Chapter Sixteen

Kendall let Zach into her condo and, for the first time in a long time—maybe for the first time ever, given their contentious history—there was no hidden agenda on either side, none on hers for offering it, none on his for accepting it. Or at least not so either of them could tell, or muster up any indignation over if they could. The shared multi-barbed scourge of grief, guilt, and simple exhaustion had for the moment scrubbed away all but the most rudimentary self-protection mechanisms each normally had in place at the bare minimum.

The existing issues between them remained. But by tacit agreement akin to a spontaneous Christmas cease-fire in a war zone where common humanity superseded individual hatred neither Kendall nor Zach referred to their differences. Zach laid down his weapons when he entered beneath Kendall's white flag. That didn't mean things weren't awkward between them. If anything things were more awkward: There was no precedent whatsoever for this.

"Sit down, Zach. I'll, um, make the coffee…do you want to start with some tea while it's brewing?" she asked.

"Sure, why not."

With Zach leaning back against the sofa cushions with his eyes closed, Kendall prepared two mugs of tea. While the tea steeped she foraged for food to serve with it, for she had eaten very little recently and found that she was ravenous. Since she rarely ate meals at home unless Ethan shopped and cooked, the cupboards were mostly bare, but she turned up a box of low-fat fruit and cereal bars. Better than nothing to take the edge off and help absorb the alcohol in Zach's system, she'd supposed.

Carrying a tray holding mugs, plate of cereal bars, napkins, a couple of spoons, and the sugar bowl—which miraculously was half-full—over to Zach, Kendall cleared her throat, not too loudly. After all, if he was asleep, that would let her off the hook. His eyelids jerked open immediately, though, and he looked up at her in a somewhat bemused manner that unexpectedly made her flush.

"I made the tea really strong. Here." She placed the tray before him on cocktail table. "Help yourself." She began to return to the kitchen area to start the coffee.

"Are both mugs for me or are you going to have some?" Zach asked.

"I thought you wanted coffee?"

"Kendall, this is fine. Don't go to any more trouble for me."

Taking a mug and a cereal bar, she retreated to the easy chair facing the sofa. He'd swallowed most of his tea and polished off a whole bar before she'd even unwrapped her bar. This wasn't the first time she'd fed Zach, she reflected. He'd dropped in on her before, and in on her and Ethan, always in full manipulation mode, occasionally at mealtimes and as welcome as a bear at a picnic. But this was the first time she'd actually fed Zach of her own volition.

Ethan…! What if Ethan comes in now and finds Zach here? He'll be absolutely livid.

The thought, followed by the abrupt and painful realization Ethan would never do so, forced Kendall to stifle a sudden whimper. Knowing it had caught Zach's attention, she buried her nose in her mug, but she could feel the pull of his gaze. She was afraid to meet it. Rising from her chair she excused herself and went back to the kitchen, keeping her back to the living room. Bracing herself against the counter, Kendall tried to take some deep, calming breaths. Over the sound of her own breathing she felt, rather than heard, Zach come up behind her.

"The tea was nice," he said gruffly. "But I won't overstay my welcome. I wanted you to know I'm leaving."

But I don't want to be alone right now even if it's with you. For a horrible moment Kendall thought she'd spoken the words aloud. She pushed away from the counter. "Don't leave yet," she said a little too brightly before scurrying off, "I haven't given you any aspirin yet. Wait here. It's in the bathroom."

In the bathroom Kendall shut the door, flipped the switch for the fan, and blew her nose. For god's sake. Get a grip, Kendall, get a grip. And for god's sake why are you trying to keep Zach here when he wants to go. Even he must wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Oh my god, just look at you. She'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she wasn't a pretty sight. Her pale face was haggard, her hair was an uncombed mass of wild ringlets, and dark smudges underscored her eyes. Yet in a strange way, seeing her condition the way Zach was seeing it restored some equilibrium to Kendall—she looked so bedraggled that their early morning tête-à-tête couldn't possibly be misconstrued by anyone.

Half-expecting Zach to be gone by the time she finally emerged, Kendall found him still waiting in the kitchen where she'd left him. He certainly didn't present any better appearance than she did, at least from the neck up. His face was almost gray with fatigue; his hazel gaze, normally so purposeful and direct, projected a remote expression as if he were gazing into another dimension. From the neck down, however, only a dead woman could fail to notice he was a perfect specimen, his natural animal vitality a startling contrast to the otherworldliness in his eyes.

She brandished the bottle of aspirin like a trophy. "For your headache. I'll make more tea to go with it."

"Kendall, that isn't necessary."

"No, I mean it. Please." It's official. Yep, write it down, sign it, date it, and have it notarized, Kendall. You've officially lost your mind. "I mean, okay, it's up to you, Zach, but I thought you said your head was pounding."

"It's better. The tea already helped. I think I've put you to enough trouble."

"Look, it's okay." She took a deep breath, remembered the hypothetical waiting to be notarized statement, and added, "But geez, I'm not trying to keep you here if you don't want to stay."

"I know. Believe it or not I appreciate—"

Without warning a roaring wind suddenly clobbered the window above the kitchen sink, launching a barrage of precipitation against it. Both of their heads swiveled in its direction.

"Listen to that," Kendall shuddered. "I didn't know they were calling for rain."

Zach pushed the blind aside and stared out, but the sky was still dark. "From the noise it's making as it hits the ground, I'd say it's sleet, not rain."

"You really don't want to go running in that stuff, then. Sleet's even slipperier than sn—" Snow, she'd begun to say and couldn't finish. Snow, like on a Colorado mountaintop. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she turned away again, unable this time to stop tears from welling.

A large, warm hand settled on each of her shoulders, a quiet "It's only a cold front passing through. Come on," whispered behind her, close enough to almost tickle her ear.

Kendall allowed Zach to guide her back to her chair and lightly push her into it. Gathering one of the cotton throws from the back of the sofa, he laid it over her, and she experienced a moment of déjà vu. Why does this seem so familiar? she wondered, and then she had it. Because he covered you up once before today, I mean yesterday. With his jacket. But this cover-up had a far less grudging attitude to it, somehow, and the chair was far more comfortable than the floor. Kendall's agitation grew less acute and her eyes closed. She was just so tired. The wind howling at the window, the driving rain, began to seem distant.

Close by, noises came from the kitchen. Running water, cabinets opening and closing, china rattling. Kendall jumped slightly when the tea kettle whistled again. Its whistle immediately cut off and she began to relax again. Footsteps, bottle popping open, liquid pouring…soothing, fragrant steam wafting beneath her nose, suddenly making her inhale. Zach's deep voice again. "Take this. Don't drop it."

His large h ands again, lifting her own from her lap and placing them securely around a warm smooth curved surface…she opened her eyes to see them wrapped around her tea mug, refilled with something that, judging from its aroma, was something more complex and mellow than ordinary Twinings' Prince of Wales tea. Kendall looked at him inquiringly.

"It's just more tea, spiked with your cognac—with Ethan's Courvoisier. Not too much," he explained.

Her gaze lowered to the mug, than back to Zach's face. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm already back on the wagon, Zach. Drinking alone when you're by yourself is one thing, but not when…."

"Kendall, I'm not trying to get you drunk. I told you I didn't put in much. It's for medicinal purposes only. And I'm having some too, by the way."

"Well…okay, I guess. It…it does smell good." She lifted the mug to her lips.

Putting a light restraining hand on hers, Zach said, "Wait. I thought we might share a toast first."

Over the mug's rim Kendall's blue eyes were anxious and wide. "A toast? Zach, are you crazy?"

In response, Zach produced his own steaming mug. Clicking it against hers, he said simply, "To Ethan."

"T–to Ethan," she repeated, joining the toast somewhat uncertainly. The sleepless night alone was really catching up with her, the warring emotions taking their relentless toll, now the surprisingly sensitive, almost delicate gesture from Zach of all people…was it reciprocation for taking him in as she had, some kind of a peace offering…or what? Or was it Zach mocking Ethan after all, mocking her too for being lulled into a false sense of complacency about him? Ethan had hated Zach so intemperately, now Ethan was gone and Zach was here almost in his place—consuming Ethan's prized liqueur in an ostensible tribute to Ethan himself, which Ethan would have rejected as an outrage and surely Zach must have realized that?

Kendall sipped her drink slowly. A fresh volley of pessimism hit her. Really, what was the point of raising questions about anything, when you ultimately had so little power over the outcome anyway? She had spent so much time and energy hating Zach and believing—or wanting to believe, which in her case was the same thing—he was a killer, among other things. But tonight, or rather this morning, she'd sought even his company as an escape from her own. When she couldn't even begin to understand something as immediate as her own self, how she was supposed to decipher whether Zach was truly evil or whether he was just misunderstood?

Zach's mug apparently held a larger proportion of "medicine" to hot tea than hers, or else he had a fireproof throat, for he tipped his own drink with abandon. When he put down his empty mug, Kendall thought she noticed tears in his eyes. Tears caused by the subject of the toast, by the potency of the cognac, or by the heat of its temperature? Or did she just keep trying to think too much with a brain seriously malfunctioning from fatigue?

She yawned.

"Had enough?" Zach asked.

"I think so. I think I'm just going to…doze." Kendall yawned again. He rescued her mug before it slipped from her hand and polished off what was left in it.

If anyone had suggested to Zach not too many hours before that not only would Kendall ever bother to spit on him if she tripped over his blazing carcass, but that he would do the same if he tripped over hers, he would have scoffed mightily. Attempting to connect with Kendall on a non-adversarial level always seemed about as constructive as nailing Jell-o to the wall and twice as frustrating, so the last thing he expected was this respite from it. Maybe the borderlands between night and day they currently found themselves in made that inevitable, though. Sharing the wee small hours with another hurting, lost, lonely soul virtually compelled a change in perspective… at least until gray light seeped in and began to renew the fighting spirit.

Outside the sleet continued its heavy tattoo on the roof and windows. Sleet was usually short-lived but home was only a short distance away. Make a run for it. Leave now, Zach told himself.

Kendall was breathing softly. At home there would be only silence louder than usual and sleet didn't count.

You know what? Fuck it. Let the weather clear up first. Decanting a little more cognac into his cup and mentally saluting Ethan, Zach folded himself back onto Kendall's sofa and made himself comfortable.