Once Alana Richards had calmed down, Hardy left soon after, having given her his private cell phone number with instructions to call him if she needed anything. She'd returned the favor and given him her own phone number and he promised he'd be in touch sooner than later.
He'd felt the sort of helplessness he saw in her eyes that day, the bitterness, resentment—he'd felt it all. And at this moment he was determined to help this woman—practically a stranger to him—get beyond it.
The next day he'd gotten off work and checked his phone to find a text.
Got a few minutes to chat? As soon as he got home, he called her and began listening.
"You know who I'm angry with—more than the dirty cops who threw him under the bus, more than the journalists, more than the jerks who said the cruelest things, some of them my family—you know who I'm angry with?"
"Who?" he said, listening to her as he laid stretched out on his couch.
"Him. Why did he have to give up? Why'd he have to leave me all alone? I'm so angry with him."
Hardy closed his eyes and imagined her somewhere in her home, most likely curled up on the couch he'd just barely gotten a glance of through her front door. "You're not alone anymore."
"Yeah, well, this weird friendship born of shared bitterness isn't exactly the same, Hardy."
"Yes well, be that as it may, my statement still stands."
She sighed. "Yeah, I know. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
There was quiet a moment. Then she dropped the real bomb.
"I was pregnant."
"What?" His eyes flew open and he sat up straight out of reflex.
"When it happened. When he killed himself. We'd been trying for three years on and off, when he wasn't on undercover assignments. Doctors said it was stress that kept me from getting pregnant—the worry over his dangerous assignments. But then, in the midst of all the crap we were going through with the investigation, one day it finally happened. I got pregnant."
Hardy was quiet. He bent over, knees pressing into his elbows, and held his head up with one hand, the other holding the phone to his ear. He was speechless, his heart was breaking, and his own anger towards the man who had left this remarkable woman was growing. Without knowing what to say, he waited for her to tell him the rest when she was ready.
"Just days after I found him, I miscarried. As if it weren't enough to lose him. He took away our baby, too. I hate him." Her voice had grown hoarse and trembled with emotion.
He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his free hand. "I'm so sorry, Alana…" He considered the situation, and her emotional state. "Would you…would you like me to come over?"
"No. There's no point."
"Sure there is. If you need someone, that's enough of a point. I can come."
"No. Don't." He heard her sniffle and sigh. "I should go now. I'm sorry I bothered you with all this.
"You're not a bother, Alana."
"Yes well… bye."
She'd hung up before he could respond. He stared at his phone a moment before doing some even crazier than his actions of the last few days. He jumped up and quickly slipped on his shoes. The walk to her cottage from his took exactly eight minutes. When he knocked it took her much less time to get to the door this time. She opened it only a few inches and looked out at him.
"I told you not to come."
"I know what you said. I came anyway."
Without another word, she opened the door wider and let him in. He stepped through equally as quiet before she closed the door back. As soon as it latched he gently grabbed hold of one of her arms and pulled her into his embrace. He knew it could get him slapped, punched, or worse, but it just seemed like the right thing…the only thing…he could do in that moment. There really were no words to be said that could heal the hurt she felt. There was a hesitant moment in which he thought she might fight it, and he'd have understood. But then, she seemed to relax into his embrace. So he held her, standing there in the middle of her living room he held her close and she wept. It was several minutes before he shifted and walked her over to the couch where a blanket lay tousled. As he'd guessed, she'd been curled up under it when they talked. He pulled her down with him, adjusting his arm to be around her as they sat on the couch, and leaned over to pull the blanket up over her.
"Hardy…you, um…you don't have to…"
"Ssh, just hush and come here," he said, his Scottish brogue going deep as he admonished her and gently tugged her into the nook of his side. She hesitantly allowed herself to lean into him, and then after a moment, relaxed into his side. It was only a moment longer before he felt as much as heard the tears start again. Her body trembled and he wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders. "Cry as much as you need to. There's no shame in tears. And you have a right to feel whatever emotion you have right now—they're all justified, if you ask me. So if crying is what you need, then go ahead." He glanced over to see a box of tissues on the side table and grabbed it with his free hand and passed it to her.
A little while later, her breathing had calmed to the point that Hardy thought she might have fallen asleep. At some point, her hand had come to rest on his chest just above his heart and pacemaker. It wasn't till that moment that he considered the position he was in at this moment—both literally and figuratively. He sighed. He wanted desperately to pretend he was just being a good friend with Alana Reynolds. He wanted to pretend he wasn't quickly falling for her. The question was, how long was he going to be able to pretend? Why was he doing this to himself? Then, he started to feel guilty. Why was he doing this to her. It was inevitable. All he'd do was hurt her. And she'd been hurt enough.
She stirred. He could tell she was waking as she shifted around then suddenly went stiff. She slowly lifted her head and looked up at him. "This is a bit embarrassing."
"It doesn't have to didn't do anything I didn't invite."
Instead of pulling away, she leaned just the tiniest bit closer. "Hardy…Alec—I—"
"Alana," he started to say more, but she quickly leaned in and kissed him. Or had he leaned forward and kissed her? It all felt a blur as his brain short circuited in the moment.
But it was only a moment. She pulled back and slid across the couch to the opposite corner in one deft move.
"I'm sorry," they both said in unison. Both staring ahead as they straightened themselves.
"I should…I should go," Alec said as he stood quickly, ignoring the thumping in his chest as he left without waiting on a response from her.
For several days Alec ignored the aching desire to reach back out to Alana. To see how she was doing. He'd gone too far and now, after that kiss and the swarm of emotions he'd felt afterward, he knew he had to back up.
He was back out at the sea wall, overlooking the cliffs, the very spot he'd first met Alana Reynolds. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be thinking about her, he should be working, that's what he always did to ignore his feelings and escape from the reality of his loneliness, wasn't it?
He was obviously distracted, as he didn't notice her presence till he heard her voice. "So that's it, is it? One mistake and I've ruined our friendship for good?"
He turned quickly and spotted her. She looked rough. Blue jeans and an oversized hoodie sweatshirt with some school logo emblazoned across the front. The hood was up over her head, shadowing her face, but he could see her bloodshot eyes. He swallowed hard. "Alana, I-" It was all he could seem to get out in that moment as he looked at her sad state.
"It's okay, I understand. I'm broken, screwed up, who'd want to take that on? You tried to be helpful, I'm really thankful for the time we had. Thank you for listening. But I screwed up. I was in the moment and I just…I just did it. And now I've ruined it." She had turned and started to walk away before Alec could argue.
Finally, he launched himself forward as he spoke. "It's not you who has ruined things, Alana."
She stopped, but didn't turn around. "What do you mean?"
"Just that—I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I promise I just meant to be there for you as a friend, to be a listening ear, to help you through this as best I could, as someone who understood. I didn't mean to—"
She turned around, the hood falling away from her head as she did so. Something about seeing her face fully, the vulnerability of her expression, made his inhale quickly. "You didn't mean to kiss me?"
"Correct."
"But I kissed you."
He dared to step closer to her. "I'm fairly certain it was a two-way street, Alana. You weren't alone in that particular show of affection," he said quietly as he moved closer to maintain the privacy of their conversation. "And if I remember correctly, which I'm certain I do as I've replayed that evening in my head multiple times every day since, it was I who insisted I'd hold you while you cried."
"So…it was…mutual."
"Aye, except I feel as though I took advantage of your weakened emotional state, and that was terribly wrong of me." She maintained her gaze, eyes not leaving his. He exhaled, still feeling guilt on his chest. "Look at you, even now you're still crying…," he said, hand starting to reach up to her cheek but stopping himself.
"Yeah, except it's not him I've been crying over this time…"
"What—who—who then?"
Her eyebrow slowly raised. "Alec…I—you—we kissed…and then you ran out and I haven't heard from you in four days. Who the heck do you think I'm crying about? Maybe it wasn't as memorable for you, but-"
"Oh, I remember it…"
"But you didn't want it? First you said you didn't mean to kiss me. Then you just said it was a two-way street. And I—I'm confused."
Hardy sighed. "It's not that I didn't want to kiss you. But I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to cross that line. I—I don't want to hurt you, Alana."
"So walking out and avoiding me for four days is not hurting me?"
"Yes, it is."
"Come again? I don't quite understand your math on this."
"A little hurt now will save you a lot of hurt in the long run."
"And how exactly would you hurt me in the long run?" she asked with a scowl on her face.
"I'm rubbish at relationships, Alana. I can barely hold down a friendship much less…" He grew flustered as he considered his own feelings. "Well, much less anything more than that."
"What are you talking about, Alec? I mean—sorry, Hardy—what are you talking about, Hardy? You were doing a fantastic job of being a friend to me. You introduced yourself to a stranger and made me feel less bad for standing in the middle of the walkway for you to run into. You brought me a welcome gift because you felt bad about my reaction to your vocation. I was the one who acted foolish when I found out you were a cop. And you didn't give up when I slammed the door in your face. And you listened to me vent, and you…you held me when I broke down over old wounds."
"You lost your husband and a child, Alana—those are wounds that you deserve to still be upset over."
"See? That—that is friendship, that is care—that is lo—" She stopped herself from saying the word. "Well, all I mean to say is—you seem quite good at relationships to me, Alec Hardy. Not at all rubbish."
"You haven't seen me at my worst, Alana. Lucky for you, you seem to have brought out the best in me lately. But it's only a matter of time. I'm a grumpy old man and I inevitably would say or do something to hurt you."
"Oh, I see—so you're allowed to care about, listen to, and take care of other people's needs and concerns. But no one is allowed to be there for you?"
"What are you talking about?"
She reached out and placed her hand gently on his chest, right over his heart. "People who care about each other…they do just that—it isn't one sided, Hardy. They care for each other, when one is down, hurting, angry, frustrated—grumpy—the other takes care of them, helps them through it. And visa versa. I've done my own bit of research in the past four days. As far as I can see, what you've been through—well, maybe you deserve to be a little grumpy sometimes. But you also need someone to tell you when to snap out of it. We all do."
"You don't want to be that person."
"Don't you think I should make that decision for myself?"
He stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to handle this American woman who'd swooped into his life and taken residence.
He remained silent, so she spoke again. "I'm not asking for a marriage proposal, Hardy. Not even for a date, or even another kiss. Maybe our 'weakened emotional state' did get the better of both of us that night. But don't avoid me. Don't walk away. Let's get to know each other some more. Let's be friends. Let me be your friend, Hardy."
