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I choked on my own dry throat with the sting of the words. Tears flooded my ears and I fought hard to keep them from falling. My stomach churned and twisted in pain. “No. I was just…I’ve never been underwater before. I didn’t realize I was drowning at first…I sort of turned off my survival instincts. I panicked. I swallowed water and…I couldn’t get to the surface…please. I wasn’t trying to.”
I finally met his eyes. They were swimming melted chrome. If I were to paint agony and fury together using only color, I would paint his irises. “Were you not trying and it was a convenient coincidence?” he whispered angrily.
I looked away in foolish shame. “I don’t want to die.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Pain burned through my chest like liquid flame in my veins. He couldn’t have hurt me worse if he’d lit me on fire. Before the tears could fall, I caught them in my eyes and began to shudder, my teeth chattering. I wasn’t sure if it was shock or cold, my senses were so numbed outside of the aching pain. Frost hung his head and stretched to reach the less-soaked of my sweaters. Gently, he wrapped it around my shoulders, pulling my long hair out from beneath the sweater so it wouldn’t drip down my back. “Poe,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. You just…you really scared me. I thought I’d lost you.”
I didn’t look at him. He had hurt me and I was so ashamed. I could not bear to see those eyes right then. I was so exhausted; every muscle in my body ached and I wanted nothing more than to sleep. After a moment, Frost threw my other sweater over his shoulder, took my shoes and socks in one hand, and then ever-so-carefully gathered me into his arms. I allowed my head to fall against his shoulder and let tears run silently over my cheeks as he carried me out of the thick, oppressive air and into the icy hall.
FOURTEEN
I kept going over it in my head as I was lying curled up on Frost’s couch in dry clothes, snuggled under three blankets and drinking water like I had been crawling through a desert, not drowning in a pool. I couldn’t decide what was more terrifying, that I had nearly died or that I had nearly allowed myself to die. Frost and I didn’t speak for a length of time I could not measure. I knew he was doing something in the kitchen; I could hear the thumping of cupboard doors and clanking of pans every so often and once, strangely enough, I suspected he was mixing something, but it was all heard as if I was still underwater. I thought I may have slept a little, though I could not be sure. My state of consciousness was in so much shock that there wasn’t much difference between it and sleep.
I didn’t know how long Frost was sitting next to me before I realized it. I was curled up in a ball so tight that I really only took up one of the three sofa cushions. He was sitting on the far end of the couch, seemingly sinking into it, staring off into space. “Frost?” I asked, my voice a quiet croak.
For awhile, he didn’t respond. Then, not looking at me, he whispered, “I don’t know, Poe. I just don’t know.”
He had really been convinced he’d lost me; I could see it in his eyes then and earlier when he’d shouted at me. And, what’s more, that certainty had nearly destroyed him internally. His harsh words had hurt me, surely, but the actions I’d taken that had caused his anger had also hurt him. We were both broken and I needed him. After a moment of staring at his exhausted face, I wearily pulled myself up on the couch, then rolled onto my other side, lying down again with my head on his leg. I shut my eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry,” relaxing into him.
He hesitated for a second, but then, so softly that it made tears come to my eyes, he brushed my hair back from my face behind my ear and gently stroked my cheek. “So am I,” he said.
We stayed like that for a long time. I thought he would have noticed the scar on the side of my neck, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he could figure out for himself where it was from. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know right then.
After awhile, a quiet beeping resounded from the kitchen area and Frost brushed his fingertips from my forehead down to my chin, whispering my name. “Poe? I have to get that.” I nodded and let him help me sit upright. With a light squeeze of my hand, he stood and crossed to the kitchen, turning off the timer and checking something in the oven. It must not have been done because he shut the oven door again after a moment and leaned back against the facing counter to watch it.
Slowly, I stood and wrapped my arms around myself against the comparative cold when my blankets fell away. I followed him to the kitchen, frowning in puzzlement at the warm, nutty smell. “Are you…baking?” I asked in confusion. Frost was sensitive, of course, but he was also a cop.
Frost nodded. “Banana bread.”
“I don’t really think of you as the baking type.”
One corner of his mouth tipped upward sardonically as I came to stand next to him, leaned heavily against the counter. “Not often,” he said. “It’s something I picked up from my mom. She had us all in the kitchen baking constantly as kids. It’s a wonder we’re not all the size of blimps. It’s like therapy to me.”
I smiled. “And you get to eat it, so the therapy lasts for awhile.”
“Very true.”
I stared down at the oven with him for awhile and slowly, the warmth of thinking of Frost and his family baking faded into worry. Justin’s words and my stupid accident in the pool flooded back to me again. I tried and probably failed to contain the misery in my voice as I whispered, “I’m going to get you killed, Frost.”
Frost looked at me, frowning, analyzing my words and expression. I hadn’t said it, but I thought he knew the words had more than one meaning. “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into. I know the risks, but I will be just fine.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
“I can take care of myself, Poe.” When I sighed and raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth tightened just slightly, his jaw hardening, and he smiled grimly. “Trust me.”
Something about the way he said it made me frown and watch him as he turned away to peer into the oven again. There was a strange sort of tension I had never noticed before hiding beneath the surface of his skin, a quivering impatience in his muscles. It was like he was expecting someone to sneak up on him and just waiting for the right moment to spring. I wondered if it was something he had recently taken up or if it was second nature and I just hadn’t noticed before. If he had been that tense for any length of time, though, I would hate to see the knots in his back and shoulders. Also for the first time, I noticed a strange shape in his front jeans pocket, long and thin, and wondered if it was a switchblade. He wasn’t wearing his gun, he hadn’t taken to wearing it constantly, but I wondered if it was still in the same endtable. Maybe he had more than one gun hidden in the apartment and that was why he was comfortable without it in his waistband.
He pulled on a set of black oven mitts and removed the banana bread from the oven, set it on the stove, and turned the oven off. The banana bread looked and smelled delicious, like something out of a cooking show. It occurred to me that, much like the dinner his mother had cooked when I stayed with them, I hadn’t had banana bread before. That thought was only a vague notion, though, like a tiny bird flitting by. What I was really thinking about was Frost. “Can I ask you something that might bother you?”
Frost hesitated, taking off the oven mitts before responding. “I don’t know if I’ll answer.”
I thought about it for a long time, weighing what I wanted to know against how much it might hurt Frost. Finally, I asked, “Have you killed anyone?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
