Chapter 2
Happy Valentine's Day
Valentine's Night, 2011
MacKenzie dropped her reading glasses to the desk and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She wasn't aware of him standing in the doorway until she flicked off the desk lamp and the light from the bullpen highlighted his silhouette.
"Will. I thought you had gone by now," she said. "No big plans for the rest of the evening?"
Will shook his head simply. "You?"
"I gave my plans the heave-ho earlier today."
"Wade. On the terrace. I heard about that."
For something to do, she began to square the edges of a stack of papers. "I'm sure everyone has by now," wryly, with the best grace she could summon.
"How about a drink?"
"You and me?" She stopped her busy work and canted her head. "Seriously? Tonight, of all nights?"
"If the tongues of office gossips were ever gonna wag—well, we accomplished that a few hours ago, didn't we?" He shrugged. "It would be a shame for all that—good will—between us earlier to just go poof. Neither of us have any other—" he hesitated before finally, authoritatively, adding, "plans. Anyway, you can always say no. How about it?"
She considered it for a long moment, but finally found another objection. "Midtown on Valentine's night? Won't thing be crowded?"
"Then how about my place?"
She weighed the offer.
Will hadn't made things easy for her for the last ten months, but tonight there had been a crack, a break-through. His generous act of paying the ransom for Kahlid had inspired the office—exactly what she had hoped would happen when she once scolded him to become the integrity of the show and the moral center of the newsroom.
Was it possible that tonight had also led him to reappraise the two of them? That perhaps he was sympathetic to what she'd suffered under Wade's perfidy?
Nobody in his right mind would risk losing you.
That perhaps Will's generosity might even extend to—forgiveness?
It was a chance worth taking.
"Okay."
oooo
Will's apartment, the new one he'd taken since they broke up, was all shiny glass and chrome, with monochromatic furniture and a lot of right angles and hard-defined edges. It looked minimalistic and severe, lacking warmth, and Mac was taken aback at trying to connect Will to this place that most resembled a high-rise penitentiary.
She slipped off her coat, still staring around the room.
Will, having proceeded upon entry to the kitchen, called out. "What'll you have? Scotch or Jameson's? There's red wine, too, if you'd rather have that."
"Whatever you're having will be fine."
When he returned with two scotches, he found her gazing out the terrace windows.
"Here's your drink."
"Thanks. Nice view."
"Yeah. The lights sparkle on clear nights. I sit out there a lot when the weather is more hospitable."
Nodding, she took a sip and turned back to the room. "I'm sure this was very well-intentioned, Will—but it seems like—well, like a peculiar holiday for the two of us to celebrate. Together, I mean." She made a sad smile. "After all, the paper heart taped to your office door was publicly ripped in half, so you haven't exactly hidden your antipathy for the sentiment of the day."
He tried to look appropriately guilty at her indictment.
"In any event, I would have imagined you would be sharing a pheasant and chardonnay with some comely young brain surgeon or rocket scientist tonight." She hesitated before adding, drolly, "Perhaps even a gossip columnist."
"Wouldn't be the first time you'd been wrong."
"Granted." She took a seat on the white leather couch.
He swung into the chair opposite. "We had such a good evening tonight, Mac. Show went well. We saved what's-his-name—"
"His name is Kahlid, and you're the one who—"
Will made a dismissive gesture. "He's out, so where's the problem?"
"There is no problem, not with him. That ended well, thanks to you." Setting her glass on the table between them, she made several attempts to put her thoughts into words. Finally, she swallowed and just said it. "The problem, I guess, is that I'm confused. About us. For a tiny moment tonight it was like it used to be and I don't know what that means—if it was just a comradely thing because of Kahlid's situation, or if—"
"Don't read too much into this, Mac. It's just a drink. We've had drinks together since you've been back."
"But this isn't Hang Chew's and there aren't twelve other staffers sitting two tables behind us."
"Mac. I said, don't make anything out of this." He cut her off by rising and pacing back to the terrace windows. "You know, I haven't told you, and I really should, but I am glad you returned. Relieved that you got back unscathed from that stupid little stunt of running off to a shooting war—"
She straightened at the implicit condescension of his words.
"—And glad you came back to the show. You've helped restore purpose and credibility—"
To the show. Not, to me.
"—I wasn't so happy when Charlie first told me, I made that pretty plain, to him and to you and to, well, just about everyone. I freely admit I may not be happy next week, but we did good things together tonight. I feel as though we've turned a corner."
Confusion filled her head now. She didn't know whether to take justified issue with his arrogant dismissal of three years in a war zone, or simply to be grateful for the professional validation that followed.
And was there possibly a hint of a change of heart, personally, as well?
She reached for her drink, hoping that the tremble in her hand wasn't visible from where he stood.
"Mac, I—" he started, then stopped, then resumed, haltingly. "You know, I did miss you while you were gone. I missed being with you. It's the highest compliment, you know. Acknowledging absence—missing your voice, feeling your disappointment when I've fallen short of the mark, anticipating the words you might have said…" He allowed his words to trail off. "So, it's been good to have you back, even if I haven't said it before now."
Her heart leapt. He was saying words of understanding. Not forgiveness, not exactly—but it was promising.
The next part seemed trickier, because his words became even more stilted and punctuated with long exhalations. "It felt—really good—to hold you tonight."
"It meant a lot to me as well."
"Yeah." Another long pause. "I don't know what to do, Mac. I can't un-know what you told me about you and Brian. I can't go back in time. I don't know if things could be different a second time."
At this point, any response on her part would have looked like salesmanship, so Mac said nothing and waited.
"Could things be different?" His question seemed genuine.
"I'd like to think they would be."
"Last year, when I was on that panel at Northwestern University—you know, I thought I saw you in the audience. It really flustered me. That's when I went, I dunno, crazy. Yelled at that kid and everything."
"So, you're blaming that on me?"
"I'm just saying, you have an effect on me." He turned and offered a laconic smile. "You ready for another drink?"
She made short laugh. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"The thought had occurred to me."
She stared. "I can't tell if you are joking, Will."
"Of course, I'm joking. Can't we just enjoy ourselves tonight, Mac? Off the office leash?"
Fully aware of the subtext she was offering, she stuck out her empty glass.
oooo
An hour later, he rested the guitar he had been balancing over his knee and bowed his head.
An audience of one, she nonetheless clapped enthusiastically. "I've always loved to hear you play." She checked her watch and rose. "I should go. It's after midnight and tomorrow is a working day."
He came over to where she stood, so near she could feel the heat of his body, demanding her to notice him. "Stay, Mac." He brought his hand up to lightly grip her upper arm.
"Will," she laughed, nervously, shifting from his grasp. "Tempting, but you know that this probably isn't what you're going to want come the morning."
"You should stay."
His simple insistence so surprised her that it took her a moment to find her voice. She thought to deflect and thereby defuse what was rapidly becoming an awkward moment.
"Let me tell you something, Billy. If I ever find out you've paid a gossip columnist money to protect me, I will beat you senseless. And you know I can do it."
"I know. But I didn't."
"You didn't? Gary told me what Nina threatened—and then you disappeared for an hour this afternoon—so I assumed that while you were out ransoming Kahlid, you ransomed the other hostage, as well. Me."
"I didn't. But I would have if it had been necessary."
His hand came up again, sliding lightly along her jawline before dropping to her collarbone and then to her shoulders. He brought her against him, arms winding over hers. Another Rudy hug.
Her eyes widened, wondering what had prompted this, was she misreading him, what it meant for the two of them, and—most importantly—how she should react. There was a giddy pleasure in being held again by Will, to be sure, and there was even the exhilaration of wondering if this was the sign of forgiveness. Of course, she wanted to stay with him, but she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that a gentle hug by itself was not the sort of thing to mend all that had gone wrong between them. That would require more than just the bonhomie of co-workers over after-hours drinks.
Overwhelmed suddenly by the sense memory of him being this near, his warmth and his scent, she fell into the embrace, wrapping her own arms around him. At first, his strong arms held her firmly in place, but, eventually, he slid one hand up to cradle the back of her head and keep it positioned against his shoulder.
"I need you tonight, Mac," he murmured. "I want you and I need you, and I know you need me, too."
There it was.
Her breaths were already shallow from the frisson of contact, undermining any thought of denying him—her—both—
He broke the clinch and, wordlessly, took her hand, leading her across the room and through the short hallway to his dark bedroom. She frowned when he drew back, suddenly fearing the implication of the broken contact, but his eyes never left hers, challenging her to follow.
Dropping her hand, he raised his and gently ran his thumb across her bottom lip. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was on the verge of saying, it never actually made it to his voice-box but seemed to stop at his lips, becoming a slow, knowing smile.
This was the Will she remembered, gentle and attentive.
oooo
He was gentle and attentive in the morning as well.
She woke first and dressed. When she finally looked up, she saw Will's eyes were open and that he was silently watching her.
"I need to go home. Shower and change for work."
He made no counterargument, just continued to watch without comment until she reached for her coat. Then, he swung out of bed, reached for his clothes and finally spoke.
"Let me take you downstairs and get a cab for you."
He called ahead to the doorman, so that a taxi was visible at the curb by the time they reached the lobby of the building. Coatless and in loafers, he escorted her out to the car through the gray slush of two-days-previous snowfall and embraced her lightly before opening the car door.
"We're good, Mac. I'll see you at work in a little while."
As the cab pulled into traffic, she at last had a moment to reflect on Will's behavior and his words.
This won't change anything between us.
When he'd said that the night before, she took it as a lover's reassurance that their present connection transcended their estrangement. That there might be a barrier between the professional and the personal, but it was protective, so that no work-related tension would seep into their relationship.
Now, this morning, she realized it was simply a nod toward maintaining the status quo—in effect, reducing their act of love to an evening's diversion.
His consideration as a lover proved exactly the same as she remembered, except that it was tempered by this morning's realization that his attentions had never included a simple kiss between them. A night of lovemaking on the signal day for romance had been totally lacking the most basic gesture of mutual affection.
She understood now.
This won't change anything between us.
Obviously, it would not.