Frisk Me(88)

She didn’t want to sell him out.

For a second, Luc felt like he could fly.

Until he remembered that it didn’t have to come to this. She could have told Luc earlier what she was planning.

Every step of the way, Ava had made it clear this was what she’d wanted more than anything. It was time to see it through.

He patiently waited for her gaze to come back to his. The entire hesitation had probably lasted only a couple of seconds; likely the audience would see it as nothing more than a slight gathering of thoughts, but it felt much longer.

And when her eyes finally found his, she looked so bewildered and lost that he wanted to rip off both of their mics, hold out his hand to her, and lead them both away from this circus.

Instead, he nodded at her. Nothing obvious. Just the slightest tip of his head.

Permission.

Do it, Sims.

And so she did.

“Officer Moretti, as I was researching your impressive history as a police officer, I couldn’t help but notice there was a bit of a, shall we say, blip on your record…”

Luc refused to acknowledge the pain that ripped through him.

You can do this.

It was time to put everything behind him. It was time to move on.

And Ava had just made it really easy to move on from her.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE



It had taken a serious amount of groveling, but Luc had eventually convinced Nonna and Anthony to give him his space.

Actually, Anthony had agreed almost immediately. After making sure that Luc wasn’t inclined to do anything stupid, Anth had quietly packed an overnight bag. His brother understood that sometimes being alone with whiskey and dark thoughts was exactly what a situation called for.

Nonna, on the other hand, had only been coaxed out of the apartment when Anthony held a lighter under her precious yoga mat and threatened to toss all her lacy push-up bras in exchange for bulk cotton bras from the local drugstore.

Luc had thought his grandmother was going to faint at the notion, and she’d finally agreed to leave, only after making Luc homemade macaroni and cheese. It wasn’t classic Italian in the least, but it was bona fide comfort food.

Luc hadn’t touched it.

Neither had he gone for the whiskey, although he figured that would be on the agenda at some point tonight. For now, it was him, a beer, ancient flannel pants, and hopes of losing himself in TV, or a book, or anything that would save him from thoughts of Ava.

It was strange how one could carry around two years of emotional baggage, finally heal, only to be ripped wide open by a woman.

Even more ironic was that it was the same woman who’d helped him come to grips with the first issue.

Without Ava and her CBC vultures shining a light on every dark corner of Luc’s past, he’d never have gotten the courage to talk to his brothers about his nightmares.

His father never would have come clean about his interference with the media two years ago.

Luc wouldn’t have gone to see Mike’s widow, wouldn’t have called to check in on the Johnsons…

He certainly wouldn’t have talked about it on national television. Wouldn’t have spoken about his feelings of guilt that often came with the sometimes no-win world of law enforcement.

Luc couldn’t quite say he was over what happened that day. He probably wouldn’t ever be over it, and that was okay.

But for the first time, he felt like he could move on. Each breath was just a little bit easier.

Luc tipped his beer back. Not that he’d be sending Ava and her people a thank-you note. Any good that had come out of her manipulation was a happy coincidence.

It certainly wasn’t from good intentions.

Luc wasn’t sure that Ava Sims had any.

He swore softly and stood to get another beer as he remembered what an ass he’d made of himself at her apartment a week ago. When she’d asked if she was a cold, calculating bitch, he should have said yes.

Instead he’d looked into those lying gold eyes and let himself be totally fooled by a truly beautiful face.

And the hell of it was?

He didn’t hate her. Not even now, when he knew he’d been thoroughly used.

What he felt for Ava wasn’t hate, or dislike, or antipathy.

It felt alarmingly the opposite of that. A word Luc wasn’t ready to put a name to under the best of circumstances, and certainly not when the circumstances were what they were:

Completely shitty.

He popped the top off his beer, but set it on the counter instead of taking a drink. He couldn’t seem to help but torture himself, wondering what she was doing now.

Popping the champagne with her skeevy co-workers?

Laughing with Mihail as they planned their next story?

Would she still work for CBC? He had no idea how that worked. He knew she wouldn’t deliver the story she wanted, but it was a headlines grabbing story all the same. That had to count for something.

He hoped so. In spite of everything, he still wanted that for her, because she wanted that.

In spite of it all, he cared enough about her to want her happiness. Desperately.

He was an idiot.

“This sucks,” he muttered to nobody.

He was halfway back to the couch to resume his brooding when there was a knock at the door.

A strange sense of calm came over him as he moved to open it.

He knew it wouldn’t be his brothers.