Andy ignored the ringing the first time, but groaned when he heard his doorbell again. He stopped his movements and let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I should probably get that," Andy apologized to the woman beneath him.

"Oh! No worries," Erica said brightly. "You just hurry back, Mr. Police Detective." Andy was faking an amused laugh when she sprang up to plant a kiss on his cheek, clearly unaffected by the activities of the past half-hour. Andy climbed out of bed and pulled his boxers up. He'd never gotten out of his grey tee-shirt, so while it was a little rumpled and sweaty, he thought he was sufficiently covered to tell whoever was at his door to get lost. He walked straight to the front of the house to open the door quickly, not stopping to pull the usual two blinds apart to check who was standing on his porch.

Sharon wasn't expecting to see Andy in any state of undress. Not that he was in any way indecent, she'd just gone over the scenario so many times in her head that when he wasn't wearing exactly what she thought he would be, she was already thrown off-track. So she just stared at him, mouth barely agape, silent and wide-eyed. Andy's face immediately grimaced, followed by a wash of panic he tried to conceal.

"Oh. I…um…I'm so sorry. Were you asleep?" The confidence Sharon had manufactured was quickly slipping away.

"No. I was just…I was in bed." It was the truth, basically. Andy was clearly on edge, something Sharon correctly attributed to her unannounced presence. "What do you need, Captain?" Andy was hoping to be cordial, but he knew he sounded irritated. He was irritated. And surprised. And desperately regretting every decision he'd made in the last few hours.

Sharon started to reply, but was distracted when she heard a toilet flush somewhere behind Andy. She'd spent many afternoons and nights in Andy's house, so she remembered the layout well. There was only one bathroom near them, located next to the pantry and kitchen. Knowing the sound hadn't been that close, she quickly discerned it had come from the only other restroom in the back of the house. Oh my God. There's someone in his bedroom.

Andy watched the realization wash over her face. Sharon was incomparable when it came to keeping her cool. Her trademark was her control. But Andy had gotten to know her well enough over the years to pick out the subtlest changes—like an almost inconsequential seismic shift. Not the one that causes the earthquake, but the one that happens just before the earthquake. The one you can only feel if you're standing directly above the fault line. Andy saw the tremor, but knew she would never let him witness the fallout.

"You're not alone." It was a statement; a whisper. The brief silence of Andy's hesitation told Sharon everything she needed to know. "Okay. I'm going to go." Sharon turned quickly and stepped off his porch to walk to her car.

She expected to hear her name, expected that he would try and get her to turn around. But she wasn't sure there was anything he could say.

Andy opened his mouth to tell her to wait, but nothing came out. He realized the same thing she had, there were no words that could possibly travel the great distance growing between them.

Sharon got into her car, pulled out of the driveway, and went up the street to the first stop sign. She waited there for a long time, even though no other cars were coming. Her hands were shaking, so she gripped the steering wheel tighter. It felt like her mind was simultaneously recounting every detail of the interaction with lightning speed, and going completely blank. Nothing she thought of would stay in her head for very long. She could see his boxers, his grimace, his bare feet and sticky tee-shirt—all signs of an undeniable truth. Most of all she could see his face.

Few people knew Andy as well as she did, and non knew him the same way as she did. He wasn't a cheater. Well, it wouldn't have been cheating anyway. Even in a state of total duress, Sharon's conscience reminded her of the facts. She knew he was angry, and she knew he was heartbroken. She knew he was trying to heal himself, not hurt her. But in the suffocated quiet of her car, late under the California night, not even her conscience made that fact feel comforting.

She focused very intently on evening out her breathing. It seemed like anger had taken root in her veins, made her muscles vibrate the way they do when you're full of rage. But anger wasn't really what she felt. She felt nausea, exhaustion, and a low, hollow ache in her stomach that she'd never had to name before. She fought off the tears for as long as she could, but eventually gave in to that as well. She finally made it home and into her bed, where she thought she might sleep for three or four years.

I i

Andy stood at his door until Sharon's car was out of sight. He couldn't move. He realized after all he's done in his life, he'd never been able to taste his shame the way he did now. It settled on his tongue and down in his throat. It clouded the oxygen in his lungs.

He turned slowly into his living room and closed the door behind him. He looked half-heartedly towards the glow that his open bedroom door cast on the hardwood floor. He had a naked woman waiting for his body, and another that just left with his soul. That at least explained the emptiness.

When he walked back into his bedroom, Erica was strewn across his sheets like she was posing for Penthouse—ass in the air, pillow hugged to her chest, one arm holding up her head. She smirked up at him from the bed.

"Hey, sorry about that. It was a work thing. I'm so sorry, but I just don't think it's going to happen tonight." Andy was trying to be polite while also attempting to escort the young lady out of his bed.

"Oh, uh okay. Are you feeling alright?" Erica asked, sitting up and hugging the pillow across her exposed body, clearly feeling a little awkward.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm just a little off tonight. I know this isn't what you probably had in mind," Andy shrugged and replied.

"No, that's fine. Just uh…just let me get dressed." She shifted around looking over his bed for her clothes.

"Of course. Take as much time as you need. I'll step out and you can just…" Andy gestured around the room, assuming the least he could do was give her a little space, "whatever you need." Then he stepped back out of his bedroom and closed the door.

A few minutes later Erica timidly stepped into the living room holding her shoes and purse. "I was going to call a cab, but I realized I don't know your address." She tried to sound lighthearted, but she only glanced up from looking at her feet for a moment.

"Oh no, I'll drive you home, or anywhere you want to go," he said as he stood up from the couch. "I'm really sorry about all this. I know this isn't how it's supposed to go." Andy shrugged apologetically.

Clearly reassured, Erica walked over and smiled at Andy. "No problem. You can actually take me over to Pete's, if that's alright. Some friends are meeting up there, and they can get me home afterwards." She reached out to pat his arm.

"Yeah of course, Pete's it is." Andy smile at the sweet woman he briefly tried to escape into.

He let her out of the car in front of the bar and thanked her again for being so understanding. "Not at all. Hey, you can still call me sometime. I left my number by your bed," She winked at Andy and walked inside.

He went home and took a very long, very hot shower. He was mostly stunned during his encounter with Sharon earlier, but now he had time to rethink what it all meant. Mostly he thought about the tiny crease that appeared in Sharon's forehead when she heard Erica in the back of his house. He could almost trace the hurt that ghosted across her face. If he hadn't been breathing so loud, he's pretty sure he would have heard the crack in her armor. Andy was going to remember the look on her face for a very long time. It looked like disappointment personified, like nothing he ever did would ever make her smile again. But somewhere in the milliseconds between when she started to fall and when she crashed into reality, Andy had let go of every ounce of anger he had been harboring for Sharon for the last two months. In that moment, he would have walked through fire for her. He would have apologized in a thousand unlearnable languages. He would have pulled his own heart out of the cavity of his chest with his own bare hands and handed it to her, on his knees.

Most of all, he never would have brought the other woman home. It certainly wasn't like him. It didn't fit his character at all; the character he has worked so hard to craft in his recovery. Respectable, dependable, loyal. No, it wasn't like him to be so reckless. But at the time, that was kind of the point.

Now he was left alone in his bed, thinking about Sharon the same way he had been for the last few years. Except when he used to think about her, his feelings were complicated and cumbersome and almost bursting out of his chest—need, worry, want, fear, lust, and love. Now, when he sifted through the complication of everything he was struggling to explain, he really only felt one thing.

He missed her.

He missed her like he missed the house he grew up in. He missed her like he missed his kids. He missed her like you miss the rain after living in LA for too many years. He missed her in a way that settled in his bones and made his temperature drop.

He had to get her back. If there was a way, Andy was prepared to find it.