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He’d reached across and placed one weak, shaking hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t realize either,” he’d said, articulating the shame and humiliation he’d felt when he’d seen Noah in the woods. He hadn’t liked Deakin. But a serial killer? He hadn’t had a clue.
“Do you blame me?” Cara hadn’t needed to say any more. He knew what she was asking: “Is it my fault Mia’s dead?”
“No,” he’d replied.
But after she’d left, and he was alone, with only the beeping of the monitors to distract him, he’d realized he’d been lying. Yes. Yes, he did blame her. She was a detective. The senior investigating officer. A DCI. She should have known. In the same way that the guilt and failure had sat with him since Mia’s death, he now shared it with Cara.
But she was his sister. Pretty much the only family he had. He would have to forgive her, he knows that. But not today.
He and Jess sit in silence for a little while. There’s so much he wants to say to her, but, like with Cara, he doesn’t know where to start.
Then, “I’m leaving,” Jess blurts out. “I mean, we’re moving away. Mom and Dad think it would be best. For Alice.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “And what do you think?”
“They’re probably right.”
“Oh,” he says again. Griffin’s taken aback. He thought … he doesn’t know what he thought. That they would be together? Where? In his shitty basement apartment? It’s ridiculous. She has her life back now. Her daughter, her family. She needs to organize a funeral for her husband, to grieve properly.
This past week at his apartment hasn’t been real. She was stuck there, stuck with him. No more than that. It was inevitable that when this was all over that she would leave.
Griffin looks at her face, that beautiful face, and takes her in for what he knows will be the last time.
“Nate …” she starts, and he meets her gaze. Some part of him allows himself to be hopeful.
“Thank you,” she says.
He clears his throat. “Any time,” he replies gruffly.
It’s okay. It’s okay, he tells himself. He hasn’t got time for this, anyway. Cara says they’ll let him back to work when he’s better. And he knows that being a detective always takes over. It was something Mia complained about. Police first, her second. Except it wasn’t, was it? He never told her how much she really meant to him. Perhaps he should …
But Jess is standing up now. She hesitates for a moment, then awkwardly leans over, kissing him gently on the cheek. He reaches up, pushing his hand in her hair and they kiss, properly this time.
But then she pulls away. She turns, without another word, and swings her way out of his hospital room, her crutches clicking on the floor. He hears her sniff; he thinks she might be crying.
He wants to go after her, but he can’t. He’s stuck here: pain and tubes and wires keeping him captive in the bed.
“Jess,” he calls after her.
He waits, watching the door. In the corridor he hears people talking, the buzz of a busy hospital.
But his doorway stays empty. He swallows.
She’s gone.
He shakes his head. She wasn’t here to stay, he reminds himself. They never are.
He leans back on his pillow and stares up at the ceiling. Clenches his jaw shut, pushing away the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. There’s a squeaking of shoes in the corridor, the efficient bustle as a nurse comes into his room.
She busies herself at his side, checking monitors, making notes, then turns to face him.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
He doesn’t look at her. Shit. Lonely. Discarded.
“Okay,” he replies.
The nurse holds out her hand. “That woman, your friend, she asked me to give you this.”
