a cop now that my sister’s murder has truly been solved?
Do I want to stay in Farmington when the town holds nothing but pain and sorrow for me?
I’ve heard of existential crises before but I think this may be my first one.
Does my life have any meaning any longer? What’s my purpose if I’ve lived my entire adult life fighting for the truth in my sister’s case.
“Lennox,” he prods, and I can only imagine how crazy I look standing there wordlessly as a million thoughts jumble in my head.
“I figured it was just sex.”
He nods. “And you want just sex? Or you think I want just sex?”
I swallow again, my mouth suddenly dry.
“It could be if that’s what you want.”
“What do you want?” I manage, my voice a little weaker because I honestly don’t know how I want him to answer it.
His eyes once again dart between mine as if his answer is reliant on more than himself.
“I know that you need me.”
I shake my head because that’s not an answer.
“I—”
He stands from the bed, my words falling away.
“You may not be able to say it with words, but your body speaks to me, Lennox.”
“I could have sex with anyone.”
He practically growls his distaste in my response as he inches closer.
“I’m not talking about sex, baby.”
His breath is warm on my cheek as he leans in closer, and it takes a lot of focus to keep my eyes from fluttering closed and pressing my hand to his chest so I can feel his heartbeat against my palm.
“I need you,” he whispers, his hands frustratingly down at his sides. “I need you close. I need to know you’re okay. I need to be there to give you what you need and take anything you’re willing to give to me. Being beside you, having you in my arms, is what I need.”
Tears burn my eyes and nose, and rather than making me feel ridiculous for not being able to stop it once the first tear falls, I feel safe with him.
He doesn’t wrap his arms around me when I press my hand to his chest, but the rhythmic beating of his heart settles me. My tears are silent, the body-racking sobs somehow staying locked inside for now.
The stubble on his cheek presses to the side of my face, making me feel alive, making me want to stay that way.
It isn’t until right now, this very second, standing before him, that I realize I’ve never really lived. My overprotective parents made every decision for me. Hell, I was grown when they passed and yet I’d never left home except to go to the police academy. I never rebelled, never did anything to cause them undue stress. Suffering the loss of their first-born child was enough pain for a lifetime. I never wanted to add to it.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. I just—”
His words fall away when I lift my eyes to his.
“Grab a quick shower and come back to bed,” I whisper.
