Chapter 1: The Thaw
Laura Holt stood up behind her desk and wiped uncharacteristically sweaty palms against her skirt, then took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm her rampaging nerves. Four nights ago, she and Mr. Steele had crossed the great divide, otherwise known as her decision in Cannes that they would no longer see one another outside of work and 'the thaw', as he'd referenced the resumption of their personal relationship, had begun.
He'd been battered that night, severely, by Buckner's men. Enough so, that she'd had to resist the urge to nag at him until he took a trip to the emergency room… had resisted the urge to take him in her arms, draw his head down to her shoulder and comfort him. Instead, she'd played nurse, wrapping his ribs and wincing at the memory of watching him being beat by two goons while she'd been held, helpless, in another goon's locked arms. The experience, the memories, had been enough to leave her shaken, and, once again, questioning that possibly hasty, injury and anger fueled decision in Cannes.
The idea of losing him was… inconceivable. For two-and-a-half years many of her decisions about their personal relationship had been grounded in her fear of waking one day and finding him gone, but by his own choice, the siren call of the past luring him away from this life he'd begun to build for himself. From her. Yet, every now and then, she'd be reminded there was more than one way to find him gone, and not of his own choice, but at the hands of the Buckner, Chandler, Simpson and DesCoine's of the world. It was bad enough to be left picking up the pieces after the first, but the thought of the latter? Inevitably, she'd be reduced to trying to conceal tremoring hands as her heart beat hard against her ribs. She'd be left with a lifetime of regrets, never knowing what it would be like to make love with him, never knowing if they'd just let their wall downs, what might have been.
She'd… missed him. It was as simple as that. Their relationship, as bizarre and undefined as it might be, was the longest, singular relationship of her life – even her time with Wilson had run its course in considerably less time. Until her Cannes resolution, she hadn't realized what a large place in her life he'd come to fill, since only shortly after his arrival. They'd essentially lived in one another's pockets for more than two years now, working with one another throughout the day, then during the evenings nurturing their burgeoning romance and speaking every night before bed. And on weekend days when they weren't together? He'd often call a couple of times a day, just checking in with her, he'd say, never admitting, but she always knowing, he needed that connection with her in some way each day.
Twice, in the days right after his beating, she'd kept her promise and worked him over with Ben Gay. There had been nothing sexual, whatsoever, about those rub downs, modestly confined to above his waist, but it hadn't mattered in the least as her blood was left humming, her nerve ends vibrating, from the prolonged time her hands had spent against his flesh. Together or not, she'd never stopped wanting the man, had from the very beginning. No, her attraction to him had never been the issue.
It had been… everything… else. Her fears, her insecurities, her life lessons. But it had not been wholly herself. There were his own fears, his own insecurities, his life lessons to contend with as well. Neither of them quite prepared to face the unknown future that loomed after that 'magical moment.'
She didn't want to remain frozen in place any longer. She didn't want to keep holding him at arm's length. She didn't want to live a lifetime with 'what-if's', regrets.
Still, the thought… terrified her.
In Cannes, she'd finally found a confidence that had long since fled. Two weeks in Europe with her Mr. Steele had seen to that. Two weeks filled with one European city after the next, being courted – that was the only word for it – by the man whom had long ago stolen her heart, like the thief he'd once been. Back in his old stomping grounds, he'd never even so much as cast a wistful look towards the life he'd once lived, had shown not a single sign he wondered what might be, should he return. His focus had been entirely on her. Long walks, personalized tours, evenings dancing and him, always front and center at each of her Glee Club performances. It had been romantic… seductive. And that he was there with her on this tour for no other reason than to support her? Well, that alone had gone a long way towards shoring up her confidence, deafening her insecurities.
Then it had all… unraveled, leaving her questioning… everything. And that long missing self-confidence she'd found in those days? Gone. Vanished. Fled, once more.
Still, she'd already taken one bold step towards moving forward. It was time to take another- to find out, once and for all, if crossing the line would mean a new beginning… or an end.
The thought of the latter made her draw in a deep breath and she patted her stomach absently, trying to calm the butterflies that had suddenly erupted there.
Tipping her chin up a notch, she steeled herself while she reached for the door knob to Remington's door.
