True. Each time she’d waited for him to come to her. She’d known his address all these months. I could have gotten in my car and driven to his house, knocked on his door, and demanded to know why he’d disappeared.
Why hadn’t she? Now that is a damn good question. Right now she didn’t even have to get into her car. She could just walk through the bathroom and knock on his door.
Rising before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the bathroom door and had to smile at the near military precision with which he’d hung his wet towels to dry. The chrome shone and the shower tile had been dried. The only evidence that he’d actually used the shower was the steam still fogging the mirror.
Sucking in a breath, she tapped lightly. ‘Adam?’
A long moment of silence. Then a sigh that sounded resigned. ‘It’s not locked.’
That sigh didn’t bode well, but she opened the door enough to see him sitting on the bed facing the door, his pose the mirror image of what hers had been, except that his knees were spread wide where she’d sat like a lady.
I’m a little tired of being a lady, she thought, lifting her chin.
His hair was tousled, sticking up all over his head in short, wet spikes and she could visualize him rubbing it dry with a towel, not caring how it looked, and that was endearing. He wore only a thin pair of gray sweatpants, his chest bare, and that was so damn sexy. Almost unbearably tempting. Except that his head hung low and his hands were loosely clasped between his knees. He looked like a man waiting to be sentenced to prison.
So . . . lust was not on the menu. Swallowing back her disappointment, she squared her shoulders. Comfort it would have to be. ‘Can I come in?’ she whispered.
He nodded so she did, not stopping until she stood between his knees. He looked up, but not far enough to meet her eyes. His breathing grew rapid, his gaze fixed on the deep V of her pajama top, which wasn’t boudoir sexy, but it was . . . intimate.
His exhale warmed her exposed skin, sending shivers rippling over every square inch of skin still covered. She lifted a tentative hand to his hair, smoothing the spikes, settling at the back of his head, cradling him when he leaned into her, resting his cheek against her breasts.
‘Is this all right?’ she asked and his arms came around her waist, pulling her closer. She kissed the top of his head. ‘That’s a good answer.’
He huffed a laugh. ‘I was going to let you sleep.’
‘I’m . . . wired. Happens when my sleep cycle gets disrupted. I just wanted to tell you good night and that I thought you were wonderful with Kyle tonight.’
His shoulders relaxed a degree or two, but he shook his head. ‘It wasn’t enough.’
‘It won’t ever be. But when it’s all over and he’s healing, he’ll remember the detective who made those horrible moments a little more bearable.’ She stroked his hair, as she’d done to Shane, but the context was so very different. So very intimate. ‘And that’s got to be enough for you, Adam. That and doing our best to catch the man who killed her.’
He shuddered out a breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I should have told you.’
She just waited, stroking his hair.
‘You couldn’t be my reason,’ he finally said roughly.
‘For your sobriety?’
‘Yeah. And for my sanity.’
Her heart hurt, thinking of him fighting his battles alone. ‘Did you have anyone?’
‘My sponsor. My shrink.’ His chuckle was self-deprecating. ‘My crayons.’
‘I kept them all. All the pictures you left in my mailbox. Every last one of them.’ She brushed a kiss across his ear. ‘I’d run to the mailbox every day, hoping for a new one. My favorites go on my refrigerator when I’m alone. I . . . take them down when I have company.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ she asked, because the defeated way he said it made her think that he didn’t. ‘I wasn’t ashamed of them, Adam. I . . . They were mine. Just mine. I didn’t want to share them with anyone because I was greedy for any connection to you.’
She felt him swallow. ‘I didn’t want you to forget about me.’
‘I know. I think I got a little sidetracked recently and probably overreacted to you staying away. It’s the holidays. They always make me . . .’ She hesitated, searching for the right word. Depressed was accurate, but not complete. Vulnerable was also true, but not complete either. ‘Raw.’ Yes, that worked. ‘And lonely. For what it’s worth, I understand why I couldn’t be the reason for your sobriety. Not so sure I get the sanity part, but I do get that I couldn’t be your new addiction.’
‘I wanted to come to you . . . whole.’
‘I get that.’
‘And I didn’t want you to know. About the drinking.’
She sighed. ‘Did you believe I’d think less of you?’
‘I didn’t know. I didn’t care. And that was selfish, because you didn’t know why I stayed away. I’d cut off my own hand before I hurt you.’
‘Well, let’s not get drastic,’ she said dryly, making him chuckle. ‘Besides, I’m not as perfect as you seem to think I am.’
His head came up abruptly. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said.
‘You already know I wear . . . what did you call it? My zen mask?’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. Carefully. ‘Why?’
‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘I guess it’s time to lay all the cards on the table, huh?’
His brows rose. ‘Yeah. I showed you mine.’
She found herself smiling at him, even as she shook her head. ‘I don’t think you have. As long as we’re still talking about cards.’
‘For now.’ He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. ‘What are you hiding behind your zen mask, Meredith?’
‘Depression,’ she said simply, and found it hadn’t been as hard as she’d expected to show that particular card. ‘There have been times in my life when it’s been really bad.’
He considered that, his eyes filling with a combination of worry, understanding, and compassion. ‘How bad?’
She had to look away. ‘Bad.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Did you try to . . .’ He trailed off.
‘Hurt myself? Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘End myself? Yes, I tried that too.’
He leaned back, gently drawing her arms from where they rested on his shoulders, and pushed back one sleeve, then the other. Closing her eyes, she held herself perfectly still, barely breathing as he found what he was looking for. She waited for . . . what? Surprise? Disgust? Pity? She couldn’t blame him. She’d certainly felt all of the above too many times to even attempt to count.
She shuddered out a sob when his lips brushed the first scar. Her bangles hid the worst ones, but the rest were faded now, barely even visible unless someone was looking and no one ever did. No one ever thought to.
Pursing her lips to keep the sobs locked down, she let the tears fall silently as he kissed every single scar, large and small, shallow and deep. When he’d found them all, he kissed the pulse point at each of her wrists, then resettled her arms on his shoulders. He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, cupping her face in his palms.
‘Not perfect,’ he whispered. ‘Better. Like tempered steel.’
She hiccupped a startled laugh. ‘What?’
His lips tipped up. ‘You know. Metal gets superheated then quenched, but that only hardens it. Leaves it brittle. That’s not you. Tempering is a second step.’
‘Which makes what?’
His smile grew, tender and sweet. ‘Something tough, but not brittle. That’s you.’
Meredith pursed her lips again, harder this time, because this thing in her chest was not going to stay down. Her gaze shot to the door, panic rising like floodwaters, tangling with all of the other emotions that threatened to break through the wall she maintained so fastidiously.
Understanding flickered in his eyes and he stood up, pulling her to his side and urging her into the bathroom where he sat on the side of the decadent garden tub and turned both faucets on full blast. He tugged her to sit on his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and gruffly whispered in her ear, ‘Nobody can hear. Just let go, sweetheart.’
She wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice, the way he held her, the endearment, or the words themselves, and it really didn’t matter. Turning her face into his chest, she let the wall crumble into dust, took the comfort he offered, and started to cry.