Elastic Heart

“I worked in the FBI human trafficking division—”

“No, tell me,” I said, cutting him off.

“Well, what do you want to know?” Law sat up a bit straighter and the blankets we’d used fell down, exposing his chest. I was momentarily distracted by the hard packs of muscle, forgetting his question.

I placed my hand on his chest and asked, “Why did you go into sex trafficking?”

“I graduated head of my class. I like challenges. Human trafficking was a challenging specialization.” I frowned at his reply. He hadn’t even looked me in the eye when he responded and his tone was cold and distant. I didn’t buy his explanation for a minute. I was about to call him out when he leaned down and pulled me closer.

“Promise me you’ll call Jameson?” Law asked, his voice a breath against my ear.

“The journalist?” I questioned. My words were slurred as I got caught up in the feel of Law again. “Now?”

“No.” Law bit my ear, stretching the lobe with his teeth. “Not now, but soon.”

“I don’t know…” I resisted. Even if Law did recommend Jameson, he was still the press.

“Nami…” Law slowly licked from the base of my collarbone and back up to my ear. His warm kisses lulled me into complacency.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll do it.” Playfully I pushed away from Law, situating myself on his chest. He’d won this argument, but that was all he was going to get from me for now. Truthfully, I would lose again and again if it meant he would kiss me with the same adoration, but that was a secret better kept close.

“Where’s Raskol?” The question was innocent enough. Law had no way of knowing the tearing hurt he’d just released in my chest. I tried to dismount and crawl away, but Law held me firmly, his fingers digging into my thighs. “Nami?” Law pressed. “Where is Raskol?”

“He’s dead.” The words felt like slugs in my mouth. “Morris killed him—or may as well have. He had his right arm, Becca Riley, do it.” Minutes passed where neither of us said a word. Law held me, stroking my back, and I allowed myself to be comforted. I allowed myself to feel sorrow.

I’d felt nothing save guilt the past week. Sorrow is for people who deserve to be sad. Comfort is for those with the right to feel better. I didn’t grant myself either, because Raskol’s death was on me. Riley may have murdered him, but it was my fault he was in that situation in the first place. Still, lying with Law, I allowed myself a bit of sorrow and a bit of comfort.

As the hour passed, I even allowed myself to forget.

“Nami?” Law asked.

“Yes?” I responded, fiddling with the small tufts of hair on his pectorals. As far as men go, I supposed he was a fine specimen. His abdomen and chest were sculpted like finely hewn marble. His chin could cut glass. My gaze roamed across his body, stopping just short of the sheet that covered his groin. His beauty was undeniable, but it was more than that; his body was like condensed power, each bulge and rivet a reminder of the damage he packed.

Even so, I felt safe with him. Law’s body was another reminder of the discipline he carried, unlike Morris, who was untrained and had relied on brute strength and testosterone to pin me down. The tan valleys and peaks of Law’s hard packs of muscle showed the discipline and respect he had for himself, the discipline and respect he’d shown with me.

He also had brilliant cognac eyes that would catch your breath by the sheer color of them. True to Law’s personality, though, they were always shrouded under his thick, determining brow. I rarely saw his eyes without that shadow. Right now, he looked at me, gaze furrowed and hazel eyes obscured. I lay down on his body, trying to get a better look at those eyes. Resting my chin on his chest, I frowned back at him.

“What? What are you thinking?” For the first time in months I felt content, yet Law’s shadowed brow hung over me like a raincloud on a summer day.

“I love you,” Law replied.

Boom goes the dynamite. I sat up, feeling like fire ants had infested our tranquil couch. Reaching for the entirety of the blankets, I covered up. I turned away, choosing to stare at a banal painting instead of Law’s face. Law’s rigid, unrelenting face.

“Nami—”

“Law, no.” I shook my head, still focusing on the knockoff Garden at Giverny across from me. It had been a gift from my mom.

“Why did you have to ruin this?” I asked, turning my head slightly. I could see Law sitting up in my peripheral, his naked body like a stone statue from the Parthenon.

“I didn’t think telling you I loved you would ruin anything.”

“Law… I can’t…” I jumped up and quickly threw on some clothes: a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and some snow boots.

“Nami, what are you doing?” Law asked, his voice smooth and level, the exact opposite of how I felt.

“I’m leaving.” I looked around, desperately searching for my keys. Why the fuck didn’t I

keep them in one place instead of throwing them to God knows where the minute I got home?