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I jerk back, astounded by the hurt and the bitterness that seeps through her tone. “Catherine.”
“Don’t?” When she smiles, it breaks my heart. In her eyes, I can see every time she’s been hurt or cast aside. I can see what it costs her to stand in front of me and bare herself to me even as she tries to push me away.
I know what I should do. I should placate her, tell her any number of pretty lies, and then put her in a car, and make sure she gets home okay.
I don’t do any of that.
I hold out my hand for her.
She looks down at my outstretched palm as if it is a snake, come to bite her.
“Do you trust me?”
She looks at me for a long moment before nodding, but she doesn’t reply.
“I need to hear you to say it, Cat.”
“I trust you.”
“Come with me then.”
She hesitates again. But when her hand slips into mine, I tighten my grip and turn her back towards the hotel where my car is valeted.
Neither of us says anything.
I know she’s wondering where I’m taking her. And, although she’d never admit it, I saw the flash of fear she felt before she rationalized it away. Strangely, I think it was that—her mistrust of me—that had me making the decision.
A woman like this should be fought for.
Cherished.
Worshipped.
I’m a square peg. Everybody knows it.Iknow it. And I don’t care, because I like who I am. But today was the first time in my entire life, my entire career, that there was one thing I absolutely, without a doubt, wanted more than to be a good cop: Catherine Beauchamp.
If the little voice in my head is telling me that I’m going down a road that leads to nowhere, I ignore it. Nowhere looks damn good when I’m walking next to her.
Chapter 14
Catherine
Aiden is silentas he pulls out of the parking structure and onto Hope Street. As much as I understand that this is a mistake, I am able to acknowledge that this is one of those life decisions that only ever goes one way. A decision where we pretend that we have a choice but, given the same alternatives, we’d choose the same path every time. I wonder if that makes it a choice at all? Or, if I’m just looking for an excuse when I say that this moment was fated from the first time I looked across Rampart Station and saw him.
Pulling my phone out of my clutch, I think about what I’m going to tell the girls. “I need to call Lyla…Tell her that I’m okay.”
“Of course.” He doesn’t tell me not to say anything or not to mention that we’re together. Just, ‘Of course’.
I want him to say so much more. I want him to say, ‘Tell her you won’t be back tonight’.
But this is not a Cinderella story. There’s no driving into the sunset before the screen fades to black. This is a stolen moment that neither of us can ever acknowledge again. Maybe it’s that thought that has me promising to live in the present for just tonight. No regrets. No shame. No worries about what tomorrow brings, even though I know this fated decision will have rippling effects for both of us.
All fated decisions do.
When I call home, Lyla answers on the second ring. “Clementine Lane, Lyla speaking.”
“Lyla.” Her name is all I can manage.
“Cat? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
