by Lisa De Jong
I swallow hard. I understood the meaning behind those words all too well. Her dad put his job before her. What a fucker. Changing topics, I ask, “Boyfriend?”
“Um. No.” A quiet sigh escapes from between her perfect pink lips. Her shoulders sink slightly, almost falling in defeat. “Not anymore,” she says, reaching for her drink again. She takes a long sip from the straw and sets the cup down again, not making eye contact with me. She’s suddenly quiet so I will ask questions, and hopefully she’ll answer.
“You said your last name is Harper, right?” Finally making eye contact again, she smiles slightly.
“Yes, very perceptive.”
“It’s my job to be perceptive.” I smile back at her. “Then who’s Garcia?” I ask inquisitively.
She quietly gasps at that question and I see her back straighten. I’ve struck a nerve; I can tell by the way she shifts in her seat and fidgets with her hands. Who the fuck is Garcia?
“How do you know about the Garcias?” she asks, eyeing me closely.
“What?” Now I’m confused. I’m asking about a Garcia, singular, not plural. “I was asking who Garcia was, not who the Garcias were,” I clarify.
Her concerned look remains planted on her face, and I can tell she’s not going to offer up information on Garcia easily. “The day Matt and I came to your condo to tell you about your car light, you were wearing a Santa Ruiz Fire Department shirt that said ‘Garcia’ on the front.” She nods in recognition, closing her eyes and holding them closed for a few seconds.
“That’s the ex,” she says quietly. “Can we talk about you now?” she asks, looking uncomfortable.
I don’t want to talk about me. There is so much more I need to know about her. We’ve just scratched the surface, but I’ll play her game for now.
“Sure. What do you want to know, Jessica?” I ask coyly. She hears the innuendo in my question and the tone of my voice.
Rolling her eyes at me, she asks, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” I answer honestly.
Jessica’s eyes widen.
“What? Does twenty-eight scare you?” I say with a low voice.
“Why would twenty-eight scare me?” she snaps back at me, trying to seem unaffected.
“Next question,” I say. I want to continue getting to know her, not piss her off, so it’s best if we move on.
“What made you want to become a police officer?”
Fuck. Loaded question. Do I go with the real reason or the safe explanation? I’ll go safe, for now. “Our dad was a police officer, and my uncle was too. It’s all I’ve ever known. From the time I can remember, it was always something I wanted to do.”
A small smile spreads across her face. “I like that answer,” she says shyly.
“Good,” I reply. “What else do you want to know?”
“Have you ever been shot at?”
“Once.”
“Do you ever get scared?”
“Nah, not really.”
“What’s your favorite part of being a police officer?”
“Handcuffs.” God, the expression on her face is priceless. She squirms.
“Handcuffs? Did you say handcuffs?” she spits out. I realize I may have just scared the shit out of her.
Squinting my eyes at her, I lean in against the table again. “There’s something about restraining people that really gets me excited.” Fuck if that isn’t true.
She doesn’t seem amused. In an almost mocking tone, she says, “You get excited handcuffing bad guys and tossing them in the back of your car?” No, I get excited handcuffing women to my bed and fucking them senseless.
“Yep.” I keep my answer short. “Jesus, I’m kidding. I love helping people. That’s what I love most about my job.” Rolling my eyes at her, I shake my head in amusement at how worked up she gets. “But I like handcuffs too,” I quip.
Silence fills the air between us for a few seconds as Lindsay strides back up. “At least you two didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”
Neither Jessica nor I respond to her remark. Just as Lindsay is getting settled back in at the table, our waiter reappears.
“Anything else I can get for y’all tonight?” We all glance back and forth to each other. Jessica shakes her head lightly, and Lindsay shrugs her shoulders.
“No, I think we’re all set,” I respond, wishing that one of the girls had wanted another drink. I’m not ready to let Jessica go home yet. I have a million more questions for her. I need to get inside that head of hers…and those pants. Reaching for the bill at the same time, Jessica’s hand just beats mine to it. I grab her hand firmly, holding it in place. “I’m picking this up.”
“Landon, you don’t have to do that. I can pay for myself,” Jessica counters.
Lindsay pipes in, “It’s not worth arguing about with him, Jessica. A little tip about my brother: you won’t win an argument with him. Just let him pay the bill.”
She releases the bill, but I continue my gentle grip on her hand. It’s soft and delicate, and I’m not ready to let go.
“Ah, okay. Thanks. You don’t have to pay for me.” She’s trying to pull her hand out of mine, but I still won’t let go.
“I know I don’t, but I want to.”
A small smile creeps across my face. She drops her eyes from mine, and I finally release her hand. Reaching into her purse, I see she’s rifling around.
“Lose something?” I ask. “You could fit a small child in that bag.” Her purse is huge and seemingly full of stuff.
She laughs and shrugs “I like big purses; what can I say?” She has the cutest laugh. Pulling papers out of her purse and setting them on the table, she removes her wallet, a case with sunglasses, and a small make-up bag. Shit, her bag is a never-ending pit.
“Ah ha! Found them,” she says, jingling the keys in her hand. She starts placing the contents of her bag from the table back into her purse. All of a sudden, she freezes and all the color drains from her face. Her smile is gone and her eyes are glossy. She’s holding a plain white envelope in her perfectly manicured fingers. Shoving the last of her contents into her bag, she turns quickly to Lindsay. “I really have to go. Thank you for inviting me to dinner. And Landon, thank you for paying. I, ah, um, really have to get home now.”
Without another word, she slides out of the booth, offers a tight smile to Lindsay, and a small wave to me, then hurries out of the pub. Her pace is fast and she’s gripping the white envelope in her hand along with her car keys.
“What just happened?” Lindsay asks me, looking confused.
“Hell if I know. She looked at that envelope in her hand and it was like she saw a ghost.” I recall the look on her face, and it was a combination of sadness and fear.
“I’ll ask her on Monday. Thanks for dinner, Lan. Let’s go.”
Chapter 35
Jess
My heart is racing. My feet can’t keep up with how fast my body wants to get me to my car. I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. How? When did that envelope get into my purse? My mind is consumed with thoughts of what’s in that envelope. Clutching it to my chest the entire drive home, I’m so distracted with thoughts that I don’t even know how I made it back to my condo. I sit in my parking spot for a minute, just holding the envelope, staring at the script “Jess” that’s written on the front. I even smelled the envelope to see if I could smell him.
Fumbling with my keys, I somehow make it into my condo and toss my purse onto the kitchen table. Flipping on lights all over the kitchen and living room, I sit down on the couch, still clutching the letter. I stare at it. I want to open it, yet I’m so afraid of what the words on the inside will do to me. Since I told Gabe that day in my living room to let me go, he has. But right now, I want him here. I want to hear him tell me that he loves me, that we’ll be okay, even though I know in my heart we won’t.
When I slide my finger under the sealed flap of the envelope, it tears open, and I pull the folded letter out. Taking a dee
p breath, I tremble slightly at the sight of his handwriting. Unfolding the letter completely, I begin reading.
Jess,
These weeks of silence have damn near killed me. I can’t focus, and I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything but you. My days always began and ended with you, and I have been lost for weeks. I know that you asked me to let you go, but please just let me know that you are safe, that you are okay. Tell me something, Jess, anything. Communicate with me, talk to me.
For the rest of my life, I will live with the guilt of knowing that I couldn’t do the one thing I promised you I would do: take care of you and keep you safe. Every single day, I regret leaving you that night. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. I will never get over the fact that I failed you. I failed you. None of this was your fault. Please know that.
I know you don’t want to be found, you made that clear. Wherever it is you are headed, I hope that happiness and peace await you. You are truly the strongest, most amazing woman I have ever met. I have no doubt that your future holds much success in whatever you choose to do.
No matter where the roads in our lives lead us, you will always be the love of my life, the one person who touched my soul, and the one person I will never forget. I will never get over you Jessica Louise Harper. Always know that there is one person in this world that loves you forever.
My love always,
Gabe
I can’t stop the sobs wracking through my body, or turn the tears off. Undoubtedly, I love Gabe. But I love him enough to know that he deserves better than the damaged goods that is me, Jessica Harper. I know in my heart that I will never, ever get over him. There are some people who own a piece of your heart, your soul. For me, that is Gabe.
Folding the letter, I toss it onto the end table. Curling into a ball on the couch, I pull my knees to my chest and cry. I cry uncontrollable tears, and I punch the pillows of the couch. I yell and punch and cry. I have no idea how I ended up on the floor. I must have rolled off the couch, but I’m tossing pillows at the couch and punching the cushions. I actually wonder to myself if I’m having a nervous breakdown. I reach to the letter again and run my fingers over the handwriting. Maybe if I touch it, I will feel him. Out of nowhere, there is a sudden, loud knocking on my door.
“Jessica, open this door now, or I will break the fucking door down.” I recognize the voice as Landon’s.
“Go away, Landon. I’m fine.”
“Open this goddamn door, right now, or I swear on my father’s grave, I will kick the fucking door in.”
Shit. I don’t need to explain to Kevin how some cop I barely know kicked in his door.
“Hold on.”
Walking to the door, I wipe the tears from my face and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but I realize there is no cleaning up this mess. I am a mess. Turning the deadbolt, I hear it click. Before I even have my hand on the handle to open the door, Landon bursts through the door and pulls me into his chest tightly. He has a gun in his hand, and his eyes are searching the condo.
“Jesus Christ, put the gun down. There is no one here but me,” I snap, trying to pull away from him.
He doesn’t loosen his grip on me and he won’t let me pull back away from him. Actually, he pulls me in tighter after holstering his gun somewhere along his back.
“I heard you screaming. What happened?” His voice is full of concern. He’s rubbing circles on my back and I realize that I’ve got my arms securely wrapped around him. My face is pressed against his firm chest and, if I tilt my head up slightly, I could press my lips to his neck.
“Nothing happened.” Tugging, I’m able to pull away from him this time, but his hands are still grasping my upper arms, holding me closely. I duck my head slightly when I catch his eyes searching my tear-streaked face.
“Besides, what are you doing here anyway?”
“I could tell when you left dinner you were upset. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay. I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me? So you followed me home?”
“I didn’t follow you home, Jess.” My heart sinks. He just called me “Jess.” No one has ever called me “Jess” except for Ava or Gabe. I won’t correct him, not right now anyway. “I dropped Lindsay off at the house, and the more I thought about how you left the pub and looked upset, the more worried I became. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you got home okay.”
“Well, I’m home, and safe, so you can leave now.” I know that those words came out snotty. I can only imagine what I look like. I can feel how swollen my eyes are and I’m all stuffy from crying. I can hear it in my voice. I just want him to leave.
“Why were you crying, Jess?” He said it again. The way my name rolls of his tongue sends a shiver up my spine. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me, and I know that you are really all right.” And just like that, he throws himself down on the couch that is covered in my tears. Releasing a deep sigh, I ask him to leave once again.
“Not happening, baby girl. Take a seat and let’s talk.”
“Did you just call me ‘baby girl?’?” I force a smile and roll my eyes at him. This guy has some serious balls, and now he has a pet name for me? Walking over toward the couch, I stand firmly in front of him, crossing my arms across my chest. He tips his head back slightly to look up at me. As he tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth curl up, and a small grin falls over his lips.
“Please, everything is fine. I was just upset, and I needed to cry it out. It’s out, and I’d really like you to leave now.”
Placing his foot over and onto his opposite knee, he leans back further on the couch, making himself comfortable. Patting the cushion next to him, he looks back up at me. “Sit down.”
I contemplate for a few seconds before I sit down, making sure that there is plenty of room between us. I figure, if I can talk to him for a few minutes, he’ll be satisfied, and I can get him to leave so I can go to bed and finish my mini breakdown.
“Happy now?” I ask angrily.
“Not yet. Tell me why you were crying.”
“It’s personal. Please, just let it be.”
“I can’t just ‘let it be.’” His voice is full of intensity, and his eyes are a deeper shade of blue. I can’t deny how good-looking he is, and my pulse quickens just a little bit. Swallowing hard, I glance at the letter on the end table and then look back to him. He notices where I was looking and turns his head to look at the letter.
“Is that what upset you at the restaurant?”
Nodding my head slowly, I can feel my lip quivering. “Yes. I found a letter in my purse that I didn’t know was there. I recognized the handwriting, and I just needed to leave. I wanted…needed to be alone when I read it.”
“Who’s it from?”
“Does it matter? Jesus, you’re being really nosy.”
“Who’s it from?” He sits up straighter and, suddenly, I’m wondering if he’s going to reach for the letter.
“Gabe,” is all I respond.
“Ex?”
“Yep.”
“Is that why you left California?”
“Partially.”
I can feel the stinging of the tears behind my eyes again. My heartbeat picks up even more. I can feel my pulse in my neck and my throat is dry.
“What other reasons?”
The tears I’m fighting to hold in are suddenly falling down my cheeks. My eyes are turned down, looking at my hands, which are folded in my lap. The tears that have fallen have sprinkled my folded hands. I watch a stray tear roll off the top of my hand, over my knuckle, and fall into my lap. Suddenly, there is a gentle finger wiping another falling tear. Looking up, I see that Landon has shifted himself considerably closer to me. He is holding his hand just near my cheek. Stilling himself, he looks at me as if asking permission to continue wiping my tears.
When I don’t respond, he takes another swipe at my cheek with his long, gentle fingers, but this time, after he wipes my tears, he rests
his palm on my face. Tilting my head, I let my cheek fall into his hand. As I close my eyes, more tears continue to spill down my face. I gasp for air and my chest heaves with sobs. Pulling me into him, he wraps me in his arms, squeezing me gently, and I cry. I release the emotions I’ve kept locked inside, but mostly, I cry for Gabe.
“Talk to me,” he whispers.
“I can’t.”
“I want you to trust me,” he whispers.
“I don’t trust anybody.” I pause to swallow. “Including myself.”
There are no other words spoken between us as I lie in Landon’s arms, but no words are necessary. I find solace in the comfort and safety of his arms. I close my eyes and soak in the contentment of lying with him.
Opening my eyes, I realize that I’m lying on top of Landon and that he is asleep underneath me. I raise my head slowly and pull myself off of him. I stand for a few moments above him, and notice how peaceful he looks, and I am conflicted with whether I should wake him or not.
The large clock that hangs on the wall in the kitchen tells me it’s three in the morning. There is no way I’m going to wake him at this hour to send him home. I grab the soft, teal blue blanket that hangs over the back of the couch. Opening it, I lay it as gently as I can over him, hoping I don’t wake him.
Leaning over him, I can’t help but look at his beautiful face. His sharp jaw line is covered in a five o’clock shadow. It’s the perfect amount of facial hair to give his face, that rugged “bad boy” look. His full lips are slightly parted and perfectly shaped. I can’t help but think about how handsome this man who is lying on my couch is.
I take the steps upstairs to my bedroom quietly, so as not to wake him. Lying in bed, I see the words from Gabe’s letter running through my mind. Silent tears slide from my eyes and down into my hair. I miss him more than I ever thought possible. Even with the handsome stranger asleep on my couch downstairs, I know it’s Gabe who still holds my heart.