I'm posting a little later than I intended, due to acquiring last-minute tickets to see the Eras Tour in Indianapolis over the weekend! Being able to experience it in person, was something I never expected and it was completely marvelous. I traded more than 300 friendship bracelets, and sang along, knowing every word to every song she sang. For me, it's not the popular songs, the bops you hear on the radio, it's the honest, raw heartbreaking lyrics that assure me there are other people in the world who struggle with their intrusive thoughts, overwhelming emotions, and unadulterated female rage in the same way I do. I'm forever grateful to have had the experience of seeing her live along with 68,999 of my closest friends.
This chapter includes lyrics from the songs, King of My Heart, the 1, You're Losing Me, I Wish You Would, Better Man, Tortured Poets Department, exile, Hits Different, tolerate it, and The Black Dog by Taylor Alison Swift.
Some names and characters borrowed from a few of my favorite TV shows: The Bridge, Alias, and Supernatural.
It was Day 14. We were on day fourteen, and we had nothing, well next to nothing. We'd learned the details of our victim's life, but very little about her death. The one thing that quickly became apparent was this had not been a gang or drug-related murder. The initial detectives categorized it as one due to her family connections; no one had dug any deeper. They deemed the victim's family's ties to the drug trade responsible for her attack and chalked it up to the price of doing business. From sorting through the interviews and evidence that had been collected at the time, they'd done the poor woman and her family a great injustice. My team believed strongly, that no matter what they did for a living, this woman and her family deserved to learn the truth.
Sophia Mendes had been a twenty-two-year-old woman working part-time as a teacher's aide in an elementary school in Maywood, California while attending a local college to earn her teaching degree. She was stunningly beautiful and from all accounts a kind and generous person, going above and beyond to help anyone in need. She was well-liked at school and among her neighbors in the mostly Latino community where she lived with her two older brothers. Luis, age thirty-two, and Cesar, age twenty-nine, had moved with their sister to the United States from Hermosillo, Mexico when she was in high school, after the tragic car accident that killed their parents. While Sophia was a model citizen, her brothers were another story. Luis and Cesar Mendes were entrepreneurs, working for the Galvan Organization, distributing cocaine and heroin smuggled into the country from Mexico. They were middlemen, not drug dealers themselves, but rather wholesalers, dispensing the product to local gangs and dealers like the 18th Street, Kansas Street, Maywood Locos, and now defunct Krazy Wicked Surenos gangs.
The brothers were bright, enterprising young men. Cesar had graduated with a degree in business from Cal State in Los Angeles and Luis was a natural salesman; personable, charming, and had a natural gift for numbers. They ran the entire operation out of the warehouse they owned, drawing and maintaining a hard line separating their work and home lives, keeping Sophia in the dark and insulated from the sordid details of the drug trade which provided for their family. She knew her brothers were importers but believed or chose to believe the entirety of their business lay in the handmade artwork, pottery, and jewelry they brought across the border to sell in boutiques across Los Angeles. Sophia was their baby sister, their princess, and the two did everything to keep her ignorant of the truth and away from the family business.
The file contained interviews with neighbors, friends, and coworkers; all painted the same picture. Sophia loved her family and was devoted to them, proud of the business her brothers had built from the ground up, she just didn't realize that that ground began with coca and poppy plants. While she'd been a fabulous student and, by all accounts, very intelligent, she had been sheltered from the reality of drugs and violence that plagued the city of Los Angeles. As a result, she was a little naïve and extremely trusting, wanting to believe the best about everyone. Only the interview with Sophia's best friend Eva told a slightly different story. In the months before her death, Sophia had suspected there was more to her brothers' business than they told her. Luis and Cesar were always treated with an amount of respect among the community that she didn't quite understand. When people spoke about her family, she picked up on a certain level of fear and reverence. Eva said Sophia had asked her brothers a few times about her concerns, but never got a straight answer. Sophia had been torn between pressing for the truth or trusting that the brothers she idolized wouldn't be involved in anything illegal.
Owning a middle-class home, in a relatively safe neighborhood, the brothers ensured that Sophia never wanted for anything, but the family didn't live extravagantly or advertise their wealth. From the outside, they appeared to be a traditional immigrant family. Even though she was the youngest, Sophia took care of the household: all the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and taking care of her brothers in their mother's absence. Neither Luis nor Cesar had married, and while girlfriends came and went, Sophia was the woman in their lives. The brothers adored and doted on her, but she hadn't been spoiled. Cesar and Luis paid her college tuition, and she didn't need to work, but she'd insisted. Sophia became interested in education when she'd been assigned to a local elementary school during a high school class on child development. She loved the children and felt like she could make a difference in their lives. Job-sharing with another woman, working 3 days a week, allowed her to have the other two days free for classes at Loyola Marymount University. Her transcripts showed that she was a successful student with a high GPA and only glowing recommendations from the teaching practicums she'd completed. At the time of her murder, she was nearing the end of the program, finishing her last semester of classes and scheduled to student teach the following Fall.
Sophia had another man in her life besides her brothers, a boyfriend she'd been dating for six months before her death. She'd told her friends it was love at first sight, and she knew he was the one from the moment she'd laid eyes on him as he helped a tiny first-grader into the building as the boy struggled with his backpack, lunch box, and giant bakery box containing his birthday treats. Marco Ruiz had worked as campus security for the elementary school where Sophia worked. According to interviews with Sophia's friends, family, and coworkers, Marco had moved to the area and taken a job at the school only a few weeks before he met and started dating Sophia. The Principal and other staff said he was an excellent employee, punctual, responsible, and good with the children. His supervisor praised him, saying he was a hard worker always on time, and never missed a day of work. That is, until the day after Sophia's death when he seemingly disappeared. Beyond that, there was little more anyone knew about him.
In early interviews, the Mendes brothers described Marco as quiet, a little reserved, but completely devoted to their baby sister; he was respectful, thoughtful, and protective of her. The way Sophia talked about him and what they saw of the couple together, Luis and Cesar expected Marco would eventually become part of the family. They respected his work ethic, sharing that his job at the school didn't pay very well and that they'd hired him to run some errands for their business when he needed cash to fix his car. Luis had offered to pay for the repairs, since Marco regularly drove Sophia to and from her night classes on campus, concerned for her safety. Marco had refused to accept the money, as well as the subsequent offer of a loan, only agreeing once Luis offered to let him earn the cash he needed. It was only after Marco disappeared that Luis and Cesar were convinced he'd killed their sister, saying only a guilty man would run. Their accusation also conveniently steered the investigation away from any connection the murder might have to their family business. If it had been linked, there was no doubt they'd deal with the murderer themselves, and the justice they'd be doling out did not include the inside of a jail cell for the man who robbed them of their sister.
Sophia's best friend Eva didn't believe Marco had killed her. She said Marco could sometimes give off a dangerous vibe, but it was aimed at other people, never Sophia, like guys who disrespected women or who showed too much interest in his girlfriend. She'd been a beautiful, bubbly, and sweet young woman, often attracting attention from other men, some of them creeps. While Sophia was too kind to put them in their place, Marco had no problem doing so on her behalf. Eva painted the picture of a happy couple, recalling that the two had been inseparable when they weren't working or Sophia wasn't at school. Eva admitted she'd been a little jealous of her friend; Marco was gorgeous and was devoted to Sophia, took her out to dinner and on dates, brought her flowers and gifts, and understood how important her family was to her, choosing to spend time with the brothers if it meant he got to be with her. Eva said Sophia had been in love with Marco and thought he felt the same.
When Sophia was murdered, everyone who knew her was shocked and devastated. She'd been found at home by a classmate who'd arrived for their afternoon study date. The scene and her injuries pointed to signs of a violent struggle, the autopsy report showed she died of blunt force trauma, evidence pointing to her hitting her head on the corner of the coffee table as she fought her murderer. There were bruises on her neck, arms, and hips, and her clothes were torn, suggesting an attempted rape. When Luis and Cesar realized Marco had disappeared and they began blaming him for her murder, the police challenged the idea, only interested in pursuing leads that were tied to the Mendes brothers' drug trafficking and the Galvan organization. The detective pointed out an attempted rape wasn't something you'd see from a boyfriend, especially one that was reportedly as loving and devoted as Marco had been. Luis insisted that Sophia had been a virgin, saving herself for marriage, and Marco must have grown tired of waiting for her.
The police didn't give the theory much credibility, as his claims were in direct contrast to the interviews with Sophia's friends. Several girlfriends told the story of a girls' night a month before the murder where the margaritas flowed freely and talk turned to their sex lives. While usually reserved when it came to their relationship, tequila had loosened Sophia's tongue and she shared in great detail just how passionate the couple's sex life had been. The detective even noted that some of the girls had blushed and fanned themselves during the interview.
But a name was all we had. Marco Ruiz disappeared from the face of the earth on the day of the murder, leaving no trail. The investigation had been actively worked for the first six months and then revisited once a year for review until three years had passed. Then, it was archived and labeled a cold case, and in all that time, there was no trace of him. No work history, financial or arrest records. Every single search I'd run had come up with nothing. It was one thing to disappear for six months or a year, but ten years?
If I thought my Spidey Sense was tingling before, now it was like I could hear it crackling, a constant prickling sensation that made it hard to focus. I was honestly concerned that the sensation had grown so strong that the current of energy coursing through me might short-circuit my brain. Marco Ruiz was Ranger. I knew it in my bones. The way people described him, the fact that he'd spent time with Sophia's family and friends, but there were no pictures of him, or the couple together. I tried not to focus on the details Sophia's friends shared about their sex life, but it, too, matched up with the Ranger I knew. It also sparked a lick of jealousy, which was stupid. This was a woman he knew years before we even met. It's not like I'd thought he hadn't been with other women, but it didn't mean I wanted to read about it or even entertain the thought.
Once you added in the way he disappeared so completely, I couldn't even consider it had been anyone else. I'd done national searches in every database available to me for Marco Ruiz and found nothing, no work history, addresses, debt, phone bill, nothing. There was also very little known about his life prior to arriving in Los Angeles. The brothers said he'd told them he'd grown up in El Paso, Texas, but no records of his birth, family, or schooling had been found. School staff said he'd been a good worker, but quiet and kept to himself. We couldn't find any friends other than those he met through Sophia. Luis mentioned Marco said he had family across the border, in Juarez, Mexico. Kat had even reached out to her contacts there. Nothing.
When I'd first suspected it was Ranger, that he'd been undercover for some sort of government op, I reached out to a contact I'd made last year at the CIA. I'd met Michael Vaughn during an investigation we'd worked on in the fall. Langley had flagged a search I'd run and Michael had been tasked with contacting me, politely suggesting I drop my investigation into a company that didn't seem to exist, except on paper. I wouldn't go so far as to say he was a nice guy, but he was definitely hot, in that cute quarterback of the football team sort of way. It was the way he contacted me that was unnerving, he'd scared the shit out of me, actually.
I'd always thought the cloak-and-dagger stuff about the CIA was made up for the movies and TV for entertainment value, but when I'd gone to my local coffee shop one Saturday morning, he made his approach. Black Dog Coffee Roasters was always busy, with people enjoying the inviting atmosphere to relax, read, work, or meet up with friends, but it seemed especially busy that day. The only empty seat was at the bar that spanned the entire front window of the café, which was excellent for people-watching. So I plunked myself down between the handsome guy who looked like he was headed out for a hiking trip and the girl with pink hair and an entire sleeve tattooed on her arm featuring every Muppet I'd ever seen. Mr. Handsome Hiker was looking over a laminated map of The San Gabriel Trail, while Little Miss Muppet was drawing on an iPad, earbuds in place. I exchanged the requisite smiles and nods with them as I wedged myself onto the seat in between. I was just getting settled with my journal when Mr. Handsome Hiker struck up a conversation.
"Are you writing the next great American novel or simply jotting down your deepest, darkest thoughts?" He flashed me a flirtatious smile. Being hit on wasn't new for me; it happened with regularity, more so since I'd moved here. In Trenton, for the most part, I'd been known as Morelli's girlfriend or Manoso's woman, which tended to scare off potential suitors. I left those labels back on the East Coast and generally enjoyed the attention. I was in no way ready for a relationship, but the flirting was fun and a boost to my wounded ego.
Returning his smile, I replied, "Autobiography, actually: My Life as an Intergalactic Princess."
He laughed. "Sounds interesting. I bet it's fabulous, filled with intrigue, crime-fighting, and maybe even a love triangle." I rolled my eyes at him and tried to ignore just how close his assessment had been to my real life. "But does it have smut in it? Once I got on Smut-Tok, I've struggled to read anything with fade-to-black love scenes. If someone's not naked by the end of chapter three, odds are I won't finish it."
I feigned offense and clutched my imaginary pearls. "Do I look like someone who would read such filth, much less write it?" I couldn't keep up the facade, and laughed, it seemed like his type of book was my type of book.
"You'll have to send me an advanced copy." His voice was warm and deep.
I just rolled my eyes at him. "I'll be sure to do that."
He was cute, okay, he was hot and flirty, but not in a creepy way. It was subtle when the conversation changed. "If your book is as well written as your reports at the FBI, it's sure to be a New York Times bestseller, but you should stop researching Winchester Group." I paused, my coffee halfway to my lips, stunned. I didn't say anything, and I think my brain had whiplash from the abrupt change in conversation. He went from flirty to invasive in less than half a second. Besides that, if he knew what I was doing on my work computer, he was connected to some organization bigger and more powerful than the FBI. Who was this guy? I figured the less I said, the better. It didn't matter anyway, because he wasn't done talking yet. "While I appreciate your dedication to solving your case, this company is a dead end. Your energy would be better focused elsewhere, like Richard Roman Enterprises." He took a drink of his coffee, waiting to see my reaction.
I was finally able to speak, but still a little wigged out by being accosted by what I assumed was a CIA agent before I'd even had my morning coffee. "And you know who I am? How? And what I'm working on?" I was proud of myself, there was no hint of the raging anxiety I was feeling in my voice.
He gave me a little smile. I guess I was amusing him. The look was nearly identical to the one that Ranger gave me when I asked how he knew something, and it made me want to kick him in the shin. "Your search. It was flagged in the system. It alerted one of my tech guys, he alerted me. Now I'm here to tell you to move on, and forget you ever heard of the Winchester Group."
This got my hackles up. I tried to stay calm as I asked, "And if I don't?"
"It'll make my friends at the Company upset and I'll have to visit you again, but it won't be for coffee, and it won't be nearly as pleasant." His tone wasn't threatening, it was still flirty, and he wore a slight smile, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn't joking.
CIA or not, I wasn't giving up so easily, narrowing my eyes I questioned him, "Are you telling me to stop because you're protecting someone? Someone doing something illegal, but government-sanctioned?"
With a slight shake of his head, he smiled a little wider. "No. I'm telling you because it's inconsequential and has nothing to do with your case. I'm pointing you in the right direction."
Now he reminded me more of Joe than Ranger. I rolled my eyes at him, and I couldn't control the snarkiness. "How generous of you."
His smile grew even more, showcasing the dimples in his cheeks, and his eyes twinkled. He was back to flirting with me. "What can I say? I'm a generous guy." I rolled my eyes again. "I've asked around about you. You're good at your job." My eyebrows shot up. "Came out of nowhere, lots of experience, no training but nosy as hell. From lingerie buyer to FBI Analyst, with an impressive career as a BEA and Rangeman contract worker in between." He laughed and shook his head. I didn't even want to think about what had been in my file. His face softened a bit and he lowered his voice, leaning into me, "I'm telling you, for your own safety, for once in your life, let it go. Move on. Trust me. Stephanie Plum, Intergalactic Princess, Bombshell Bounty Hunter, you're treading into some dangerous waters, you need to paddle back to shore." He did everything but pat me on the head and tell me to be a 'good little girl.' Ass.
I snorted, annoyance with his orders overriding how creeped out I was by how much he seemingly knew about me. "Why should I trust you?" Trusting hot secretive men had never gotten me anywhere. Maybe I should have been scared of him, but I wasn't; my Spidey Sense was quiet. I didn't know why I was pushing the issue, truthfully, the search had been routine, just covering all the bases, it hadn't been my focus anyway. That didn't mean I was going to roll over and play dead because he told me to, in fact, it made me want to do the opposite. "If you know all that about me, you must know that I don't do well when people tell me to do or not to do something." Especially sexy Alpha males, I thought to myself.
The corners of his mouth tipped up and I figured I must not have kept that last part to myself. Dammit. "Then I'm asking you, please, drop it. As much as I would love a reason to see you again, that's not the way I'd want to do it." My eyebrows shot up to my hairline, and my mouth dropped open, unable to hide my surprise. He leaned in close to me, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just used the tip of his finger to close my mouth and winked. "Later, Gorgeous," he said as he stood and strode away. I stared after him, his backside just as pleasurable to look at as his front.
I hadn't spoken to Michael since, but desperate for information on Marco Ruiz, I'd reached out. When I'd finished watching his fine ass walk out of the coffee shop six months ago, I'd picked up my journal and found his card tucked inside. I'd never had reason to use it before, but I'd exhausted every other avenue open to me. I figured, if anyone knew anything about my mystery man, it was the CIA. I was certain the intrusive search engines I'd had access to at Rangeman and now at the FBI paled in comparison. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to ask him for information on only Marco Ruiz and not Ricardo Carlos Manoso as well. I nearly broke my arm patting myself on the back for showing such restraint. It had been three days since I'd called him and I was waiting on pins and needles to hear back. While I'd been working on myself in therapy, I hadn't had much growth in the area of patience.
My phone and watch vibrated, notifying me of a message, thankfully from him.
SPOOK: We need to chat.
Me: Call me?
SPOOK: In person. Tomorrow.
Me: Where? When?
SPOOK: Where we had our first date. Breakfast.
Me: eye roll emoji
SPOOK: winking emoji
My Spidey Sense was in overdrive now, Michael wouldn't be meeting me in person to tell me something easy, something simple. My stomach twisted, I wanted answers, wanted to find out who murdered Sophia, but was I opening Pandora's Box? What was I going to learn, about Marco Ruiz, about Ranger? If I was snooping in his past, even if it was for a legitimate reason, he wasn't going to be happy. Even if he was an emotionally stunted, stubborn ass, he was my friend and against my will, I was still in love with him. Aside from that, he'd saved my life too many times to count; it was a debt I'd never be able to repay. After a ten-minute internal battle between my professional obligations and what I felt was morally right, I texted Ranger.
Me: We need to talk.
He responded immediately.
Ranger: When?
Me: Tonight?
Ranger: Okay.
Yikes.
The last week had been exhausting. I'd been so stressed out that I hadn't even been able to crochet, too distracted to count. After stitching and ripping out row after row multiple times, I put away the cat ear hats for the twins, or Double Trouble as their uncle called them, and had been cross-stitching like a mad woman. I'd finished my last piece and started a new one, gorgeous florals surrounding the words, 'Hey quick question, are you fucking kidding me?' I thought it was funny when I picked up the kit last month. Since Day Zero and the spike in my anxiety, it had lost a bit of its humor but was something I was feeling in my bones. Stabbing the aida cloth repeatedly helped to soothe my nerves. I'd also been hitting the gym nearly every day and eating sugar in quantities I hadn't since I'd moved here. Thankfully, Handsome Handsome Nick had some openings and I'd been seeing him twice a week to help manage the stress. I still had my daily breakfast and lunch with Abigail, but I didn't want to take advantage of her friendship, she had her own shit to deal with.
Luckily, I had a session with Handsome Handsome Nick today. Since I'd started seeing him, HHN and I had combed through my past, sorting out issues that had developed out of my childhood in the Burg and the traumatic events in the life of the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. We'd talked about my unhealthy relationships with Dickie and Joe but hadn't spent a lot of time dissecting my messy, complicated history with Ranger. I had a feeling that was going to change today. Every session started the same, with him asking how I was doing, and then I got free rein to talk about what was on my mind. He'd ask me questions, zeroing in on how I felt about certain thoughts or realizations, especially ones that caused me to pause or tear up.
As I settled in on the couch in his office, I pulled the tissue box over from the other side of the coffee table. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "So, what's on your mind?"
I quickly responded, "Ranger."
If he was surprised, he didn't show it. I wanted to roll my eyes, he'd fit right in with the Merry Men. "Are you still having the dreams?"
I blushed. Was I? Holy Hell. The dreams I'd had in the last two weeks made the one featuring the two of us having sex on stage during the FBI sting look PG in comparison. The dreams were similarly rooted in actual moments from our shared history: times we'd flirted, times we'd gotten hot and heavy before we were interrupted, or before I backed away because I was scared, or because of Joe. But in my dreams, I didn't back down or shy away because in my dreams there was no Joe, no fear of what Ranger wanted from me beyond sex, there was only want and need and a desire to have that feeling of completeness that only ever came from being with him. There was a knowledge that this was right, what was ordained by the fates, he was the other half of me, my twin flame, the king of my heart, body, and soul.
I swallowed and blushed, "Um, yeah, pretty much every night." He gave me a doubtful look and just stared at me passively, knowing I wasn't being completely truthful. "Okay. Every night," I huffed out. "And they're changing." Again, he just waited. "They're more intense, it's like they're real. I can feel everything, the detail is so vivid like it's not a dream, not even a memory, but here and now." I blushed again, and he politely didn't comment. "What's different is me. They start as a memory, of Ranger and me, a time we spent together, in different places, over the whole span of the time I knew him, times that he 'applied pressure' as he called it. Back then I shied away, driven by guilt over Joe, scared by his intensity, of how he made me feel, of him breaking my heart." I grimaced. "In the end, it happened anyway and there were missed opportunities, times I could have had with him, more memories." More Ranger-induced orgasms, I thought to myself. I glanced at HHN, ensuring I hadn't spoken that last part out loud. I didn't think I had, but his slight smile told me my face had said it anyway. Oh, well.
"I wonder to myself, when I wake in the morning, what if I hadn't backed down, turned him away, would that have changed things? I mean, I rejected him, over and over again. Did that cause him to put up a barrier, a wall? Not that it wasn't already there, but did my actions help him reinforce it? Did I show him I wouldn't accept him? If that one thing had been different, would everything be different today?" Nick looked thoughtful but could tell I wasn't done.
"So in the dreams, I make different choices. In my dreams, when I'm about to pull away, he whispers to me, "Do something, Babe, say something. Lose something, Babe, risk something. Choose something Babe, I've got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me." I teared up. "Was that what he was thinking? I'd sent him away, denied him time after time. By the time I told him I loved him, wanted him, found the courage, was it too late?" I took a deep breath and blotted my eyes. "So in the dreams I have, not only do I give in, I give myself to him." I blushed again. "In my dreams, I don't allow him to seduce me, I don't submit to him. That's always the way it was with us, he'd lead and I'd follow. But that's Ranger; if you looked up Ultimate Alpha Male in the dictionary, you'd find his picture."
I laughed, "Actually, no you wouldn't because no one actually owns a dictionary anymore, and he's all secretive, he's Batman, the man of mystery, so private and stealthy he leaves no trace by design, just a whisper, the feeling that he was there. But in reality, he was surrounded by an aura of maleness, oozing testosterone, his presence filling the room like a physical thing, settling over everyone present, commanding your attention, filling you with the knowledge that he was in control." It all rushed out, overcome by the memory, and the frustration of how he always sucked me into his orbit, robbing me of every bit of willpower I possessed. Taking a calming breath, I continued, "So in the dreams, I take over. I'm the aggressor, I'm in control. I'm not only giving in. I'm in charge, making sure he knows, he sees, he feels how much I love him, that he's the one I choose, how much I want him, need him." I grabbed a tissue to dab at my eyes, the emotions coming to the surface. When I told HHN about the dreams, I didn't focus on the physical aspects like I did with Abigail. With her, I shared the passion, the heat, and desire, the ways we touched each other, how our bodies fit and moved together. With Nick, that seemed weird. When I talked to him, I talked about how it felt, and it helped me recognize the emotions hidden under the heat and the passion.
When he was sure I was finished, HHN asked, "What is that? What are you feeling? I can see your reaction. What is it about the dreams causing your tears? From what you've told me before, they're good dreams, I believe you've said great dreams. So, why are you crying?"
I took a minute to consider his question, examine what I was feeling, trying to name it. "Lots of things. Regret, for not making a choice sooner, looking back on it, I can see how I must have hurt him, even though he never showed it. Longing. I miss him so much, every day, and I worry I won't ever get past it, be able to move on." I paused and whispered, "Because there's a part of me that doesn't want to."
HHN calmly asked, "Why not?"
He asked it so casually, that it irked me. "Why not what? Get over him?" He nodded. It all came spilling out, probably with a little more force than necessary. "My whole life, there's been no one else who made me feel the way he did. He made me feel like I could do anything. He believed in me. He knew me, knows me like no one else ever has, what I need, what I want. He was generous with me, always ensuring I had whatever I needed." I frowned. "Well physically anyway, a job, cars, backup, rescuing."
I started to get angry. "He gave me everything and nothing, emotionally, I mean. He showed me, though. Those times we were alone, times it was just the two of us. I caught glimpses, moments when he didn't say the words, but I knew I was his best friend. I'm the only one he let know him like that, see that side of him. He let me see him vulnerable and allowed me to take care of him." I swiped at the angry tears that poured out. "He's a man who doesn't need anything from anyone. He told me as much." I used the fist clutching a snotty tissue to pound my chest for emphasis. "But he needed me! And that made me feel more special than anything he ever gave me!" A wave of sadness hit me, and I sobbed. "I worry about him. I left him. I mean, I know I needed to. The bravest thing I ever did was run. The whole fucked up thing was killing me, and as long as I stayed it would have continued."
I took a deep breath and grabbed a fresh tissue. "Once I recognized I was the only one he would allow to see him that way, I wasn't strong enough to turn him away. But once he knew that I knew, he went into self-sabotage mode, like he was throwing spikes down on the road. Each time the cycle repeated, I knew how it would end, but I couldn't stop it, couldn't help myself. Like I'd seen this episode before, this horrible heartbreaking episode, but still loved the show." I shrugged, knowing how ridiculous it all sounded, it was like I was running on Rex's hamster wheel. I didn't bother to try to keep the worry out of my voice. "Who does he have now? I know what his life is like, the weight he carries, and his sense of responsibility, and duty. How does he deal with it now that I'm gone? Who's going to hold him like me? Who's going to read him, decode him, see what he needs, like me? Who's going to know him like me?" I growled in frustration.
Nick interjected, "What's that? You were sad, concerned, and now you're angry."
Damn right, I was angry. "Because he's a dumbass! Pushed me away! So who's going to take care of him now?! Nobody, no fucking body, because he drove me away!" I was nearly shouting.
"Do you want him to have somebody?" Nick asked, calm as ever.
I shouted, "Yes! Me!"
He shook his head, "No, now that you're gone. Do you want him to have somebody?"
Just the idea horrified me. "God no! I imagine him with other girls and it makes me want to throw up in the street. If it's Jeanne Ellen, I'd want to throw up and shoot something, probably her!" My voice suddenly got soft, filled with sadness. "I mean, if he could turn to someone else, what would that say about me? About what we had? Like it was all in my head? Like I got it wrong somehow? Our connection. Did he need that from someone and I was just the one there? Filling the role? And this other girl, other woman, would he let her in? Like all the way in, in a way he never did with me? Was it that he didn't want someone in his life like that? Or just not me?" I wanted to throw up.
Nick's voice was soft, gentle, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "You've obviously been thinking about this, about him, for a long time, probably since you left, more than a year ago." I nodded. "Why haven't we talked about it: about him, your relationship, how you feel until now?"
I was surprised by how bitter my laugh sounded. "Denial? That's generally my go-to coping mechanism." I wiped my nose. "Plus, I left to make a life for myself, one without him in it. I came to see you to work on my issues, not his. I let him control everything, our working relationship, our friendship, our agreement," I bit out. "I needed to take back control."
He pondered for just a minute. "Your dreams, do you think that could be what they're about? You say they're different from your memories, and what happens? This time you're the one in control, deciding what you want, what you need, and what you're willing to give?" I nodded, trying to follow his train of thought. "You said he was always the one to set the parameters of your relationship?"
A snort escaped. "Always. He used to say he might have the muscle, but I had all the power. It was bullshit. I think he was just scared that if he opened himself up to a relationship with me, then I would have some power over him." I scoffed, "Like what was he afraid of? That I'd be able to get classified information from him? Control him? Lead him around by his dick?" My anger quickly died down, replaced with resentment and sadness. "It didn't matter anyway, he didn't want a relationship with me. What I wanted had no bearing."
Challenging my self-pity, he asked, "But didn't you take control when you chose to leave? Make a life for yourself?"
I sniffed and shrugged. "I guess, but that was just control over my life. I mean, that's important, but even when I saw him at Christmas, I lost control again. I got sucked into his orbit."
"So, do you feel like he manipulated you? At Christmas? Or before, when you were involved?" He tried to pull me out of my spiral and analyze what I was feeling.
I shook my head. "No. This thing between us, it's like we're two magnets, the pull between us so strong, it overrides everything else."
"So neither of you have control over it?" he questioned.
I shook my head. "No. And as much as I hate it, he hates it more." The whole thing was like a Greek tragedy. "I think it makes him feel weak, to want me, need me. So he pushes me away. And me, I ran, hoping the distance would help me get a grip on it. Like I came here seeking clean air, but I still miss the smoke."
He asked again, "Do you think that could be what your dreams could be about? You said in your dreams you were the aggressor, took control, which isn't how it was between you?"
"I thought they were just sex dreams." I didn't know what he was getting at.
He laughed. "Well, that's part of it, but didn't you say that was a part of the relationship that was always good between you? A safe space for you to show each other how you felt, since you both struggled with vocalizing your feelings?"
"Hmm. I guess. I can see it now that you say it. I thought I was just lonely and horny." The session had exhausted me and any filter I may have had was gone.
He laughed, "That's probably part of it. What else? I can see the wheels turning."
His words took me by surprise. "Ranger used to say that to me, he could see the wheels turning, or that he could smell something burning." My smile was sad. "There's more to it. It's this case; my Spidey Sense says he's involved in it. I know it." I sighed. "And now, I have to talk to him tonight."
As always, our time was up too quickly, and my issues with Ranger weren't going to be solved in a sixty-minute therapy session. Handsome Handsome Nick reminded me of all the progress I'd made and that it was going to take time to heal. We reviewed the boundaries I'd worked so hard to set to try and prepare me for the phone call I needed to make.
Luckily, I'd been able to schedule my appointment for the end of the day, so I made a quick stop in the bathroom to fix my face and grabbed my things from my cubicle. I said a quick goodbye to Kat and Handsome Nick. Adam had already left for the day. As I walked out to my car, I decided I deserved take-out for dinner tonight and ran through the options in my head. I was so involved in my internal debate of Thai versus Indian cuisine that I missed the warning signs. The back of my neck tingled as I stopped dead in my tracks, and I hysterically thought to myself, 'I'll need to order more food.' Leaning up against my little blue hybrid Toyota Prius was the man himself, Ranger aka Ricardo Carlos Manoso, and if my suspicions were correct, the elusive Marco Ruiz.