When the day dawned, the rains had stopped, but dark puddles spotted the streets, marking my way back to her.
Once Bill had broken up several scuffles between Kara's mother Sondra and Lee, then she and Saul, then she and Carolanne, there was nothing to do in the ER waiting room but think as the hours crept by.
The others were either sulking in corners or napping, but Bill was wide awake, replaying the evening's earlier events. Sweat peppered his brow as he remembered how he'd pushed his way into Laura's apartment, ripping off her robe, dragged her to the bedroom—
Even his self-recrimination couldn't stop him from reveling in the what happened next. Buried balls deep, her wrapped tightly around him nearly to the point of pain; the sensation had him teetering on the edge with the first thrust.
But her face was what had truly captured him. It was filled with wonder and a sense of discovery as they moved together. Her trembling mouth was slack, yet her tear-filled gaze held his in an unbreakable grip. Between gentle kisses, he'd started babbling with no idea what he said, like confessions to a blessed saint.
As though shot in an ambush, he'd tumbled off the cliff with no regard for her pleasure. He thought he may have made it up to her later, but dammit, it had been her first time. It should have been perfect.
He glanced at the clock. 4 AM. He couldn't call her and apologize, for what that would have been worth. He could still smell her—them, on his skin. He glanced over at Carolanne, who sat across from him, her arms folded, her smoldering eyes boring into him. And he didn't care if anyone else could too—
His thoughts became dark and possessive. Mine. Marked her. No other man will have what I have.
He shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chart, so like a church pew. He considered himself an enlightened, progressive man; where the hell did that come from?
Dee sat down beside Bill and shot him a worried look. "Are you all right?"
He patted her arm. "Yeah, of course. Just worried about Kara."
"They just came and got her mother."
So wrapped up in his worries, he hadn't even noticed the tough ex-cop leave. Another wave of guilt washed over him.
He turned his attention to the young woman beside him. "I'm glad you're here, Dee. Didn't know you and Kara were that close."
She gave him a quick smile. "Well, cops' code, you know. I came with Lee."
He looked around the waiting room and at the dark uniforms gathered in tight groups, all holding the white paper coffee cups.
"Yep," he said heavily, feeling the weight of that life, the life he couldn't leave behind even in the pages of his books.
Sondra returned to the waiting room. Bill rose and moved to hear what she had to say. Her voice had the sharp edge of the thousands of cigarettes she'd smoked and the gallons of booze she'd drank.
"They're gonna do surgery on her knee at six," she said, "Then release her this afternoon."
"To her apartment?" asked Bill.
He and Lee exchanged doubtful looks, thinking of Kara's small sparse home.
"Yeah," her mother said. "I'll stay with her." She shot the others an indignant look as though expecting an argument.
Lee jumped in. "I'll come by—"
"The loo put you on duty today," Dee said quickly. "He wants to get as many shifts out of you that he can before your last day."
Carolanne made a sound in the back of her throat that Bill knew so well; part fear, part anger.
"I'll come help get Kara settled," Bill said, ignoring the wave of exhaustion that flooded him.
Sondra nodded reluctantly.
"Can we see her?" Bill asked.
Lee pursed his mouth as though holding back a comment.
"One at a time," said Sondra, turning away with a shrug.
When it was his turn, Bill came around the curtain to see Kara propped up in the hospital bed. He gave her a warm smile, causing her tense face to soften with a sigh of relief.
"Hey you," he said gently, cupping her shoulder with his large hand.
"Hey," she mumbled.
"Glad to see you," he said.
She nodded, her gaze dropping her dirty hands, the nails broken.
"Gonna take better care of yourself now?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Her head bobbed again.
He realized that his newly-formed feelings for Laura made this moment possible. His anger, his recriminations, had melted away earlier in the night. He rubbed the young woman's arm and her tear-filled eyes turned up to meet his.
"I will," Kara promised.
"That's all I can ask," he said humbly.
Before Kara's surgery, Bill took a taxi home and hurriedly showered and shaved, resolutely not looking at his inviting bed. After stepping out of the shower, he quickly called Laura.
She snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Oh thank God, Bill," she said at the sound of his voice. "I haven't slept a wink—"
Wearily, he rubbed his hair with the towel. "I'm sorry—" he started to say. This was it. She was going to tell him to never see her again—
"What's happened? Is Kara all right?"
He shook his head to clear it. "Yeah, she'll be fine. Got a pretty good knock on the head, some cracked ribs and her knee's messed up. They're doing surgery first thing this morning."
"How awful," Laura said. "Her mother's there?"
"For what that's worth."
At Laura's inquisitive hum, he quickly added, "They don't get along very well. Her mother wants to take her home after she's released this afternoon, but I'll go along to keep them from killing each other."
"When are you going to get some rest?" she asked.
"I'll be fine," he said, dismissing her concerns. He squinted at the clock. "You should to be getting to work."
"Yes, I just wanted to know how you were before I left."
Even in his exhaustion, he saw his opening. "If you were here, you could see for yourself," he said craftily.
She pretended to misunderstand. "And how would I have gotten in? Do you leave a key under a rock by your front stoop?"
"I'm an ex-cop; of course not. It's with my neighbor."
"Deanna? I don't think she'll be doing me any favors."
As he chuckled, she gasped at the time. "I must go. But—"
"Why don't you call me when you get off work?" he suggested before she could try to sidestep seeing him again so soon.
"I was just going to suggest that," she said firmly.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"For what?" She sounded distracted and distant; he could imagine her looking for her tablet and purse.
He chickened out. "I wanted to wake in your arms. And instead—"
"I understand. You have to be there for Kara."
"Her Dad split on them when she was just a kid—"
"You don't have to make excuses to love a child, Bill," she said. "Now I have to go."
She hung up before he could say anything more. He stared at the receiver for a long, dull-witted moment, then replaced it.
Back at the hospital, Lee was gone, forced to report for duty. Dee had gone with him. When her son left, Carolanne had disappeared as well. Sondra Thrace stood outside the door, right on the No Smoking zone's line, puffing on her unfiltered cigarette.
Bill found Kara's rookie partner, Brendan Costanza. The young man had been slumped against the wall all night, avoiding the attempts by the other police officers to bolster his spirits.
"How yah doin'?" Bill asked him.
Costanza straightened. "Okay, sir."
"Why don't we go grab some breakfast," suggested Bill.
Sitting in the hospital cafeteria, Bill listened to the young man recount the call that had gone wrong, trying not to see the events play out with his own son. After going over that a few times, the rookie turned his this other passionate interest, women, or getting pussy, as he called his relationships.
Wincing to himself, Bill remained impassive, letting the boy talk. At moments like this, he was very grateful to no longer be in his twenties, wanting to add notches to his bedpost.
They went to the post-op waiting room and found Sondra twitching for lack of a cigarette, waiting for the surgeon. A quick-talking Asian woman, who barely came to Bill's mid-chest, appeared shortly. She told them everything had gone as expected and Kara be checked out sometime after noon.
It was closer to 2 PM before Bill loaded the complaining patient in the Citreon's backseat, her grumbling mother in the front, and drove them to Kara's apartment. Inside, he found the sheets dingy, the refrigerator empty and the cable turned off. By the time he'd rectified all three situations, it was after five and he could barely focus to drive home.
But when he unlocked his front door and stepped inside, he was instantly alert. Someone was in his home. His weapon was in its lock box upstairs. He should step outside and call for backup.
Instead, he crept toward the kitchen, where he heard banging sounds.
"Laura," he growled when he entered the room.
Her face flushed from the stove's heat, she looked at him triumphantly. "Oh hello," she said, stepping forward.
Shocked, he barely registered that she kissed him quickly before turning back to her bubbling pots.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"You told me to come over," she tossed over her shoulder as she stirred something furiously, causing hot water to slosh over the cooktop.
"Okay," he said numbly, slowly shaking his head.
"I decided the problem with my cooking is my implements. And my kitchen," she said brightly.
He tried to surreptitiously peer in a pan. "Uh huh," he mumbled.
Frowning in concentration, she chopped up potatoes, causing pieces to skitter across the cutting board.
"How did you get in?" he asked.
"I asked Deanna for a key."
"How'd that go?" he said with a grin, leaning against the table.
"Not well," she admitted. "But she gave me the key."
He reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. "Thanks," he offered easily, before giving her a proper kiss hello. Then his stomach growled.
"I swear, I'm not one of those old men with uncontrollable bodily noises," he promised as she giggled and nestled under his chin, wrapping her arms around his middle.
"You're just always hungry around me?" she suggested.
His hands moved down to cup her ass. "Yeah," he rumbled in her ear.
She lay her hands on his chest and carefully pushed herself away.
"Let me take care of one of your hungers," she said, a tremor in her voice.
He sank to a chair. "Fine. Feed me, woman."
Her eyes dancing as her humor returned, she turned back her task. He watched her sashay between the stove, sink and refrigerator, her hips swaying seductively. She certainly hadn't moved that way when he first met her. Now she seemed to have an easy grace that drew his eyes with every movement. He must have knocked something loose in her.
He snorted at his ridiculous thought, the sort of hysteria brought on by lack of sleep.
"What?" she asked suspiciously, peeking at him over her shoulder.
"Nothin'," he said innocently.
Shaking her head, she suggested: "Get yourself a drink."
"Sure you want me to?" He stood but waited to move to the liquor cabinet.
"It's your house; your life," she said without turning around, intent on her cooking.
After another moment, he poured a whiskey. He wasn't sure if he appreciated that she wasn't trying to rule his life or if he should see that as a sign she wasn't invested in it. In many ways, she wasn't like any woman he'd met before.
He sat at the table again.
She pulled down two plates. "So what happened with Kara?"
"Her and her rookie partner had a suspect cornered, or so they thought." Bill took a swallow from his drink. "The guy got in a car and ran her down."
Laura put the plates on the table and sat beside him. He realized he was famished and started shoveling bites into his mouth.
"Was her partner hurt?"
"She pushed him out of the way in time." Bill went for a glass of water and Laura nodded to his offer for one for her.
"That was very brave of her."
"That's the way she is," he said gravely, returning to the table.
Smoothing her napkin on her lap, Laura didn't meet his gaze. "Why do you think she caused your son's death?" she asked quietly.
He sighed and took another sip from his whiskey. "She let love cloud her judgment."
Still not looking at him, Laura's hand crept over to squeeze his. "Surely there were more people responsible for approving his street-ready status than just Kara. And there was Zak himself."
Tears pricked at Bill's eyes. He was so damn tired. "I don't know about that. Zak wanted to please me—and being a cop was the best way."
She tipped her head. "Not a writer?"
He gave her a weak grin. "Doesn't take any balls to do that."
"I think so," she said earnestly. "I loved what you've written so far. It's so raw, a real progression from your previous books."
He focused on the scarred tabletop. "Don't know if anyone wants to read that," he said cautiously.
"I do."
He lifted her hand to kiss the back.
She cleared her throat. "Are you going to kill Joey in this book?"
He held her level gaze but didn't answer.
"I think you should. I think it could help."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice distant.
She didn't let him intimidate her. "This writer's block...It's been since Zak's death, right? Two years? I realized that he must have died as you were finishing your last book. I could see something was wrong when I read it."
He rose to refill his drink. He could feel her gaze on his wide back as he dropped ice cubes in the glass and poured more whiskey.
"He's my son, Laura. My son. Not some book." He swung around, his face stoic even as his voice was belligerent.
"He was a character while he lived. I'm a character. You're one. We're all in there. Only you can control what happens to them. If Joey lives, it will feel false. You've already hidden him in the pages. I noticed it even before I met you. He deserves better than that."
As she spoke passionately, Bill fell back into his chair. He cradled his hand in his palm; it felt impossibly heavy.
"I'll think about it," he finally said.
She didn't let it go. "What has your editor said?"
"I don't show my drafts to anyone before I send the final one to the publisher," he told her.
"You showed it to me," she pointed out.
"Uh huh," he said, his eyes warm on her.
Flushing, she hopped up. Taking their empty plates to the sink, she scraped them clean. "You must have enjoyed my cooking," she said proudly.
He smiled at her back. The asparagus had been over-cooked, the potatoes hard, the chicken tough; it was the best meal he'd ever eaten.
"It was delicious," he said truthfully.
He rose, not bothering to contain his groan of pain.
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she frowned as she looked over the obviously exhausted man. "I should go," she said with finality.
He motioned with his head to the doorway. "Come on. Sleep with me," he suggested. "We got robbed last night."
Even as she moved to fit under his raised arm, she shook her head. "Neither of us is in an shape to—"
"Sleep," he murmured into her hair. "Just sleep."
That did sound wonderful. The few blocks to her house seemed a great distance suddenly as she leaned into his warm bulk.
"Well..."
He led her to the door, turning the lights off behind them. "If you brought a few things over, it would be simple..."
She laughed and wrapped her arm around his middle to give him a squeeze. "Bill..." she said warningly.
"What?" he said with all innocence as they mounted the stairs.
"We're fine just like this," she promised him.
He didn't bother to turn the light on in the bedroom. "Just like this," he said softly, kissing the corner of her mouth.
She tipped her forehead to his, needing support from the rush of emotion through her limbs.
"Want something to sleep in?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she said, disentangling herself from his arms and heading to the bathroom.
'Her' toothbrush was still by the sink. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Bill joined her, already stripped down to his boxers. He offered her a clean white tee shirt.
She thanked him and after draping her clothes over a chair, slipped on the shirt. It was soft and despite being laundered, smelled invitingly of him. She was already in bed, propped up on the pillows when he came out of the bathroom.
While he dropped his clothes in the laundry basket and tucked his shoes in the closet, she held up her palm.
"What's this?" she asked.
He peered at the object before removing his glasses. Oh," he said, deflated. "Rose petals."
"Do they scent the sheets?" she asked, confused.
"No, they were for Friday night. Rose petals on the bed," he explained as he lifted the cover and sat on the mattress.
It was her turn to say, "Oh," still perplexed.
"It's romantic," he said, feeling foolish. It wasn't romantic if you had to explain.
Her furrowed brow softened. "I see," she said, opening her arms to him.
Giving a deep sign of contentment, he lay beside her and nestled his head between her breasts.
Twining her fingers through his hair, she murmured. "Happy now?"
"Yes," he said simply, obviously close to sleep already.
Laura didn't think she would possibly fall asleep with his heavy weight on her, but she slipped away soon, his steady breathing her metronome.