Hard Beat(41)

“We met when we were assigned together, butted heads instantly, but fell into bed not too long after we met.” The minute the words are out, it’s like my subconscious finally acknowledges the correlation between Stella and me and now Beaux and me. The similarities become clear for the first time. Is this why I keep rejecting Beaux one minute and then pulling her in the next? Damn. The thought staggers me. Because I’ve been so busy trying to figure out just what her angle is, I haven’t noticed the parallels in the start of our relationships.

“And…” It’s all Beaux says, but her voice has softened, and I’m grateful that she allows me the moment to digest this newfound revelation. It’s one that should have been slapping me in the face, and yet I never realized it through my grief and obstinacy.

“It didn’t last, obviously. We had fun during that getting-to-know-you stage, but it fell apart. Immaturity and stress from the job and from essentially living with each other from the first date on took its toll after about a year. We felt smothered, and that led to nasty fights. And yet we still had to work together.” I lower myself to sit on the edge of the bed as the memories I thought I’d forgotten over time come back in bittersweet fashion. “Those first few months after we broke things off were brutal between us. It’s never good to work with an ex… but somehow over time the situation that tore us apart as lovers made us stronger as friends and partners. I don’t know… It’s hard to explain. She was my best friend for ten years. We were inseparable…” My voice trails off as emotion clogs my throat.

“Losing someone that close to you is so hard,” she murmurs, compassion in her voice.

“See, that’s the thing,” I say, almost feeling like I need to explain that the connection I shared with Stella went so much deeper than a normal friendship. “Out here… when you’re forced into this situation, right away everything is much more intense. Relationships, bonds, friendships, all of those things are magnified and reinforced by the isolation of the job, so yeah, we were friends for ten years, but it’s almost as if she were my twin in a sense. We had each other’s backs, could finish each other’s sentences… We were a unit… so losing her is just…”

The silence consumes the room, but I allow myself to feel the grief for the first time in what feels like forever. And yes, I did the shrink thing for the brass, talked to them about everything, but right now with Beaux is the first time that I’ve talked about it voluntarily with anyone other than my family since it happened.

And for some reason it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted from my chest.

“I’m not trying to replace her, Tanner.” I don’t respond, because I know she’s telling the truth, but it sure as hell doesn’t make me stop feeling guilty over the fact that if I accept her as my new photographer and anything else she becomes in my life, it’s an eerily similar fashion to how Stella and I fell into lust.

Putting my hands behind my head, I lie back on the bed and find a strange comfort in having Beaux beside me beneath the blanket. What possessed me to lay all that information out there to Beaux of all people when I haven’t done that to anyone before?

“I know you’re not.” I whisper the words into the room, telling myself to believe them and knowing it’s human nature to not want to forget someone and to feel guilty when you begin to feel like you are.

“And I promise that I’m not trying to pull one over on you.”

I just murmur in acknowledgment, fighting my skeptical nature but pleased that she said it anyway.

“So without the threat of another shot, I answered one of your questions…,” I say to try and break up the solemnity of our conversation. Her sigh in response is audible, cutting through the silence of the room. “Tell me something about you.”

“I’d rather not.” The disassociated quality of her voice pulls on my curiosity when moments before she was so full of compassion and intrigue.

“Let’s think of this as us trying to get to know each other so we can start fresh again.” I angle my head up so that I can see her face looking in my direction. And even though the room’s only light is the one from the open bathroom door, I can see her dark hair against the white sheets and the softness in her smile. It looks like she appreciates my efforts to get off on a new foot.

“Well, if we’re starting over, my name is BJ Croslyn. What’s yours?” The warmth is back in her voice as she reaches down to shake my hand, and hell if my arm doesn’t buzz like exposed live wires touching when our skin connects.

“Tanner Thomas. And I’m the one.” Her laugh fills the room as she shakes her head at hearing me use her comment from that first night. When our handshake ends, she doesn’t pull her hand from mine, so they rest on the mattress in the space between us. “Everyone has a story. I just told you some of mine… so tell me, BJ, what’s yours?”

And because our hands are joined, I can feel the subtlest tension rise in her muscles from my question.

“There’s a reason I chose to go on assignment, okay?” she says, the detachment returning to her voice. “Sometimes escaping behind my lens, out here in no-man’s-land is better than the alternative…” Her voice fades off, and images of scenarios I can’t picture her in flash through my head.