Desperate to Touch

There’s a lot of shit that’s changed since you left, but overall, things are good.

I text him the obvious question to move things away from business: You got a girl?

A minute passes before he answers, Not yet. I have to go, but I’ll keep you updated with anything going on at the warehouse.

Thanks.

With that, I’m left with just my beer, too many questions I don’t have answers to, and the time ticking down.

Derrick used to ask me if I was punishing myself or Laura. The memory of the last conversation we had comes back full force. I can hear his voice in my head, asking me that question like he was some kind of fucking therapist.

Maybe it was a punishment to be so close to her, but not have her. Although, I couldn’t have known she wouldn’t come to me. For weeks, I thought she’d learn I was here, that I was close to her, and she’d come to me. When her name came up on the alert and I knew she was searching my name online, it put an end to that speculation.

The alarm beeps and a moment later the headlights from Laura’s sedan shine through the front window. We spent last night at her place, tonight we stay here. I know she’s had a long shift, but my place is closer to the center, so it was easy enough to get her to agree.

I don’t know what we are. I don’t know why my head’s so fucked. But I know she’s mine. She’ll stay here until I tell her otherwise.

Laura comes into the house the same way I came into her place last night, saying my name as she pushes open the door with a key in her hand.

“You found it,” I say as I smirk at her. Even after a twelve-hour shift in baggy scrubs, she’s breathtaking.

“The key in my sandwich bag? Yes, yes I did.”

“It was unlocked, you know?” I tease her.

“Maybe I wanted to make sure it was to your front door. Since, you know, it just happened to be in the bag with no note.” She shrugs as she adds, “It could have been anyone’s key.”

“It’s yours.”

Closing and then locking the door behind her, she cradles an overnight bag in the crook of her arm along with her purse. It’s not a large bag and I’m sure she only packed for one night. I’ll have to fix that. She needs everything here and a place for what she needs in the cabinets and dressers. I’ll correct that issue tomorrow. Dropping her keys next to mine on the kitchen counter, she leaves her bag there too and rubs her eyes, sagging into the seat next to me.

I hold up the beer, offering it to her but she shakes her head and then rests her forehead on my shoulder, sleep weighing her down. “You don’t drink after work. Now that is different.”

She smiles in the crook of my neck and her shoulders shake slightly with a small feminine snicker.

Glancing up at me, she gives me a smile and then rolls to the side, giving me space. She lets out an exhausted yawn and tells me she’s just tired.

“Bethany said I should take up a red wine nightcap to help me sleep.”

“I’ll grab a couple of bottles.”

“Mmm,” she half responds with her eyes closed. Eyeing her plump lips with a loose tendril of hair in her face has me hard in a split second.

“You’re not allowed to sleep just yet,” I tell her and those long lashes sweep up so she can look at me.

“I should probably tell you something first,” she says and the sweetness and playful demeanor fall from her expression until all I see is my tired girl.

Setting down the beer and leaning forward, I pray it’s not about someone calling from California with news on her father. I’m aware of how I tell her to tell me, relaxed and easy. I’m aware of how I’m breathing calmly, like I’m not worried at all.

“Walsh came by the center.” Relief hits first, then pride when Laura looks down at her hands, watching her fingers wring around one another as she tells me, “Today and yesterday.”

She feels guilty for not telling me. I like the look of submission on her.

“Did he talk to you?” I ask her, expecting to hear that he didn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know she’s with me. He doesn’t know shit about her. Or about the diaries.

“He did. About a murder and one of my patients.” She readjusts and then looks at my beer where I left it. “Maybe I should have a drink,” she comments.

“I’ll get you one; you keep talking,” I tell her and stand up, moving away from her field of vision to listen.

“The fire that happened down at the farm.” She speaks louder so I can hear as I open cabinets, pretending to look for a stray bottle of wine. Crouched down and staring at rows of clear and amber liquor bottles, I listen. “He thinks she has motive and it has something to do with Marcus helping her get revenge.”