Beach Therapy

Week 6, Day 5: Thursday

Lucy's chest tightens as she watches Tim swallow back his emotion.

"What do you mean?" she asks softly, not wanting to push when he's so obviously struggling, but also knowing how singularly important this is to understanding the man he is today. "How did you fail Isabel?"

He laughs bitterly. "It'd probably be easier to explain how I didn't fail her. Not sure there'd be much for me to say on that front. Let's see. Where should we start? After she started using —"

"Using?" she interrupts.

Tim frowns, as if fully realizing just how little she knows about his past with Isabel. "Yeah, sorry — you know she was a cop. Well, she was UC. In narcotics. And well… yeah, she got hooked."

Lucy blinks, feeling as if suddenly a large piece of the puzzle that is Tim Bradford is finally falling into place. Everything she knows about Tim's past feels like it is being illuminated in a completely different light.

"She was struggling. It was right in front of my face. But I just didn't see it… Or maybe I didn't want to. I don't know."

His voice falters, and Lucy tightens her hold on his hand. "I was in denial for a long time. I thought if I could just get her to come back to me, to let me help her — I was so caught up in this stupid idea that I could save her."

Lucy presses her lips together, thinking that nothing could be less stupid than wanting to help someone you love when they're struggling.

"I didn't know it then, but looking back, after she got fired, there was no coming back for us. Being cops — it was the thing that brought us together. And when she stopped being one, it was like the final thread holding us together was just gone.

"And then she was gone, too. Just up and left without a word. I looked for her, every day and every night. I never stopped. I had no idea if she was dead or alive, but I couldn't stand the idea that she could be out there somewhere… that she might need me. And that I wouldn't be there."

He appears to have difficulty getting the last words out, and Lucy finds herself physically hurting over the idea that he's known what it's felt like to be alone and struggling far too much in his life. She wonders if anyone has ever looked out for him the way he does for the people he loves.

Another bitter laugh escapes him, "She'd been gone for about a year when I got a call from the hospital letting me know she had overdosed."

Lucy sucks in a breath as Tim shakes his head, "Part of me thought that maybe that would be our turning point, that she'd finally get some help. But she walked right back out of there that afternoon after making sure I knew she still wanted fuck all to do with me.

"I knew things had gotten bad between us. Our marriage was far from perfect, even when it was good. But that day, I think it finally hit me just how much she resented me. She hated that I kept trying to ride in on my white horse and save her, hated the way I made her feel like she could never live up to my expectations. I don't think I really understood until right then that I was the source of so much of her unhappiness."

He looks away, frowning at the memory, and he suddenly looks so young and vulnerable, his voice softer as he muses, "She was my wife. And I know I made mistakes. We both did. But all I wanted at the end of the day was for her to be okay. To be better than okay — to be happy and healthy and safe. But she wasn't any of those things by the end — I wasn't able to give her even one of those things. It probably shouldn't have surprised me that I was the last person she needed or wanted at that point, but it did. Somehow I still just —"

He shakes his head, unable to finish the sentence as he swallows back another wave of emotion.

She shifts closer, no longer caring that she's interrupting as she wraps her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry, Tim."

He gives her a quick squeeze in return, but simply shrugs in response to her words, as if he's not deserving of her sympathy. It doesn't sit right in her stomach any more than the idea that he was somehow to blame for Isabel's unhappiness. But this is the most he's ever opened up to her, and she's pretty sure they both need him to keep going, so she doesn't force the issue, instead just waiting quietly for him to go one.

He turns his gaze to the ocean as Kojo gets up to switch positions barely settling before getting up and switching again, seemingly agitated by his owner's emotional discord. Tim reaches over to scratch behind the dog's ears before continuing.

"But even after that, of course I still couldn't just let it go. I felt so helpless; I needed to do something. I realize now that I just made things that much worse by enabling her — giving her money and stealing Narcan for her and trading favors to get her off when she was picked up. God, maybe if I'd just faced the truth and gotten out of the damn way, she'd have been forced to get the help she needed sooner. But I didn't, and she almost died because of it."

Lucy exhales slowly, processing his words; she'd known that their relationship had ended badly, but she hadn't had any idea just how much they'd been through, how much he'd been through.

"Did she OD again?" she asks softly.

Tim lets out a harsh, humorless chuckle, "No. She got shot in the head."

"What?!" Lucy blurts, her shock causing the question to tumble out of her mouth involuntarily.

He shakes his head dismissively, "She got busted with enough drugs for a felony distribution charge and got forced to go undercover as a CI to avoid jail time. By then, everything I had done to try and help her put us both in a bad position — IA was starting to ask questions. She didn't have any room to negotiate, and no one was looking to do me any more favors.

"There wasn't anything I could do to help her when she really needed me — when her life was on the line. The target shot her point blank in the head; we found her in the dumpster."

The emotion has drained out of his voice, and his gaze is distant.

Lucy's eyes go wide with disbelief, unable to reconcile this story to the beautiful, vibrant blonde that had shown up at the apartment less that 24 hours ago.

She wants to get closer, to comfort him somehow, but he feels impossibly far away from her right now.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," she repeats, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "I can't imagine how excruciating that must have been for you."

He nods, gaze still locked on the ocean in front of them.

"But… she's okay now, right?"

"Apparently," the sharp edge has returned to his voice. "I honestly didn't think she'd ever wake up again after that. But she did. And I was still fucking stupid enough to think, yet again, that maybe that was going to be our second chance, that maybe we could start fresh. But to her credit, she was absolutely clear about what she wanted. Or maybe I should say what she didn't want. She blamed me for what happened to her, and she wasn't wrong."

Lucy feels a bubble of anger rise up in her chest, "What? I'm sorry, Tim, but how is any of that your fault?"

His red-rimmed eyes are angry when he turns to look at her, but she knows it's not directed at her.

"I was her husband. The closest person to her. I was supposed to protect her, and instead I did the exact opposite."

"That's ridiculous —" Lucy cuts herself off when she sees the expression on his face, reigning in her reaction. "I don't believe that," she tries again more calmly, knowing that she's pressing her luck. That Tim is more likely to shut down on her than he is to listen to her challenging such deeply held beliefs. But she can't keep her mouth shut any longer.

Something tight clenches around her heart as she recalls the last time she'd seen this utterly broken expression on his face, his eyes reflecting the stormy blue of the ocean on a different beach. Right after he'd put his life on the line to save her — someone he'd known for less than a week.

"I don't believe you didn't do everything you possibly could have to protect her, Tim. And you have to know that whatever Isabel said to you during that time was the addiction talking, not her."

It's not a revelation that Tim feels compelled to carry the pain of those he loves on his very own back when nothing could be further from the truth. But this feels like a stretch, even for him. How could he possibly hold himself responsible for so many things that were so completely out of his control?

And it's when she thinks about it from his perspective that she sees it the way he must see it, or, more importantly, feels it the way he must feel it — not as the grown man that intellectually knows what addiction is, but from the eyes of the child who suffered abuse at the hands of a father fighting his own battle with addiction. A child that would blame himself for his father's behavior not as a matter of choice, but as a matter of survival.

She stares at him, the words spilling out like they have a life of their own, "Do you —" She pauses, the words transforming from a question to a statement that, deep down, she knows she isn't her truth to speak, "You blame yourself. For her addiction."

Confusion and hurt flicker across his features as he opens his mouth to respond and then snaps it closed. He shakes his head, "What are you talking about, Lucy? That isn't what I —"

But, as Jackson would say, she's like a dog with a bone in her need to follow this thread — to make sense of the man sitting next to her.

"Tim, you know nothing you did made Isabel an addict, right? That's not how addiction works. Addiction is cruel and horrific, but it's an illness. It'd be ridiculous to think…" And she knows as soon as the words leave her mouth — the delivery is all wrong.

He shakes his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw before turning to face her, every single bit of the openness and vulnerability gone from his expression.

His voice is tight, "You think I don't know that? You really think I need you to explain addiction to me?"

She places her hand on his forearm, "Of course not. I just meant that maybe … because of your dad…"

And this time she has no doubt that the fury blazing in his eyes is absolutely directed at her.

"Are you — my dad has nothing to do with this," he jerks away from her, startling Kojo as he finds his way to his feet, all the while staring at her in disbelief.

And if she'd had any doubt before, she's now certain she has monumentally fucked up — attempting to analyze and diagnose his feelings about the very worst moments of his adult life and then blurting her thoughts without thinking of how intrusive and invalidating and dismissive they must sound to him.

Her chest aches and her eyes fill.

He turns his back to her, clearly attempting to collect himself, if the shaking hand he pushes back through his hair is any indication. Lucy's heart drops into her stomach when he turns back to her, the hurt and betrayal unmistakable in his gaze for only a moment before his mask falls into place.

He'd trusted her.

Lucy swallows, feeling a little bit like she might be sick. "Tim, I'm sorry. I —"

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her. "Lucy, listen, I know you're just trying to help, but I can't do this — I'm sorry, I thought I could — I just I can't talk about this anymore."

He bends to retrieve a rubber football from their beach bag, and Kojo begins to dance and jump in excited circles, apparently eager for a distraction from the emotional turmoil of his keepers.

Tim forces a smile as he meets her gaze, "I think Kojo is ready for some fetch."

She watches as he walks away, unable to stand the idea that she's made him regret being vulnerable with her when she knows how difficult it is for him open up like this. She bites back what feels like a sob rising in her throat and gets to her feet to chase after him, "Tim, wait! Please."

He turns, that same tight-lipped smile on his face as he waits patiently for her to catch up, taking the opportunity to pitch the ball out into the waves.

"Tim, I —" Shit. She presses her lips together, afraid of saying the wrong thing yet again. But she has to try.

"I'm so sorry. I — what I said, it came out all wrong."

He shakes his head, eyes following Kojo's trek into the water. "It's fine, Lucy. Let's just talk about something else."

He glances over at her and must register her disbelief and distress, because he tries again, softer this time. "Seriously, it's fine. It's not a big deal."

He moves to hug her, but Lucy presses her palms against his chest, resisting his embrace.

"No, it's not okay. Don't do that." Tears of frustration threaten to spill out over her cheeks.

Confusion and concern war across his face, as he gives up his attempt to hug her, instead lifting his hands to cradle her face. "Don't do what? Hey, come on, Lucy. I promise it's okay. I'm fine." He sighs, and for a moment he looks almost as miserable as she feels, "Lucy, the whole point of today — I don't want you to be upset. I definitely don't want to be the reason you're upset."

She swipes angrily at her eyes, working to reign in her emotions before she glares up at him. Why does he have to be so damn wonderful and infuriating at the same time? "Then don't — you can't just pretend it's fine. Be mad at me. Tell me I'm being a jerk. Tell me that I've upset you and you need some space. Just don't do this."

He shakes his head, a slight chuckle escaping him. "You want me to be mad at you?"

"Yes! No… I don't know," a frustrated growl escapes her, and his lips twitch. So damn infuriating, this man.

"Don't laugh at me!" she snaps, even as she feels the almost overwhelming urge to laugh at herself and this absurd attempt to apologize. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, "When you act like you don't care or like everything's okay when it's obviously not, it makes me feel like… just please don't shut me out," she pleads softly.

Realization dawns in his eyes, and he looks immediately remorseful. "Shit, Lucy. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to — "

"Don't you dare apologize to me before I apologize to you, Tim Bradford!"

He holds his hands up and takes a step back, pressing his lips together before simply nodding for her to continue.

"I'm so sorry, Tim. I know what I said — the way I said it — I didn't mean to hurt you."

And it's Lucy's turn to hold back a laugh because she can literally see the battle on his face as he fights his instinctual need to deny her claim.

"Unless, of course, admitting that someone could hurt you will cause you to spontaneously combust. In which case, I'm sorry I said something that could, in theory, be hurtful to someone," she teases gently.

His eyes narrow, "You're doing it again. I feel like you're trying to psychoanalyze me or something, Lucy. It makes me feel like I'm part of a lab experiment."

"No, I — well, okay, yes, but — it's not because I think you'd be a fascinating test subject. Honestly, you'd be a horrible test subject."

He crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the turn her apology has taken.

"I just — I want to know you, and… I want to understand you, because… well, you know… you matter to me."

His expression softens, as a teasing glint enters his eyes, "Well, when you put it that way…" He gently grasps her upper arms and gives her an affectionate squeeze. "You matter to me, too, Lucy."

Tim bends to retrieve the football from their eager canine companion before tossing it back out into the water further up the beach, pulling Kojo away from where he's quickly resumed his unimpressive attempt to terrorize the sea birds several feet away.

They begin to stroll along the shore in his wake, and she takes a deep breath. "I told you my parents were both therapists, right?"

He nods.

"Well, when I was younger, anytime I was upset, they'd do this thing — they'd sit me down and ask me all these questions about what happened and how it made me feel and why I thought I felt that way." Lucy snorts, "They even took notes some of the time. It was so… clinical. I just wanted them to be my parents — I wanted them to hug me and tell me it was going to be okay, but it was like I was one of their patients or something."

A displeased sound that borders on a growl escapes Tim, and Lucy rushes to finish, not wanting her apology to turn into a sob story about her childhood.

"It wasn't all bad — I think they were coming from a good place. And in the long run, maybe it benefitted me in some ways, but… I don't think they realized that being so analytical and detached when it came to my emotions made me — I don't know, I guess it made me feel dumb for having those feelings to begin with. Like I was wrong for feeling that way. It was really invalidating, which is crazy because I think they were trying to do the opposite.

"But it still hurt, Tim. Every time. And I hate that I did that to you. I'm really sorry."

He's quiet, and Lucy finds herself wondering if he's simply processing or if she's somehow made things worse. She's so lost in her thoughts she doesn't notice that he's stopped walking until he takes hold of her elbow, gently turning her to face him once she's stopped.

"Look, Lucy, some of this stuff from my past — I don't talk about it. Not with anyone."

She nods, trying to keep her face neutral as she braces herself for disappointment, certain that if she'd somehow avoided it before, she's now most definitely included in that blanket 'anyone'.

"Of course, I understand."

His brow furrows as he gives her a strange look, but he continues. "Sometimes the way you see things — it's a lot. And it can be hard for me to hear, and a lot for me to process."

She nods, trying to ignore the pit forming in her stomach.

He shakes his head. "But Lucy, you don't make me feel dumb or invalidated, at least not most of the time," he clarifies. "You make me feel lucky — to have someone in my life that cares as much as you do, okay?

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I accept your apology."

"Really?"

Tim chuckles, "Yes, really. It got a little dicey there for a bit, but you finished strong, and you're still really damn good at apologizing, Lucy."

She snorts, "I don't know if I should be proud of that, or…"

He pulls her into a hug, and she goes willingly this time. "You're kind of ridiculous sometimes, you know?"

She nods against his chest, "I know."

"You're also kind of amazing."

She nods again. "I know."

He pulls back, using his hand to tip her chin up before bending to kiss her, his tongue gently parting her lips as he deepens his exploration.

He blanches as he pulls away, "You taste like the ocean."

"Well, now, whose fault is that, Timothy?"


"Tim, come on," Lucy whines as she treks behind him over yet another sand dune. "That was a perfectly good spot. I would've worn my sneakers if I knew you were going to make me hike for six miles."

He ignores her complaining, the same way he's been ignoring it for the last 10 minutes. They crest the dune, and Lucy immediately stops short. Because the most beautiful picnic setup she's ever seen is laid out before them — a large woven blanket spread out over the sand, topped with almost a dozen fluffy, fancy-looking cushions and pillows set out around a low table with two place settings.

Next to the table is the most amazing, ridiculous picnic basket she's ever seen filled with champagne and charcuterie and cheese and every delicious accompaniment she could ever imagine. Lucy can actually feel her eyes begin to sting when she glimpses a bottle of the tempranillo she'd fallen in love with at the tasting they'd filmed for the show a few weeks ago. To top it all off, an umbrella and a pretty teepee tent frame the luxurious setup.1

Tim pulls a face, "Good lord, it's even worse than it looked in the pictures." He mutters something about glamping being the downfall of civilization as they know it, while she stares at him in disbelief.

"Is this — this is for me?"

"It's certainly not for Kojo," he offers gruffly.

"Oh my god, Tim… this is… this is too much. You didn't have to do all of this."

He shrugs uncomfortably but is clearly pleased by her reaction. "Well, technically, Picnic People did it, with a little help from Genny, but… consider it a birthday present."

"But my birthday's not until Sunday."

"Consider it an early one then."

She shakes her head, biting her lip as the burning sensation behind her eyes intensifies. This man has shown her how wonderful he is in so many different ways, but she never would have pinned him to be one for big romantic gestures. In fact, she's pretty certain that the little doily place mats are going to give him nightmares for weeks to come.

And suddenly the enormity of everything he's done for her today hits her. This entire day has been him choosing things for no other reason than thinking they'd make her happy, going above and beyond to make sure she wasn't spending the day feeling sad or scared or anxious.

She blinks rapidly, still struggling to put into words how he's made her feel. "I can't believe… no one's ever done anything like this for me, Tim."

He opens his mouth — probably to once again acknowledge the great (and excessive and completely unnecessary) talents of Picnic People, but seems to think better of it, instead crossing over to her.

He takes hold of her upper arms, pausing to meet her gaze. "That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Her brow crinkles in confusion, and he hurries to fill in the rest. "Because I can't think of anyone that deserves it more."

A strange noise escapes her as he pulls her into his chest, because what the hell is this man doing to her insides?

"Lucy?"

"Hmm?" It's all she can manage around the damn of emotion that is building in her throat.

"Just so we're clear… if you cry, I'm going to let Kojo have your cheese."


The temperature drops as the day progresses, and Tim suggests it's time to head home once Lucy begins to shiver, but she stubbornly refuses. "I want to see the sunset."

And so he climbs into the ridiculous, frilly little tent and pulls her tightly back against his chest once she settles herself between his legs, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her as warm as possible. Neither says a word as they watch the sky transition from day to night, simply enjoying one of those rare moments of feeling like they are the only two people on earth.

When the little lights strung between the tent and the umbrella and the stars are the only light remaining, Tim shifts her hair over one shoulder.

She breathes a surprised little "oh" when she feels the warmth of his mouth press against the side of her neck. He moves his lips to her ear, his evening stubble scratching against her skin in a way that has her toes curling further into the cool sand.

The husk of his voice sends a shiver coursing through her when he finally speaks, "I think I'd like to take you home now, Lucy."

And though going home with this man sounds like a pretty damn good plan to her, part of her isn't ready for this day to end.

She tips her head back for a kiss, and he obliges. And then she heaves a sigh. "I guess… if we have to…"

They untangle themselves, and Tim helps her to her feet, pulling out his phone to check the news as she brushes herself off.

"Looks like the fires are fully contained," he announces.

And though he's been hugely successful in distracting her, it still feels like a massive weight off of her shoulders, like she can finally breathe normally again.

He's watching her closely, and there's a brief flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Lucy, look, I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I hope you know you can come to me when you're upset."

She nods, "I do." But even as she's automatically saying the words, the recognition of just how important it is to him that she does exactly that washes over her.

She closes the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face. "And I will, Tim." She brushes her thumb over his cheek, "But only if you promise to let me take care of you, too, okay?"

Tim scoffs, jokingly pulling away from her as he takes hold of hand. "Now, I don't know about all that…"

Lucy shakes her head, "Too bad, Bradford. This is a two-way street."

"Fine, fine," he sighs melodramatically. "Now what's a guy gotta do to get you to come home with him?" he teases, eyes darkening as they roam further south.

She hesitates, keeping hold of his hand when he moves to pull away and collect the rest of their belongings.

He smiles playfully at her, before sighing and enveloping her hand between both of his, "You've got that look again, Lucy. Spit it out. And no, we are not staying here for the sunrise. "

She rolls her eyes, "I just wanted to say one thing, and then I promise we don't have to talk about it ever again."

A flash of weariness crosses his expression, but he's quick to push it aside. "Care to put any money on that?"

She crinkles her nose in distaste, and he chuckles, "Go on, then."

She loops her arms around his neck, "Okay, wait — two, maybe three, things."

"Lucyyy," he groans.

"Okay, one — thank you. For everything today, Tim.

"Two — I know that you've been through a lot. So much. But I —" she swallows, knowing that even though her next words are about him, there's no question that they are even more vulnerable for her. "I hope you decide to give it a chance again," she feels her cheeks begin to burn and sucks in a breath as she tips her head back to meet his eyes, "because, three — I can't think of anyone more deserving of love."

She releases the breath she's been holding and moves to spin out of his hold, unable to wait for his reaction. "Okay. That's it. We can go home now."

Tim catches her around the waist and easily spins her back into him. "And just where do you think you're going? Dropping sweet little bombs and then running for the hills, huh?"

He tips her chin up, and it's then that she sees the adoration and spark of amusement in his eyes. He shakes his head, and his expression softens into something more serious as he gazes at her. He kisses the tip of her nose.

"Bold of you to assume you left me with any other choice, Lucy."