“You should be thanking me. It’s the only way you two are going to get any privacy in the midst of all this chaos.” She looked around fondly. “Decker and I have some nice memories of this place. I’m glad you’re finally going to get to use it. Not,” she added hastily, “that I’m glad any of this ever happened, of course.” She patted his arm. “But it has happened and you need to grab the good moments to get you through the bad.”
Adam smiled down at her. “That sounds very Dr. Lane–ish.”
Kate’s grin was confirmation that he’d guessed right. They both saw the same shrink, who specialized in treating PTSD. “She’s knitting now,” she said conspiratorially.
Adam had to cover his mouth to keep the laugh from bolting free. “You crack me up.”
Kate looked satisfied. “I can teach you and Meredith, too. Give you something to do together. A common hobby?”
“That’s okay.” He had plenty of ideas about what he and Meredith could do together. From the look on Kate’s face, he could see that she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Look, if either Kyle or Shane wakes up, wake me. Let Meredith sleep.”
“I will.” Kate’s expression became searching. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because I can see that you’re not. But if you need anything, someone to talk to . . . you’ll come to me, right?”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly.
“And tell Mer about . . . everything. You know. Sobriety? She thinks you don’t care.”
He sighed. “You know, too?”
“Diesel moved the booze. He never said a word, but I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not.” And that made it easier somehow, because Kate also had major issues with PTSD from the things she’d seen on and off the job. It made him feel not stupid, too. “It’s . . . hard. Every day. But tonight was . . . God.”
“There was a reason I adopted Cap,” she said, her topic change surprising him.
“Yeah? Other than you’re a softy underneath all that mean?”
Kate smirked. “Tell anyone and I’ll show you what a knitting needle really can do. But seriously, yeah. When he was a puppy, Cap was in training to be a service dog, you know, for a veteran. PTSD. Cap flunked out of his certification because they found out he has some health issues, but one of the vets took him anyway. Older guy. Vietnam. He died last year, and somehow Cap got moved from person to person until he ended up in Delores’s shelter without a collar or a name. She ran his chip through the system, traced his history while he was just sitting there, nobody taking him home because he’s older and a little sick. When she found out what he’d been for the old soldier, she called me right away. Decker and I fell in love with him from the first minute, of course, but Decker always wanted to train a dog, too. Cap had made friends with one of the younger dogs, so we took them both. Loki’s not totally trained yet, so I left him with the neighbor kid until Decker gets back from Florida tomorrow. Unless I’m on the job, Cap’s with me.”
Adam was certain there was a point in there somewhere, but he’d lost it. “And?”
“And . . . you should consider a dog.”
“I’m not a vet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like cops don’t get PTSD. I thought you were smart, Kimble. Think about it, okay? A dog might give you . . . I don’t know.” She looked embarrassed, as she did when her soft side was left unprotected for too long. “Purpose and shit.”
His lips twitched. “And shit.”
She poked him in the chest. “Do not think I’m bluffing about the knitting needles.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He caught her hand, squeezed it briefly. “Thank you. I’ll look into it. You were right about the PTSD shrink.” It was on Kate’s recommendation that he’d stowed his cowardice long enough to call Dr. Lane.
Kate tilted her head in the direction of Meredith’s bedroom door. “She was the one who suggested her to me.”
Adam sighed. “Of course she was.” It always came back to Meredith. She was like a sun and he was just one of the planets in her orbit. He couldn’t have escaped her pull if he’d wanted to. And he did not want to. “The shrink has helped. And maybe the origami.”
Kate’s grin was back. “And knitting?”
“Don’t push your luck, Coppola. My hands aren’t as nimble as Diesel’s.”
“Hey, Diesel’s knitting lace already.”
Adam had to laugh. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Sweet dreams, Kimble,” she said as he turned for his assigned bedroom, her voice gone serious again.
“I hope so.” It had been so long since he’d had any dream that wasn’t a nightmare.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, December 20, 8:00 a.m.
Meredith sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water running. She’d finished changing into her favorite purple silk pajamas Kate had packed for her when she’d heard Adam in the adjoining bathroom.
Clever, that adjoining bathroom. Accessible from both bedrooms, it also created a secret passageway between the two.
Clever of Kate to assign the bedrooms the way she had. Her friend’s agenda was not-so-secret. Meredith was going to have to thank her later. That Deacon and Faith and Kate and Decker had grown closer in these very rooms . . . it was hard not to yearn for a happily-ever-after of her own. She and Adam could . . . well, they could do all kinds of things and no one would ever know.
But at the moment, Meredith wasn’t doing anything except listening to Adam take another shower. Stuck between lust and indecision, she’d listened for the telltale click, indicating that he’d locked the door on his side, but it had never come.
She didn’t know if it had been simple forgetfulness or an invitation.
She could open that door and watch him. Or join him.
But, on the off chance that it had been forgetfulness, she waited, giving him his privacy. And hoped for a knock on her door, asking for entry. Even if it was just to say good night. Or good morning. He didn’t have to spill his guts about his alcoholism right now.
He’d been wrecked tonight, but he’d kept it together. He’d been exactly what Kyle had needed. She wanted to tell him that she was proud of him and she wasn’t sure when they’d get another opportunity to be alone.
The water shut off and there was quiet. No knock. He wasn’t coming to her. Disappointment washed over her in a huge wave, leaving her staring at the door.
Those doors open both ways, you know.
True. Each time, she’d waited for him to come to her. She’d known his address all these months. I could have gotten in my car and driven to his house, knocked on his door, and demanded to know why he’d disappeared.
Why hadn’t she? Now that is a damn good question. Right now she didn’t even have to get into her car. She could just walk through the bathroom and knock on his door.
Rising before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the bathroom door and had to smile at the near military precision with which he’d hung his wet towels to dry. The chrome shone and the shower tile had been dried. The only evidence that he’d actually used the shower was the steam still fogging the mirror.
Sucking in a breath, she tapped lightly. “Adam?”
A long moment of silence. Then a sigh that sounded resigned. “It’s not locked.”
That sigh didn’t bode well, but she opened the door enough to see him sitting on the bed facing the door, his pose the mirror image of what hers had been, except that his knees were spread wide where she’d sat like a lady.
I’m a little tired of being a lady, she thought, lifting her chin.
His hair was tousled, sticking up all over his head in short, wet spikes and she could visualize him rubbing it dry with a towel, not caring how it looked, and that was endearing. He wore only a thin pair of gray sweatpants, his chest bare, and that was so damn sexy. Almost unbearably tem
pting. Except that his head hung low and his hands were loosely clasped between his knees. He looked like a man waiting to be sentenced to prison.
So . . . lust was not on the menu. Swallowing back her disappointment, she squared her shoulders. Comfort it would have to be. “Can I come in?” she whispered.
He nodded, so she did, not stopping until she stood between his knees. He looked up, but not far enough to meet her eyes. His breathing grew rapid, his gaze fixed on the deep V of her pajama top, which wasn’t boudoir sexy, but it was . . . intimate.
His exhale warmed her exposed skin, sending shivers rippling over every square inch of skin still covered. She lifted a tentative hand to his hair, smoothing the spikes, settling at the back of his head, cradling him when he leaned into her, resting his cheek against her breasts.
“Is this all right?” she asked and his arms came around her waist, pulling her closer. She kissed the top of his head. “That’s a good answer.”
He huffed a laugh. “I was going to let you sleep.”
“I’m . . . wired. Happens when my sleep cycle gets disrupted. I just wanted to tell you good night and that I thought you were wonderful with Kyle tonight.”
His shoulders relaxed a degree or two, but he shook his head. “It wasn’t enough.”
“It won’t ever be. But when it’s all over and he’s healing, he’ll remember the detective who made those horrible moments a little more bearable.” She stroked his hair, as she’d done to Shane, but the context was so very different. So very intimate. “And that’s got to be enough for you, Adam. That and doing our best to catch the man who killed her.”
He shuddered out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have told you.”
She just waited, stroking his hair.
“You couldn’t be my reason,” he finally said roughly.
“For your sobriety?”
“Yeah. And for my sanity.”
Her heart hurt, thinking of him fighting his battles alone. “Did you have anyone?”
“My sponsor. My shrink.” His chuckle was self-deprecating. “My crayons.”
“I kept them all. All the pictures you left in my mailbox. Every last one of them.” She brushed a kiss across his ear. “I’d run to the mailbox every day, hoping for a new one. My favorites go on my refrigerator when I’m alone. I . . . take them down when I have company.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” she asked, because the defeated way he said it made her think that he didn’t. “I wasn’t ashamed of them, Adam. I . . . They were mine. Just mine. I didn’t want to share them with anyone because I was greedy for any connection to you.”
She felt him swallow. “I didn’t want you to forget about me.”
“I know. I think I got a little sidetracked recently and probably overreacted to you staying away. It’s the holidays. They always make me . . .” She hesitated, searching for the right word. Depressed was accurate, but not complete. Vulnerable was also true, but not complete either. “Raw.” Yes, that worked. “And lonely. For what it’s worth, I understand why I couldn’t be the reason for your sobriety. Not so sure I get the sanity part, but I do get that I couldn’t be your new addiction.”
“I wanted to come to you . . . whole.”
“I get that.”
“And I didn’t want you to know. About the drinking.”
She sighed. “Did you believe I’d think less of you?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t care. And that was selfish, because you didn’t know why I stayed away. I’d cut off my own hand before I hurt you.”
“Well, let’s not get drastic,” she said dryly, making him chuckle. “Besides, I’m not as perfect as you seem to think I am.”
His head came up abruptly. “I don’t believe that,” he said.
“You already know I wear . . . what did you call it? My zen mask?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. Carefully. “Why?”
“Oh,” she breathed. “I guess it’s time to lay all the cards on the table, huh?”
His brows rose. “Yeah. I showed you mine.”
She found herself smiling at him, even as she shook her head. “I don’t think you have. As long as we’re still talking about cards.”
“For now.” He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “What are you hiding behind your zen mask, Meredith?”
“Depression,” she said simply, and found it hadn’t been as hard as she’d expected to show that particular card. “There have been times in my life when it’s been really bad.”
He considered that, his eyes filling with a combination of worry, understanding, and compassion. “How bad?”
She had to look away. “Bad.”
He cleared his throat. “Did you try to . . .” He trailed off.
“Hurt myself? Yes.” She hesitated. “End myself? Yes, I tried that, too.”
He leaned back, gently drawing her arms from where they rested on his shoulders and pushed back one sleeve, then the other. Closing her eyes, she held herself perfectly still, barely breathing as he found what he was looking for. She waited for . . . what? Surprise? Disgust? Pity? She couldn’t blame him. She’d certainly felt all of the above too many times to even attempt to count.
She shuddered out a sob when his lips brushed the first scar. Her bangles hid the worst ones, but the rest were faded now, barely even visible unless someone was looking, and no one ever did. No one ever thought to.
Pursing her lips to keep the sobs locked down, she let the tears fall silently as he kissed every single scar, large and small, shallow and deep. When he’d found them all, he kissed the pulse point at each of her wrists, then resettled her arms on his shoulders. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, cupping her face in his palms.
“Not perfect,” he whispered. “Better. Like tempered steel.”
She hiccupped a startled laugh. “What?”
His lips tipped up. “You know. Metal gets superheated then quenched, but that only hardens it. Leaves it brittle. That’s not you. Tempering is a second step.”
“Which gives what?”
His smile grew, tender and sweet. “Something tough, but not brittle. That’s you.”
Meredith pursed her lips again, harder this time, because this thing in her chest was not going to stay down. Her gaze shot to the door, panic rising like floodwaters, tangling with all of the other emotions that threatened to break through the wall she maintained so fastidiously.
Understanding flickered in his eyes and he stood up, pulling her to his side and urging her into the bathroom, where he sat on the side of the decadent garden tub and turned both faucets on full blast. He tugged her to sit on his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and gruffly whispered in her ear, “Nobody can hear. Just let go, sweetheart.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice, the way he held her, the endearment, or the words themselves, and it really didn’t matter. Turning her face into his chest, she let the wall crumble into dust, took the comfort he offered, and started to cry.
Chapter Fifteen
Cincinnati, Ohio
Sunday, December 20, 8:40 a.m.
Adam hadn’t known it was humanly possible to cry that much, but he’d held Meredith on his lap through it all, whispering whatever soothing words he could think of as she ripped his heart apart. She’d clung to him, arms around his neck, her tears soaking his chest. But eventually her sobs stilled and he turned the water off.
That he’d contributed to the pain she’d so obviously stored up and shoved down . . . it shamed him. He pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.”
Her sigh echoed in the quiet of the bathroom. “It wasn’t just you. It’s been building for a while.” She loosened her hold on his neck, her hands sliding down to flatten against his chest, and she began petting the soft hair there, just lik
e she had earlier, when she’d caught him wearing nothing but a towel. The memory, combined with her soft touch, made him wish for more. A lot more. Now that the memory of her hands on his wet chest and her eyes on that towel was in his head, it wasn’t going anywhere, tormenting him with all the things he shouldn’t be wanting a few seconds after she’d finished crying her eyes out.
This was far from the best time. And what kind of man was he to be wanting her now? He shifted beneath her, moving her closer to his knees and farther from his groin because he was getting very hard, very quickly. I am the goddamn worst.
She was spent. And I still haven’t told her what she needs to know about me. But even though his brain knew these things to be true, his cock wasn’t on board. At all.
Her next words had him scrambling for focus. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I could have come to you. I should have come to you.” She pulled back to meet his gaze, and even with swollen eyes and a red nose, hers was the prettiest face he’d ever seen. “Because you were hurting, too.”
“There were times I wished you would,” he confessed. “Then I could say that it wasn’t my fault that I broke my promise to you.”
Her eyes widened. “But you . . . you never promised me anything.”
“Not that I told you about. Out loud, anyway. But to myself, yeah. Every goddamn day. One year sober and I’d be knocking on your door.”
“You were planning to come back?” she asked in that same small voice she’d used earlier when asking Kate about the kettle and his chest grew painfully tight.
Because now he understood. He could still see all those small scars on her arms, and the two bigger ones at her wrists. He wondered how he’d never noticed them before. He wondered if any of her friends knew they existed.
He’d known her serenity was a mask, but he’d had no clue what it had actually hidden. The truth was almost too much to bear, so he set it aside to answer her question.
“Yes,” he said fiercely. “I told myself that I needed to be sober for one year and then I would have earned the right and I was coming back.” He hesitated. “And then, if you’d have me, I was never leaving again.”