Текст книги "Hard Beat"
Автор книги: K. Bromberg
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Chapter 30
Somehow I make it back to the airport.
Make it to the one place I’ve always relied on to escape everything. To the one place that I knew would take me away after Stella died, back into the thrill of the pursuit, the adrenaline rush of being first to report a story. But right now as I stand before the departure board, how I got here is all a blur I don’t even recall because I was too busy keeping my shit together. I can’t remember ever feeling so lost in my life.
I just need to get on the plane, do my job, and then get back home and figure out the life that eight hours ago seemed crystal clear but now is a fucking shattered mess of glass.
And then it dawns on me that I can’t get on the plane because deplaning means that I’m going to be rushing to and reporting on the story that took Beaux’s life. If I feel paralyzed now, seeing the devastation in person, knowing her blood has been spilled somewhere in the rubble, would make it more real than I can fathom.
Even if I could gather myself to do the report, use the numbness to get the story out before the journalistic fourth wall crumbles, I don’t want to. I can’t face it.
I’m done.
The buzz I’ve lived my life by is gone. I don’t feel a single zap of it, and the last time I did was telling Rylee that I was going to fight for what was mine. For Beaux. The inexplicable draw to the hard beat has died for me. I stare at the electronic boards, a man who finally found what was missing in his life only to lose it before he could fully recognize it. The destinations blur before my eyes, running together, and I have no idea where I’m going, what I’m doing, but there is one thing that is crystal clear.
It takes me a second to realize my cell is still turned off, that I was so fixated on getting to the meeting and then with the aftermath that I never turned it on. When I do, texts from Rafe come in a flurry, and I know that he’s found out somehow about Beaux’s death. As much as I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to share my misery, I dial and wait for him to pick up.
“Jesus Christ, Tanner. I had no idea,” he answers. But his words aren’t enough for me. What did he have no idea about? That she was killed in the embassy bombing or that she was a spy?
“Did you know?” I grit the question out, needing to know more than ever if he knew about the setup, was in on it. When silence hangs on the line, my instinct tells me that he doesn’t. He’s not a good enough liar to play me that well, and if he was, he’s not going to tell me anyway. He remains silent for a moment. “Put Pauly on the story.”
“What… what’s going —”
“Pauly deserves it. Give him a shot to make the headline.”
“Talk to me, Tanner. What are you —”
“Thank you,” I say, cutting him off again, my eyes still trying to focus on the digitized cities on the screen in front of me. I don’t know where I’m going, but the only caveat is that there won’t be a desert. “This time it’s for real.”
“What is? What are you talking about?”
“I quit.”
Chapter 31
One week later
She’s so beautiful, it hurts sometimes to look at her.
I glance up from the bed to see Beaux standing at the edge of it, hair down, eyes on me, a soft smile on her face.
“Tanner,” she whispers as she sits down beside me. The mattress springs squeak, and we both laugh at the memory. She leans over, her hair tickles my face as it falls down to my chest, but I forget all about it the minute her lips brush mine. Her kiss tastes like her, like everything I’ve ever wanted, like forever.
I startle awake from the dream. Just like I do every morning, every night. Every time I close my eyes. And the vivid imagery of it and the way it leaves me feeling is so real, so tangible, that it takes me a minute to remember she’s gone.
And then the ache comes roaring back with a vengeance. The pain still radiates in my chest, the grief still weighs down my soul, the loss still runs my life.
This is my good morning. Has been every day since she’s been gone.
I walk down Main Street through the two-bit town I’m playing recluse in. The plane touched down in Billings, Montana, and I drove until I couldn’t see from exhaustion and found myself in this tiny little town of Freeman, population one thousand.
The bartender at Ginger’s greets me by name as I walk in, and my beer is pulled from the tap and slid alongside the shot of whiskey that she’s had waiting here every day since I’ve been in town. It’s easier to numb yourself with alcohol. While the drunken haze makes the memories that much sweeter, it also makes your heart that much more hardened.
“Hey, handsome,” Ginger says.
“Hi.” I nod my head and then lower it, keep to myself, like I have since day one. My mind’s still a mess, and I need this solitude and the noise in my head simultaneously to come to grips with everything.
“So let me guess, you’re nursing a heartbreak?” I cringe when she starts to pry, because I keep coming here because no one has asked me shit besides the general curiosity questions. And now she just went and ruined it.
“Something like that,” I murmur into my beer, my eyes looking up to catch the baseball game on the television on the opposite wall. My lack of interest in any conversation should be more than apparent.
“I have a few ideas how we can cure that for you,” she says, and I can hear the smile on her face even though I’m not looking at her.
“Whatever you’re looking for, I assure you I’m not him,” I tell her, and immediately startle as my mind shifts back to the first time I met Beaux and said something similar. I lift the beer, my eyes focusing on the bottom of the glass as I drain it before sliding some cash across the bar top, scooting my chair out, and walking from the bar.
“You okay?”
“Yes, Rylee. I’m getting there.”
“I just wish there was something I could do or say to —”
“There’s nothing to say, Bubs,” I tell her as I sit on the steps of the back porch of the little cabin I’ve rented on the edge of the woods and lift a beer to my lips. It’s amazing how cash can get you anything, including anonymity and seclusion. “I just need some time to sort my shit out, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. I’m worried about you. I’ve been through this before,” she says, referring to her fiancé who died years ago, “so I understand this more than most people do, but I didn’t take off to the edge of nowhere and disappear. I needed people, Tanner. Needed to be around people to cope.”
“And I don’t. I need to reevaluate my life. The things that I thought were priorities just might not be anymore, and that’s a tough thing for a man to come to terms with,” I say, not trying to be a martyr but at the same time finding it hard to focus on the outside world when the one around me has crashed down. “Who knows, maybe I’ll write that book I always wanted to write. You never know what might happen.”
“Knowing you, you’ll write it and win the Pulitzer,” she says with a laugh, having no idea what that term does to my insides. It’s the first time I’ve heard it in forever, and it stuns me momentarily, silence filling the line as sweet memories collide with sadness. “Well, I love you, and I hope you come home soon.”
“I love you too.” The words come out barely audible as I hang up and close my eyes. It’s always much easier to sleep than to be awake.
Sleep means I can hide from the grief for just a little bit longer.
Sleep means Beaux.
Chapter 32
Two weeks later
She’s so beautiful it hurts sometimes to look at her.
I glance up from the bed to see Beaux standing at the edge of it, hair down, eyes on me, a soft smile on her face.
“Tanner,” she whispers as she sits down beside me. The mattress springs squeak, and we both laugh at the memory. She leans over, her hair tickles my face as it falls down to my chest, but I forget all about it the minute her lips brush mine. Her kiss tastes like her, like everything I’ve ever wanted, like forever.
I startle awake from the dream. Same dream. Same heartache when I wake to find her gone and my reality colder than the mountain air coming in through the French doors and slapping me in the face.
I lie there, contemplate the possibility that I’m making my feelings for her out to be more than they were. That the loss means I’ve put her up on the pedestal where people put those they’ve lost; where all of their wrongdoings are erased and good deeds are considered saintly.
But I know that’s not the reason. I know it’s because deep down this is how I really feel. It just took me too long to realize it, too long to tell her, too long to not be so damn scared of real love and fight for what we both deserved, a chance at a future together.
I prop my hands behind my head and mentally go over the beginning of the story that I started on my laptop last night. I looked at the blank page for well over an hour, unsure what to write until I clicked over and got lost in Beaux’s images I had downloaded to my hard drive.
They made me feel close to her for a bit. Sounds silly since it’s technically only been ten days since she died, but for me it’s been months since I’ve held her, seen her smile, heard her laugh. So I clung to the images, looking at the world through her eyes when the story hit me: tired reporter meets a fresh-faced photographer. Definitely not the sort of material a Pulitzer is awarded on, not even the type of book I had planned on writing – a romance of all things – but when I finally fell asleep at the computer after a few hours of type and delete, type and delete, I felt the best I’d felt in a few days.
Almost as if I’m preserving her memory somehow, keeping her alive, keeping her close to me.
I roll over in bed, look out to the forest of trees beyond the cabin, and contemplate falling back asleep so that I can see her again. Just one more time before I start my day.
“Afternoon, Ginger,” I say with a tip of my ball cap as I slide onto the same stool at the same time I do every day.
“The rugged thing looks good on you,” she says with a nod as she slides my beer and shot glass in front of me, pointing to my face where I opted not to shave today. “Pretty soon you’re going to look like a local.”
“Huh,” I say, my eye catching something behind the bar. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” she asks as she glances along my line of sight before laughing. “Oh those. A lady was in here earlier, just passing through town… forgot them on the counter. Cute little thing.”
I angle my head to the side, the sight of the bubbles making my throat close up some. Just when I start to feel like I’m doing better, something dredges up the raw emotion hiding beneath the surface.
And then of course a part of me has to ask. “What did she look like?”
“You think your heartbreak’s coming looking for you?” Ginger asks with a lift of her chin, an excited smile spreading on her lips at the possibility of anything to gossip about in this one-horse town.
I shake my head and fight the burn in the back of my throat. “Nah. My heartbreak can’t come back.” I lower my hat down farther on my head to hide the emotion in my eyes that I don’t really feel like showing her.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, realizing the meaning behind my words and maybe understanding for the first time why I occupy this stool every day. “She was petite, dark hair, little pregnant belly. Boyfriend was waiting in the car while she was asking for directions and truth be told having a little morning sickness.” I swallow over the lump in my throat as she slides the bubbles down the counter my way. “Go ’head and give them a blow. Something about ’em always makes me feel like a kid again, and you look like you could take a moment to forget.”
My fingers fidget with the bottle in my hand because she has no idea that this little yellow container does anything but make me forget. “Thanks,” I all but whisper as memories of the rooftop come back to me. Of hearing her say she loved me for the first time.
And for the last time.
Thank you. You’ll never know how much it means to us to have this. I stare at the text from Stella’s mother with a bittersweet smile. On my directive, Rylee had sent them Stella’s camera along with the final images on her memory card. Since her last personal effects helped me be able to say good-bye to her, I thought they might add some sort of closure for them as well.
My finger hovers over the text, reflex taking over so that I’m pulling up the photos from that last morning together. Broad smiles and genuine happiness. And no matter how long I stare at our picture, I can’t seem to find any closure when it comes to Beaux.
When the phone rings, it startles me from the trance the image holds over me.
“Rafe.”
“Hey, man, how you doing?” he asks in that sympathetic tone that reminds me of wilting flowers after a funeral: pathetic, what people deem necessary, but something the person they’re intended for doesn’t need.
I wish people would stop asking me that. I’ve only spoken to my sister and parents and now Rafe, and every single damn conversation starts out this way. “I’m doing.”
“Good.” An uncomfortable silence fills the line while I wait out the purpose for the phone call.
“Did you need something?”
“Nah. Just wanted to check in with you,” he says.
“Thanks.” Quiet falls again, and even without him saying it, I know why he’s calling, glad that he knows me well enough that even though I said I quit, I might not have really quit. “I’m not ready yet. May not ever be, to be honest.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Might be ready, but for domestic stories. I don’t know,” I answer his unspoken questions.
“Good to know, but I really was just calling to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ll get there.”
We talk a bit more, nothing of any importance, no mention of where I am or when I’m going home, but when we hang up, I find my mind wandering to the bottle of bubbles on my makeshift desk in this little cabin beside my laptop. I debate writing, but there are just too many memories today, too many things that have made my chest ache and my thoughts wander to what ifs. And the only way to fix that is to sleep so that I can dream again. Grief may change shape, but it never ends.
Chapter 33
Three weeks later
She’s so beautiful, it hurts sometimes to look at her.
I glance up from the bed to see Beaux standing at the edge of it, hair down, eyes on me, a soft smile on her face.
“Tanner,” she whispers as she sits down beside me. The mattress springs squeak, and we both laugh at the memory. She leans over, her hair tickles my face as it falls down to my chest, but I forget all about it the minute her lips brush mine. Her kiss tastes like her, like everything I’ve ever wanted, like forever.
The dream should end now. It always does, leaving me wanting more of everything – her presence, her kiss, her perfume, her warmth – but this time it keeps going. I know I’m dreaming. I tell myself not to wake up and ruin it, because this is more than I’ve ever had before, and therefore it’s one more thing to hold tighter to, one more thing to coax me to sleep and wake me up every day.
Our kiss continues with soft lips and murmured moans as her fingers thread through my hair, and as much as I want to remember every single nuance of the dream, I also want to lose myself to the moment, to feel her love one more time.
“Beaux.” I say her name between kisses, so many things I want to say and confess, but at the same time I’m afraid if I push my own agenda, the dream will end. “I miss you so much,” I murmur against her lips and can feel hers turn up in a smile.
“Tanner,” she says again, trying to pull away and look into my eyes, but I don’t let her because the silk of her hair on my hands and the warmth of her breath against my cheeks just feel too damn bittersweet to let go just yet. “Tanner,” she repeats.
Even in slumber, I hold tightly to the sound of Beaux’s voice saying my name. My mind is playing tricks on me. It has to be mixing the memory of her coming back from that first embed mission and that desperation I felt wanting to see her again with the constant loss I feel now.
“This is real. I’m alive. It’s me.”
That hazy state I’m immersed in between wake and sleep disappears in an instant, and yet I still can’t believe that I’m awake because there’s no possible way. Once I open my eyes, a startled gasp fills the room and shock jump-starts my heart from the depths of loneliness and despair when I look into green eyes that have filled my dreams for so long.
“Beaux?” My voice sounds nothing like my own: It’s full of incredulity, hope, disbelief, shock.
She bites her bottom lip, and tears well in her eyes as she nods her head cautiously like I’m going to be mad at her. I’m mad all right but only in the crazy sense because this just isn’t possible.
We caress each other’s cheeks, faces inches apart as we stare into each other’s eyes. It’s what I’ve wished for, what I’ve told the powers that be that I’d trade anything and everything for to happen… but how is this real? I can feel her skin, smell her perfume, see the love in her eyes. Moments that feel like hours pass as I start to believe this could be real.
“Is it really you?” I ask, wanting to look around me, make sure I haven’t been transported to another place and time, but am afraid of taking my eyes off her for just one second in case she should vanish.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, pressing her lips to mine, and this time I believe it, believe it’s real, believe it’s her. “We had to fake my death, had to erase my cover so I could have a life,” she murmurs in between deep kisses, each sentence solidifying the reality that I’m no longer dreaming. “With you.”
And on her last word, my heart that had fractured into a million pieces transforms itself into a living, beating, vibrant part of me again. There are so many questions I need to ask, so many things to understand about how and why, but that’s for later… much later because right now my dream has come true.
“You came back to me,” I whisper against her lips as my hands slide down her body and pull her tightly to me, because even air isn’t welcome in the space between us.
“I always will,” she murmurs as I taste salt in our kiss from the tears of happiness that we’re both crying.
And I can’t help it, because this is the second chance I never thought I’d get, so I take the kiss deeper, heart pounding with need, and my body reeling with greed.
There is no finesse, no seduction, just two bodies that know each other from memory finding each other in the early-morning light. I’m hard where she’s soft. Unwavering needs mix with wants I never thought I’d have the chance to fulfill again. Urgency escalates with each touch. Lips to my neck. Hands to her breasts. I push down her pants, she pulls up her shirt, my fingers dip into the heat of her pussy as a feral growl comes from deep in my throat.
She opens for me without any prompting; I slide into her sweet heat without asking, both of us moaning from the intimacy of that first connection. And this right here, not the endgame, not coming with her name on my lips, has to be the sweetest, most incredible feeling in the whole world. Getting the chance I never thought I’d get again to be a part of her in all ways possible.
I pause in my movements, lean up on my elbows, and look down at my dream, my woman, my hope, all mixed into one incredible package, and I smooth the wisps of hair off her face. Our eyes lock, the intensity of our feelings only becoming stronger now. “You came back to me,” I repeat again because I just can’t believe it. “Thank you,” I whisper as a soft smile spreads across her lips while the moment stretches out between us.
And then I begin to move. Slow strokes and soft murmurs, hushed pleas for more, satisfied sighs of disbelief as we are haloed by the sun’s rays as it rises higher in the sky. She comes first, my name on her lips like a feather in the cap of an already perfect moment before I tumble over the edge in what feels like a free fall. And that’s perfectly okay because that means I’ll land back on top of her, and I don’t think there’s anywhere else I ever want to be.
I nuzzle my nose under her neck as we just hold on to each other, still connected, hearts beating as one, and life feels absolutely perfect. Chills chase over my skin as I try to fathom that just last night I wished myself to sleep, wished for this all to be a mistake, and somehow it came true.
Time passes, and as much as I want to stay tangled with her forever, I reposition myself half off her body so that I can prop my head up on my elbow and take her in, shock my mind into believing this tangible truth. She looks the same but different somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t care because that guarded yet liberated smile on her face owns my soul right now.
“I need to explain,” she says.
“I don’t care.” I lean forward and press my lips against hers. “All that matters is that you’re here now.”
“I am, but I need to tell you some things,” she says with traces of caution in her voice.
“Are you going to leave me again?” My chest constricts even asking the question, but I need to ask, need to prepare myself.
“No!” The way the word rushes from her mouth tells me it’s true, and that’s all I need to know. “Not unless you want me to go.”
“Never.” I’ve never felt more resolute about anything in my life.
“You might not think that after I finish explaining things,” she says, and her eyes dart away in an anxious flicker before coming back to mine.
“Never,” I say again. “I’ve already lost you too many times for this lifetime.”
“I’m so sorry for doing this to you, for putting you through this, Tanner. You have to believe me when I say that it wasn’t an easy choice to make, knowing what it would do to you, but it was the only choice.” She reaches out and frames my face with her hands so that she can make sure I don’t look away when she speaks. I just stare and nod, wanting an explanation but not really needing one the longer we sit here. She could tell me that she was an alien with three heads and I wouldn’t care so long as she’s here right now.
“Kids, husband, the white picket fence… I’ve never wanted what I called a real life. Never. After my parents died —” She stops when my eyes flash up from where my fingers trace a line over her abdomen at the mention of one of the many things we talked about. “I broke cover. It just kind of happened that day. It was so easy with you to be myself after pretending for so long that I was someone else. I don’t know… The whole story I told you was true except that my first job after the newspaper was the CIA, not freelance.”
“You’re fascinating,” I murmur, the magnitude of her strength such a turn-on.
“Hardly,” she snorts in a self-deprecating fashion. “You need to know that the time I spent with you, the laughs we shared, opening up and telling you I love you was all me, all real… I never faked how I felt for you, even when we were arguing.”
Her comment draws a chuckle from me, and I just can’t take my eyes or my hands off her because I’m so afraid she will disappear if I do.
“The blast happened. There was chatter of cover being blown and then speculation that the opposition would think that maybe you were in on everything as well. I was out one night, Omid saw me. So stupid on my part really. I was careless, losing my edge. I couldn’t be sure he recognized me, but I’m pretty sure he did. I’d been tracking him for a while, thought he was playing both sides of the fence, and if he was the snitch, that meant that you were in danger too since he may have thought we were a team. It killed me to push you away, but I had to do it to keep you safe. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say I’m sorry enough for what I put you through.”
“Why use Rookie at the hospital, then?” I ask a question I’ve asked myself a million times but couldn’t figure out.
“The agency transferred me there, wanted me to use an alias while they set up the house and the cover there. Rookie Thomas was the first name that came to mind. A way to keep you close to me. Subconsciously, a part of me hoped that you would come looking for me. I just didn’t expect it would be so quickly.” She sighs with a little shake of her head. “I shouldn’t have expected any less from you, really. I thought by the time you’d figured it out, we’d have moved out. It was stupid on my part for so many reasons. I put you in danger, put Dane and me in danger…”
I purse my lips and try to fathom what it was like on her end, because being left in the dark on my end sucked. “Does Dane know you’re alive?”
“No. No one could know except for my CIA handler to keep everyone safe. I’ll tell him, but you were first. I had to tell you first.”
“Is Beaux your real name?”
“Not anymore,” she murmurs with a trace of sadness in her eyes, and I angle my head and stare at her as I wait to find out what it is. “Blair Jane,” she says with the cutest scrunch of her nose, like she’s unsure of it. “So I can still go by BJ.”
“Blair,” I murmur, rolling the name around on my tongue. It feels so foreign, and I know it’ll take me a long time to get used to it, but it’s a lot easier getting used to a new name than to the hole in my heart from thinking she’s gone.
“I’ll still answer to Rookie, though,” she says, a smile spreading on her lips that stirs so many things within me – the strongest of them is peace.
“Good to know.” I lean forward and brush a kiss to her lips. “Because I’m bound to call you all of the above. I love you, Beaux Blair Rookie Whatever-your-name-is.” I finally get to say it, to tell her, and the only thing that I feel afterward is relief because I know she heard it this time.
I love the sound of her laugh, practically drugged with happiness and tinged with relief. “I love you too,” she says, wrapping her arms around me and holding tight.
“So what now, Bea—Blair?”
“I know it takes some getting used to. I might try my hand at real estate or something,” she says, causing me to lift my head up and look at her like she’s crazy. “You know what they say, location, location —”
“Location,” I finish for her with a laugh, appreciating the humor she’s trying to inject into this very surreal moment that I still don’t think my head or heart have caught up with just yet. “And while I don’t quite see that being your calling, at least I’d know you’re out of danger… but that’s not what I meant,” I tell her. “I mean, why get out now? Quit? Why do all of this?”
“Because I love you.” Her answer is spoken with such conviction, I have no doubt of its truth. “And because I always told myself that if there was ever a day I found myself thinking of the husband and kids and white picket fence, I had to give it up. I loved my job, Tanner. It saved me from so much, and I loved knowing I was making a difference in the grand scheme of things, but the one thing I never thought would happen, happened.”
“What?”
“I fell in love with you.” Her voice fades off softly, the emotion in it so strong, it flames the feelings within me to epic proportions. “Like head-over-heels, can’t-catch-your-breath, can’t-live-without-you kind of love. I tried to play cool, tried to act like I didn’t feel it, but my God, that first night? It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I wasn’t supposed to feel like that about you afterward… and I did, and it scared the shit out of me, so the only thing I knew to do was to frustrate you, make you want to push me away.”
“But you quit,” I tell her with a laugh.
“I did, didn’t I? Because you were so frustrating, and when you’re frustrating, going all alpha male, this is how it’s going to be, you are also so damn hot.” Her admission makes me smile and builds my ego all at once.
We stare in comfortable silence for a moment, the dust particles dancing around us in the sun’s rays as if they’re just as excited as I am, when something she said breaks through my scrambled thoughts. “You said I might not still want you here after I know the truth. I know the truth… Why would you think I’d tell you to leave when I feel exactly the same way?”
The shy smile returns along with tears welling in her eyes that I don’t quite understand. I shift again so that I can see her better, one leg hooked over hers, hand resting on her abdomen, and eyes fixed on hers. “Because I want it all, Tanner Thomas. I want late nights laughing and early mornings making love. I want memories and to lay down roots with you. I want you to teach me how to surf and for me to really show you how to shoot a gun,” she says with a smirk. “My history has been erased, and so I want to start making a new one with you. I want the white pickets, your last name… the little boy with skinned knees and sticky kisses. That time away from you after Landstuhl taught me that I want it all, and I know you don’t want some of those things, so…” Her voice fades off as she bites her bottom lip with hesitancy and averts her eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, immediately needing to correct her way of thinking. “I want that too. All of it. I may not have the white pickets, but that’s an easy fix… and uh, I’m thinking a little girl instead… one that looks just like her mommy.” I rest my forehead to hers and just allow myself to feel this moment, feel her here, real and breathing against me, and I don’t think anything else will ever top this moment.
Her chuckle is low and deep and vibrates into my chest and against my lips. “In about eight months we’ll find out which one of us is right.”
I whip my head back to look at her with surprise, my lips opening to speak, but nothing comes out as I glance down to where my hand rests on her belly, a life I helped create growing somewhere beneath it.
My eyes must ask the question for me because she just nods her head, a tear slipping down her cheek to the upturned corner of her mouth. “Yes.”
I was so wrong. Nothing, and I mean nothing, else can top this moment.
My little piece of Heaven after going through so much Hell.
