The Guarded Heart
"Guard wisely and shelter thy heart,
Lest love come silently,
And shatter what few walls remain."
by: resauthor
Timing was everything. Or so the experts said. Which experts? Sergeant Rita Lance of the Palm Beach Police Department wasn't quite sure. Actually, the slim brunette wasn't quite sure about a lot of things on this warm fall morning. For example: Why was she hiding in a dark corner of the precinct parking lot, using the deep shadows and dim lighting to conceal her presence from her partner?
Why didn't she just step out into the open and walk past the couple who were passionately kissing in the silver convertible sports coupe? It wasn't as if she were invading their bedroom. A flip comment, a teasing remark - either one would be appropriate, even expected, as she passed the twosome on her way into the building. They were the ones acting like a couple of teenagers, not her. So why was she hesitating?
Leaning forward slightly, she had a clear view of Chris' expression as he spoke softly to the auburn-haired woman in the driver's seat. A gentle smile, a soft caress, and her smooth-talking partner was moving in for another kiss. Rita swallowed a groan before it could slip out. She was a homicide detective, for God's sake. What was she doing standing out here like an idiot? If this was what she was now reduced to, it was definitely time to re-evaluate a few important aspects of her life.
As she stood there silently berating herself, her partner removed his lips from those of his lover's and glanced around the quiet garage. Rita pressed back against the concrete wall, willing herself invisible, as the searching blue gaze turned in her direction and stopped. There was no way he could see her, hidden as she was by a row of cars and a large column of cement, but she continued to hold her breath until his glance returned to the woman behind the wheel. The engine purred much quieter than the affectionate couple Rita noted with unexpected irritation.
It wasn't as if there were anything to dislike about the beautiful doctor who had once operated on Chris and most likely saved his life. Those three days of uncertainty after he had been shot seemed like a bad nightmare now. Gratitude, relief, and exhaustion had left Rita numb. Too numb to see the relationship blossoming between Chris and Jillian until it was too late.
But what would she have done even if she had noticed Chris falling for his doctor? He certainly didn't need any help in the dating department. Especially not from someone with a track record like hers.
Her instinctive response to everything that had happened, to almost losing her best friend, had been to bury herself even deeper in work. Raw emotion was channeled into driving, relentless energy. Her apartment had never been so clean, her desk so free of paperwork, and through it all she had kept one eye trained on her partner, making sure he was recovering properly. What few free hours remained at the end of the week were spent volunteering to help teen runaways. One hectic day had merged into another, and before too long she had begun dating Eric Russell.
Self-analysis, along with any and all uncomfortable questions, had been temporarily put aside once again.
Eric was nothing more than an uncomfortable memory now, and she seemed destined to trip over the other couple everywhere she went these days. It was exhausting - having to force a smile and make pleasant conversation each time her path crossed Jillian's. No matter how many times they spoke, there was one tiny speck of suspicion that never left the other woman's eyes. It was almost as if Jillian was waiting to catch her with her guard down - determined to search for any signs of her romantic interest in the man whose heart they shared.
She lifted a hand to her neck, trying to rub away the growing stiffness. Damn, the wall behind her was cold. It would have been much wiser to wear pants today instead of the short red skirt and thin designer jacket. Another example of her recent poor judgment. She threw the couple an impatient glance.
Good Lord, they were still at it!
She checked her watch. If this little goodbye scene didn't end soon, they were all going to be late for work. The smart thing to do would be to just walk right out there as if she had just arrived and remind Chris that the Captain was expecting them by nine. This entire ridiculous situation was her own stubborn fault.
The heavy thud of a car door slamming brought her attention back to the problem at hand. Dr. Dupree had deposited her precious cargo at the rear entrance of the building and was now pulling out of the parking area.
"You can come out now."
The sound of her partner's voice startled her, but Rita remained in the shadows.
"Sam?" Chris, his eyes clearly narrowed in concern, was walking towards her hiding place. Immaculately dressed in tan slacks, a white collar-less shirt, and a bright blue jacket, his long easy strides covered the distance quickly. "What are you doing back there?"
Despite her embarrassment, she managed a halfway normal smile.
"I didn't want to disturb you," she clumsily tried to explain. The inquisitive blue gaze still held a fair share of confusion and doubt. Purposely dropping her eyes before he had a chance to read what was in them, she nervously fingered the bright red material of her skirt, smoothing down invisible wrinkles. "You both looked rather intense," she added.
Chris stepped closer, bracing one hand on the concrete next to her head. His voice dropped down to a more intimate level, keeping their conversation private from the other officers just arriving for the day shift. "Why didn't you come over to say hello?"
Heavens, he smelled wonderful. Too wonderful for nine o'clock in the morning.
"Rita?"
What was the question?
A gentle touch to her chin re-established eye contact. "Is there something going on here that I don't know about?" The husky timbre of his voice grated along her fragile nerve endings like sand paper over the finest Venetian crystal.
Distance was required. With a determined push, Rita moved away from the wall and brushed aside the question. This was not the time nor the place to discuss her confused mental state. Her teasing smile was genuine as she reminded him, "Two more minutes and we're officially late for work."
Chris dropped his hands back down to his sides and started to say something, but the words trailed off when Rita reached over to touch the side of his mouth.
"You're a mess," she murmured, using her thumb to wipe the lipstick away. "We'd better get inside…."
Hands on hips, expression confused, Chris sighed and remained where he was as his partner turned away and crossed to the double-doored rear entrance of the police station.
"Women," he muttered to himself. Any man who claimed to understand them was either a liar or a fool.
"Hey, Lorenzo!"
Chris glanced across the row of cars, and spotted George Donovan, the Assistant District Attorney, walking towards him.
George was grinning as he asked, "What are you doing hiding out here?"
He started to respond, but stopped himself. The tall, conservatively dressed attorney probably wasn't interested in the answer anyway. As soon as Chris fell into step beside him, George started describing an incident that had taken place in court the day before.
The detective tried to laugh in all the right places, but his thoughts were still on his partner. Heaven help him, it was going to be a really long day. The two most important women in his life were both in strange moods.
Rita caught herself staring again. She was supposed to be reading the medical examiner's report in front of her, but instead, found herself hypnotized by long, lean fingers as they drummed out a steady beat on the desk top across from her. Chris' other hand twirled a pen in the air, stopping only occasionally to make a few bold strokes on the paper he was reading.
The fingers stopped suddenly and she looked up in surprise. Two clear blue eyes pinned her with an inquiring stare, awaiting whatever question or comment she had regarding the case they were supposed to be working on.
"What?" he finally asked.
Rita dropped her eyes back down to her desk. "Nothing," she mumbled, thumbing through the file in her hands.
Chris dropped his pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. His full attention was now on his best friend and partner as she studiously tried to ignore him. Secrets had always made him uncomfortable, and after spending the last few days with a nervous and distracted girlfriend, he was desperately in search of some open and honest discussion. Luckily, Jillian had promised to explain the cause of her distraction when they met for a romantic picnic lunch on Friday. He assumed it was work related, or at least he hoped it was.
Now all he had to do now was find an explanation for Rita's behavior over the last few weeks. This morning's incident in the parking garage was just another addition to a long list of puzzling, out of character actions. She hadn't been herself since the breakup with Eric.
Chris let his eyes wander over the woman sitting across from him. Her soft shoulder length hair cupped under at the ends, framing delicate features and vibrant, intelligent green eyes. The shiny tresses had fallen forward, but weren't quite long enough to hide her expression as she pretended to work. "I miss the curls," he mumbled to himself. It was a surprising realization that appeared out of nowhere. It was almost as if her longer, freer hairstyle had symbolized an attitude and zest for life that had been missing lately.
Thinking back to their early years on the Silk Stalking detail, he knew that Captain Hutchinson had ridden them hard, often referring to the two of them as hot shots, but Hutch had trained them well. Working side by side as partners, learning to anticipate each other's moves while honing their natural talents for the job, they had acquired a false sense of invincibility.
The curls had disappeared in the days following the shooting. Had something else been lost back then also?
Rita bit her lower lip in concentration as he continued to observe her. She opened another file on her desk and shrugged out of the red jacket she wore without ever lifting her eyes from the page. Swift, capable hands hooked it on to the back of her chair, the movement of her arms tightening the white silk blouse across her chest.
Chris looked away. He stared at his own hands, turning them palm side up. They itched with the need to hold her and try to find out what was bothering her. This was partially his fault. Their current case load was heavy and there hadn't been too many opportunities to just sit back and talk like they used to. In addition, dating a doctor meant being at the mercy of two hectic schedules, his own and Jillian's.
He couldn't help wondering if she was still thinking about Eric Russell. A quick glance back across the desk was no help. He had offered her a shoulder to cry on right after Eric had disappeared, but any questions about the writer had gone unanswered, so he had stopped asking weeks ago. Rita was an intelligent, rational woman. She must know that she was better off without the arrogant, emotionally unstable ex-cop. Eric Russell had not been the right man for her. She deserved better.
Maybe it had been a mistake to back off the subject in the past. Far be it from him to force her to talk when she wasn't ready to, but he couldn't allow her to suffer in silence if that was what she was doing. If somebody needed to remind her how terrific she was and how much she had going for herself, then it might as well be her best friend. It was time to push for some answers.
Chris cleared his throat loudly and waited, but there was no response from across the desk. He cleared his throat again. When Rita finally did look up, she was definitely annoyed.
"Spill it," he said simply. His abrupt command caught her off guard, which was exactly what he had intended. Watching her fidget brought a smile to his face. After almost six years, he could usually read her moods pretty well, and although he wasn't quite sure what was going on in that razor-sharp brain at the moment, he could sense a touch of embarrassment. This should prove interesting. His partner wasn't often embarrassed.
Rita felt the weight of his amused scrutiny. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Sitting there, just waiting for her to share her innermost thoughts and secrets the same way he usually did. Probably ready to blame her mood on Eric Russell or her lack of a date last weekend. If only it were that simple.
She and Chris had been best friends for years and talking to him about any subject was usually easy and almost always helpful, but not this time. How could she even begin to explain that which she didn't yet understand herself. What words could do justice to the skittish, edgy feelings that plagued her dreams and muddled her thoughts. He was too close to the problem on this one and she wasn't even sure why.
"Time's up, Partner," Chris ground out with a wolfish smile. "What you need is a strong cup of coffee. Nothing like a little caffeine to jump start your morning."
Her alternative suggestions for what he could do with his cup of coffee went unheard. He had already picked up their mugs and was halfway across the room.
Planting her elbows on the desk, Rita dropped her head into her hands and hid her face.
Men!
It was time to seriously think about giving up on the entire species!
The sound of Chris' teasing laughter reached her through a maze of emotions. She knew if she turned around, she'd catch him chatting with one of their co-workers in his usual open manner. Charm and intelligence all wrapped up in one gorgeous package. That was her partner. She had long ago become accustomed to the attention he inspired and it rarely bothered her. He was one of the good guys.
And there were good ones out there. Maybe men in general weren't the problem. It was time to admit it to herself. Maybe the real problem could only be found in the mirror.
Reflecting back over the last few months, it would be easy to blame Eric for the way their relationship had ended so messily, but in all honesty, she had always known better. The drinking and overspending on Eric's part hadn't helped the situation, but the real problems between the two of them had been there from day one, and she had chosen to ignore them. She had broken her own promise to herself and had paid the price.
"Cream and two sugars…" Chris placed her mug on the desk and smiled down at her as if he were offering a present of great worth.
Rita lifted her head back up and stared at her grinning partner. "I don't take sugar, you know that."
"Trust me, Sam," Leaning over Rita's shoulder, he spoke directly into her ear, "you need it today."
She scowled and started to complain, but a challenging, steady blue gaze stopped her short. Most mere mortals would have gone running for cover after the look she had given him, but Chris didn't seem impressed. Instead, he seemed to take pleasure in invading her personal space. He remained where he was, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. The inch or so between them was thick with tension and words left unspoken.
Chris braved a question, "Does this have something to do with Russell?"
Rita dropped her eyes to her coffee, and took a long, slow sip allowing herself a few seconds to get hold of her temper. When she looked back up, he was still hovering. She spoke in a tired, disappointed tone, "I knew it. I knew you'd assume something like that."
"I'm just asking, Sam. You seem upset lately and I've been worried." He finally took the hint and walked back around their desks to sit in his own chair.
"Eric is past history," she tried to explain for what felt like the hundredth time. "He's gone. It wouldn't have worked out anyway." The sympathetic look on her partner's face was becoming very irritating.
"Why don't you tag along with us tonight," Chris suggested, "Jillian is dragging me to a hospital fund raiser at the Marriott. Bound to be a few doctors there…." His voice trailed off when Rita stood up and slammed a file down on her desk. "I'm just trying to help," he insisted. The look on her face must have clued him in to the severity of her mood because he held up his hands in defeat and backed off the subject.
"Christopher…."
His eyebrows shot up at the growling sound of his name.
"Yeah, Sam?"
"Don't help!" Rita turned to walk away before accidentally saying something that might be regretted later.
Captain Harry Lipschitz had been standing at the window of his private office for the last ten minutes. The thin, slightly graying homicide captain had spent those ten minutes observing the play by play between his two detectives. Just a few short years ago his first impression of Lance and Lorenzo had been that they were too young and brash for the detail they had been assigned to by the previous Captain, but a few days on the job had set him straight. Yes, they were young, but they were also one of the most efficient and effective teams he had ever worked with. Their conviction rate was proof of that.
As Harry continued to observe the duo, Chris swiveled his chair around to watch his partner stalk across the room to the wall of filing cabinets. Ignoring her partner, Rita tugged sharply on a handle and began searching through the contents of the drawer. It was time to step in, Harry decided. Before whatever was going on between the two of them permanently damaged their working relationship.
"Lorenzo…"
Chris turned towards the Captain's office, surprised to see his boss standing in the open doorway.
"I need to talk to you a minute."
Chris pushed himself up and out of his chair, shooting one last glance in his partner's direction. Rita was only ten feet away, but her back was to him and she seemed intent on her task.
"Sit down," Harry shut the door as soon as Chris joined him, indicating one of the two empty chairs facing his desk. The Captain waited for the Chris to settle before speaking. "I noticed that Rita is a little testy today."
Chris nodded but remained silent.
"I'm worried about her," Harry admitted as he returned to his plush, black leather chair. "I don't want this situation with Eric to affect either her job or yours."
"You know better than that, Cap. Rita is a professional."
Harry angled his head downward and stared quietly at sharply dressed man across from him. There was something going on with these two. Something in their professional relationship had been out of sync for the last few weeks. He couldn't put his finger on it, and neither detective had shown any outward signs of a rift, but his sixth sense was working overtime right now. Chris was still watching him expectantly, but Harry kept silent deciding to let him stew for a few minutes as he thought about how to handle the situation.
He had become accustomed to Chris and Rita working through any disagreements on their own, but if intervention was needed, he wanted to make sure they knew he was available. Not that they ever would ask him to step in. He had learned that long ago. There was a connection between the two of them that didn't allow any outsiders into it. It was almost eerie at times.
"Is there a problem between the two of you?" he finally asked.
Chris sat up straighter in his chair. "No," he assured the older man. "Everything is fine."
Harry's stern expression didn't waver. He hadn't reached this point in his life without learning a lot about the fine art of intimidation. "If there is a problem," he stated slowly and succinctly, punctuating each word with a finger tap to his desktop, "and let me assure you that I'm not exactly blind these days, I want it dealt with immediately. The tension out there is giving me a headache."
"I'll take care of it, Cap."
Chris' assurances should have made him feel better, but there was an uncertainty in the blue eyes that worried him even more. "Is your partner still taking a few days off at the end of the week?"
"She leaves for Santa Margarita on Wednesday after work."
"Good." Harry picked up his pen. "Maybe some time spent with friends is just what Rita needs right now."
Chris' mouth fell open at the Captain's comment. Time spent with friends? What was that supposed to mean? His eyes dropped away, and he pretended to study the back of his hand. There had never been any type of problem in the past that he and Rita couldn't find a way to handle between the two of them. Why would this time be any different? They hadn't even had a disagreement. He was her best friend….
But the Captain sounded so sure of himself. The little niggling seed of concern that he had been ignoring for weeks was churning its way into a first-class ulcer.
Maybe they could talk tonight at her place. Settle everything once and for all. Wait, he stopped that line of thinking right away. The fund raiser was tonight. He had the rented suit and everything. That only left Tuesday, because Rita was leaving on Wednesday….
"Chris! Are you listening to me?"
Startled out of his planning, Chris glanced up guiltily. "Sorry. What did you say, Cap?"
Harry's deep sigh echoed though the small office. "I asked you if you have any idea what is bothering Rita. If this isn't about Eric, what is it about? You are her partner, surely you have some idea."
"To tell you the truth, I've been a little distracted lately."
"Not you, too," the Captain blurted out impatiently, "Are you and Jillian having problems?"
Chris winced at the tone of his boss's voice. "Not exactly," he answered hesitantly. "I just get the feeling that there is something going on with her that she hasn't told me about yet."
"She's a doctor, Chris. One of the most self-involved professions known to man. I would have thought you'd be tired of all that by now."
"Tired of what?" Chris asked in astonishment. The Captain had never said a word about his relationship with Jillian before. "I thought you liked Jillian?"
Harry stood up, a silent signal that the meeting was drawing to a close. "I don't have anything against Jillian," he assured the younger man, "but being involved with a doctor means you always settle for second place with their time and attention."
Chris thought about the Captain's words as he stood up and crossed to the doorway. With one hand on the door knob, he turned back. "Almost like being involved with a cop, wouldn't you say?"
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, kid. I guess you're right."
Before Chris could leave, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"I'm serious about Rita, Chris." The Captain had lowered his voice, "If there is something going on that could interfere with the job, you need to either take care of it between yourselves or set up a meeting so the three of us can hash it out together. This is not a profession that tolerates inattention or distractions. Either one can lead to fatal mistakes."
"I know that, Captain," Chris responded with a solemn nod. Deep in thought, he returned to his desk.
Dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a soft pink sweatshirt, Rita stared at the frozen block of food in her hand, grimacing as she turned it over to read the instructions. It was just past seven in the evening and her stomach had been growling ever since she arrived home half an hour ago. Too tired to contemplate cooking, she had unearthed a frozen dinner from the back of the freezer. The label on the box promised a culinary masterpiece in just under four minutes. And pigs could fly, right?
Resigned to her fate, she opened the box and slid the cardboard tray into the small microwave oven. Once the timer was set, she pulled out a service for one and arranged a place for herself at the table. No rushed eating at the counter tonight. That was for lonely people.
She would eat at the small glass dining table instead. With a placemat and a real dish. The way most people ate. People with families. Or people who took pleasure in their independence and self-sufficiency.
After all, loneliness and being alone were two separate issues. Most of her life had been spent relatively alone, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She had plenty of friends - some closer than others, and there had even been a foster family at one time. If she was 'alone' tonight, it was by choice.
As Rita leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folded across her waist, her thoughts turned to Chris and she couldn't help smiling.
It had been over a week since their last dinner together. One commitment or another on both of their parts had left little time for socializing. But at least they still worked together. And regardless of whose arms he was in tonight, he would always occupy a special corner of her heart. Her best buddy was smart, charming, and witty. It was only natural that she should miss the relaxed evenings filled with good company and teasing conversation. Those kinds of evenings could only happen with someone you knew really well. A best friend, a sibling, or even a spouse.
Intense green eyes focused on a framed picture hanging on the wall across from her. It was a candid group shot taken by a fellow employee at the annual volley ball game against the Palm Beach Fire Department. The amateur photographer had managed to capture a group of friends smiling and laughing at some long-forgotten joke. Chris was with her in the center of the small group, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they walked.
She used to worry that once she and her partner were both in a serious, committed relationships, their friendship would be strained, but Chris had always sworn that it would continue. She had wanted to believe him and, so far, he had been right. Considering all they had been through together, it was unthinkable that they could just walk out of each other's lives - but love changed many things.
Had it really been less than a year since she had hung the framed photograph on the wall? The annual volley ball tournament had taken place a few weeks before Chris had been shot; a mere month or two before she met Eric. It was easy to spot the simple, almost naïve joy in their expressions. So much had changed since then.
Her insides tightened in despair.
"Oh, for God's sake," Rita muttered to herself. She was happy for Chris. To feel anything else would be childish and selfish. Maybe it was time to start dating again. With a little more effort on her part, maybe the desire would return. It was so hard to even think of going through the motions right now. Visiting Gina on Wednesday was turning out to be an inspired decision. A little girl talk, a little wine and music as they caught up on each other's lives…. it was probably just what she needed.
The timer went off. Dinner was ready and the table was set, but her appetite had vanished. The once tempting smell was nauseating now.
Rita removed the steaming dinner with an oven mitt, and without giving it a second glance, tossed it in the kitchen trash.
Weariness had taken the place of hunger. After switching off the kitchen light she padded barefoot into living room, and settled herself on the couch, drawing her legs up under her.
A quick glance at the slim gold band around her wrist confirmed that it was too early to think about sleep. The TV would be a good distraction, but she was suddenly too lazy to turn it on. Before she could stop herself, her thoughts had once again turned inward.
How could she have compromised the beliefs of a lifetime by blinding herself to Eric's weaknesses? Especially after vowing years ago to avoid such relationships. Was she doomed to a legacy of loss - a lifetime of pain and disappointment? How could she have set herself up for that all over again? If she were ever going to learn from these mistakes, she needed to find understanding within herself. And that was what she continued to struggle with.
The questions were driving her crazy - the elusive answers, even crazier.
But maybe there were no answers yet. Rita lowered her legs back down to the floor. The same instinct for survival that served her so well in her professional life was now pushing her to look deeper, but for once in her life she wasn't ready to trust those inner urges.
The setting sun drew her attention, sending bright patterns of light across everything in the room. Rita rose slowly from the couch, holding a hand above her eyes to shield the glare as she crossed to the window. Just as she was about to adjust the angle of the blinds, a movement on the walkway below caught her attention.
She glanced down a second too late to get a good look at the person entering the small apartment building. The complex was made up of eight units; four on each floor. Maybe the attractive widow next door was expecting company. "Good for her, if she is," Rita whispered, mentally cheering the older woman on.
The unseen visitor entered the upstairs hallway, and Rita automatically turned away from the window. Her subconscious, trained by years of investigative work, followed the sound of steady footfalls as they drew nearer, fully expecting them to continue on past her threshold. A few seconds elapsed before she realized that they had stopped.
The doorbell, when it rang, still came as a surprise. So did the knocking.
It was the sound of her name that finally startled her into crossing the room and opening the door. Surprise and wonder held her transfixed for several heartbeats.
Back lit by the bright light of the hallway, he appeared magnificent. The rich black material of his tuxedo enhanced the long, lean contours of his body.
One lone word from him broke the spell surrounding her.
"Pizza?"
How could cool blue eyes, the color of arctic skies, exude such affectionate, familiar warmth? Something deep inside of her shifted back into place for the first time in many, many weeks. Maybe even months. She accepted the large, flat box and managed a flustered, "Thank you," before stepping back to allow him in.
Chris held up his other hand, offering additional bounty, "Wine?"
She motioned towards the kitchen, and her eyes followed his progress. His stride was quick and elegant. His manner self-assured.
She blushed, embarrassed for staring, but experiencing the loss of his presence the instant he disappeared into the small kitchen.
"Chris?" She finally found her voice. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Marriott tonight?" There was no immediate answer. "With Jillian?" she added, placing one bare foot in front of the other as she set out to follow him. She placed the pizza box down on the glass table.
He met her on his way back into the living room, holding two empty wine glasses, the open bottle of burgundy, and a handful of paper napkins. Placing everything on the table, his empty hands fell back down to his side.
"Jillian didn't need me there tonight."
The quiet explanation rippled through her, leaving confusion in its wake.
"I don't understand."
"Come here." Chris caught her hand on his way to the couch. Once there she followed his unspoken request and sat down. She waited expectantly, but he didn't join her right away. Instead, he tugged on the black bow tie around his neck. The knot came undone easily and he slid the smooth, silky material out from under his collar. Folding it several times, he tucked it into an outside pocket. Her eyes followed his hands as they unbuttoned the tuxedo jacket. Strong shoulders shrugged off the beautifully cut coat. He draped it over the back of a nearby chair before returning his attention to her.
At any other time, she would have teased him about undressing in front of her - wondering aloud if he secretly longed for his undercover days as an exotic dancer, but not tonight. Tonight, she just watched.
Chris released the constricting top button of his shirt with a dramatic sigh and dropped down onto the couch. "Come here," he repeated, pulling her closer and then guiding her shoulders around so her back could rest against his chest.
She adjusted herself instinctively as the two safest arms in the world enveloped her in their warmth.
"We need to talk, Sammy." The concerned whisper was murmured against her hair.
"I know," she admitted. The top of her head nuzzled against his chin. "Can we just sit like this for a few minutes first?" The simple request seemed to take him by surprise, but she felt his nod of acceptance.
Closing her eyes, absorbing her partner's strength, she let down her guard, and found renewal in the silence that surrounded them. It was peaceful and healing.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Chris knew he had made the right decision tonight. Maybe Rita could take care of herself as Jillian had pointed out to him, but that didn't mean she wasn't hurting. That didn't mean she didn't need him. Maybe not as a shoulder to cry on, but simply a hand to hold. To remind her she wasn't alone.
Blue eyes searched the room in the disappearing light of evening. He wanted evidence - the reasons for her discontent. He wanted to make it all better - to solve her problems, to ease her pain, but he was only just now beginning to understand that he couldn't.
He tightened his arms, tilting his head to one side in order to check on her. Her eyes were closed, her pale pink lips relaxed into a gentle smile. In contrast, her slim fingers clung firmly to the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt. His breathing, and possibly even his heart beat, had changed slightly to match the rhythm of hers. Small, beautifully shaped feet rested on the seat cushion in front of her, peeking out from under the hem of her jeans. At times like this her physical presence seemed so slight. As if she could be taken away from him so easily. But her frailty was deceptive. He knew her strengths.
A distant clock struck the eight o'clock hour. Jillian would be arriving at the Marriott soon on the arm of her last-minute escort. He should be feeling guilty, even though he knew her fellow doctor would make the evening enjoyable for her.
He should be feeling guilty - but he wasn't.
He was feeling strangely content. He had missed these quiet times together with his best friend.
His lips moved through the soft brown hair resting against his chin, and he inhaled. Her essence, her spirit - filled in all the hollow places. What could he say to this woman of his heart to let her know how much she meant to him? How could he convince her that he would always be there for her, just as she had always been there for him?
She was kindness, intelligence, and beauty. The best partner, confidante, or friend he had ever known. She was everything to him…she was Rita.
Together, they would work it all out.
They always did.
"Help her find peace," he silently asked the powers above. "If anyone deserves it, she does."
Rita shifted in his arms. One delicate hand reached up to cup the back of his neck, pressing him closer. His eyelids drifted downward.
It was the unspoken language of love, but a love not yet ready to shed the vestments and safety of friendship. Their bond - the connection they treasured above all else - was destined to be redefined by time, circumstance, and truth.
After all, it was impossible to guard against that which the heart had willingly accepted a long, long, time ago.
THE END