And fuck. I wanted to reach out. Stroke the lines of misery that marred her gorgeous face. Tell her I was fucking sorry. If I could take back every horrible thing I’d done, I would.
Wouldn’t change anything though, would it?
I would always be the same man underneath.
She glanced down and then jerked her attention right back up, another spear of shock seizing her expression. Though this time it was softer. A little hurt and a lot wistful. “You have a baby.”
“What?” My brow pinched in confusion, my mind struggling to catch up. Took me about two seconds to realize what she’d focused on—the box of diapers I’d grabbed for Ian. I had the urge to hide them behind my back or some stupid shit like that. Like worrying about her thinking I had a kid should even register as important.
But there I was, rushing to clarify, “No . . . No . . . I mean . . . these aren’t for me.”
Stammering.
Tongue tied.
Big, bad detective reduced to putty by a pretty face. But it was the only face that had ever mattered.
She shook her head a little bit, fighting for a smile to rise over the heartbreak muting that light that had always glowed from her. “You don’t need to explain. It’s none of my business.”
I swallowed around my unease, explaining anyway, needing a reason to keep her longer. To make her stay while I figured out what the hell I was supposed to do. “I mean, they’re . . . they’re not for my kid. They are for Ian’s baby boy.”
She pinned another one of those feigned smiles onto her mouth, one-hundred percent forced, pretending like everything was just fine when it was clear that it was not.
“What you do with your life is none of my business. I’m sorry I asked . . . I just . . .” Her brow pinched in regret, the girl tripping over her thoughts, and she squeezed her eyes closed and gave a fierce shake of her head. “It’s just been a long time and seeing you here caught me off guard. That’s all.”
I edged closer, not even able to stop myself. Not sure that I wanted to. “Maybe that’s exactly what you should do. Ask.”
What answer I’d give her, I wasn’t sure.
Her face pinched in more of that honesty. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Excuse me.” We both jumped when the cashier lifted his voice, all kinds of irritated considering the two of us were completely oblivious to anything else but standing there staring into the past.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
Tearing herself from that tether I could feel stretching between us, she balanced her small bag next to the card reader.
“Twenty-seven, thirty-two.”
Hand shaking, she fumbled to get a card out of her wallet. She swiped it and fidgeted like she was counting the seconds until she could make a break for it, while I stood there trying to figure out a way to get her alone.
Just for a few minutes.
I wanted to know how she was.
Who she was.
If she was happy.
“It says your card is declined.” I tore my attention from the spiral of thoughts going down in my mind and whipped it to the prick who was looking at Izzy like she’d committed some sort of felony.
Just as fast, I darted my gaze to her, catching her in the moment she was slamming those eyes closed.
Like she was expecting this result but had still been praying for a different outcome.
“Oh, I-I guess I brought the wrong card,” she stammered. She dug into the paper sack and pulled out the lipstick. “Can you take this off, please?”
Her voice lowered, embarrassment rolling off her like a disease. For the barest beat, she glanced over at me.
Hoping I hadn’t noticed the exchange.
Highly unlikely.
The cashier rolled his eyes.
Little fucker.
I had the urge to reach out and grab him by the collar. Like he was raking in the dough? I forced myself to hold back, not to say anything.
Still, that thunder in my chest was growing louder by the second.
I could feel it collecting speed, something severe gathering at the horizon of my mind.
He re-rang it. “Twenty-two, ninety.”
He ran the card again, and she was already wincing before the punk had the chance to make her feel any worse, her card clearly being rejected again.
Defeat dropped her shoulders, and there was no missing the dejection that fully took her over. Looked like she wanted to crawl under a table and disappear.
Leaning around her, I handed the cashier my card. “Put the lipstick back on.”
She whirled on me. “I don’t need any handouts.”
Pain and defiance reverberated with the words.
I shook my head, not sure what situation she’d gotten into, but whatever it was, I didn’t like it a bit.
Didn’t like any of this.
“Not a goddamned handout if I’m helping out a friend.”