As the Wicked Watch(102)

Knock-knock.

“I’m coming!”

“Okay, and now I know too much, too, to let this go,” Joey said. “But please, don’t do anything else without me, you hear? Promise me?”

“All right, I promise.”

“Mean it this time!” he scolded.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” I said.

“Let me call you,” he said. “I’m working late tonight.”

“Fair enough. Good night.”

When I opened the door, I expected Thomas to be in gym clothes. He was in a suit, holding flowers.

What is happening?! He’s not a suit kind of guy. What was he trying to prove?

“Hey there,” I said. “Where are you headed?”

“Straight to you, beautiful,” he said, and gently lifted me off my feet with one hand and spun me in a half circle before setting me back down for a lingering hug.

If bad timing had a photo, this was it.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

I smiled. It was the first true smile in more than a week, and honestly, it kind of hurt.

“Thomas, thank you for the flowers, but I have to get to work.”

“Work?” he asked. “Jordan, you were just attacked. Why are you working? Are you back on air? Look at your face!”

Realizing his words had landed like a kickboxer’s reverse roundhouse, he course-corrected. “You still look beautiful. Sorry, Jordan, but you can’t put work over health. I know I play second fiddle, but you can’t put yourself behind the job.”

God, I know he cares, and in another life this would all be so perfect. But in this life, this moment is a distraction.

His face shifted from hopeful to defeated. “You don’t care, do you?” he asked.

“Care about what?”

“You don’t care if this kills you. You don’t care about your relationships, your joy . . .”

“You’re overreacting. There’s a dead kid, and I know who did it. What am I supposed to do? Sit here cuddled up with you waiting for this guy to kill again? And it may be connected to this,” I said, pointing to the bluish black bruise staining the side of my face.

Thomas stood just past the doorway, flowers still in hand. It was a sad picture. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” I said, an invitation meant to restore some of his dignity.

I might as well settle down. There was nothing I could do at this very moment with all this information. I’d launched Joey, I’d called Bartlett and Fawcett. Even Ellen knew. Making Thomas leave this second wouldn’t move the case forward one inch.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Jordan, have you ever seen me drink?” he asked.

I paused, realizing I’d spent nights with this man for nearly a year and we’d done things that made me blush just thinking about them.

“See, Jordan, that’s my point. You know nothing about me. You don’t notice anything about anyone but yourself and your stories. You claim to be the most observant person around, yet you see nothing, including the love right in front of you.”

Love?

I almost looked around to see who else was in the apartment, because surely he couldn’t be talking to me. The silence of the moment left us both awkwardly searching for the next move.

“I could use a glass of wine,” I said.

From the safe distance of the kitchen, I circled back to the L word. “Thomas, I know you were worried about me, and I know it had to be scary not knowing all the details and hearing it from what felt like a million miles away. But don’t let the heat of the moment twist you up in knots.”

“Jordan, are you human? What android raised you?”

I shot him the “Are you talking about my mama?” look that I’d mastered in the third grade.

As I walked back over to Thomas, my wineglass half full, I was swept away by his vulnerability. It took a lot for him to dress up and come over with daisies, no less, which were my least favorite flowers. Not having the heart to keep the intensity going, I sat down, inching closer for the kiss we both wanted despite the heated words and hurt feelings.

His warm skin, his loving hand, his total being—all of this was more important than he would ever know and perhaps more important than I’d anticipated. And just like that I led him to the place where we felt ourselves to be equals, the place where our relationship thrived the most.

I laid on my bed still wearing the kimono. Thomas discarded his suit in a pile on the floor and crawled into bed with me before I could debate whether or not it was right, and our bodies merged into one.

One glimpse in the mirrored closet doors reminded me this was real, a moment that I deserved, never mind what he needed. I rocked him over onto his back and climbed on top, admiring his incredible features, his kind eyes.

My own eyes filled with tears. It was a sweet release, but it wasn’t love.

*

“Can I get you some water?”

Thomas’s words awakened me from the instant, dreamless sleep that overcame me following our lovemaking.

“I’m good? How are you?” I asked in my groggy voice.

“I’m great,” he replied, seemingly forgetting the barrage of judgment that proceeded this moment.

I reached over onto the nightstand and grabbed the TV remote. “Don’t be mad,” I said. “Mind if I turn on the news?”