“It’s complicated.”
That’s a yes then.I fight hard to not let my disappointment show.
“I’d like to believe in soulmates,” I admit, flopping onto the sofa.“When my ex and I survived college without breaking up, I really thought it was fate.High school sweethearts, destined for more.I think our love was coasting on who we wanted to be rather than who we were.We let it live in the clouds and had nothing to grab on to when the storm came.”
Sterling takes the seat beside me.Outwardly, his expression is calm, but now that I know where to look, I can see the cracks—slivers of pain peeking through.It’s all in the eyes.
“For a long time, the only friend I had was loss.Then I met Lucky.He was everything I wasn’t—confident, optimistic”—he knocks my knee with his—“friendly.Being near him was like standing under a sun lamp.Falling for him was easy; everyone who knows Lucky falls for him sooner or later.It’s part of his charm.It damn near killed me to leave, and I haven’t let myself get close to anyone new in a very long time.”
I stare at the point where his knee rests on mine.I want to reach out, but I’m scared to break the moment by doing the wrong thing.
“If you could go back, would you change anything?”
“No,” he says, more certain than I expected, and my pulse jumps when he places his hand on my knee—the very thing I’ve been too scared to do.“I regret hurting him, but I can’t regret making the choice I did.It’s what led me here.”
Look at us, two lonely hearts with trust issues.What a pair we make.I cover his hand with mine, trying for any small bridge across the vast ocean we’re both swimming in.
* * *
Two days later, time stops.
It’s on every single news channel:Armed robbery at Chance’s Reserve Bank.Eight assailants, over fifty hostages, includingThe Observer’s own Sterling Ross.
I’m in the elevator before Monica can yell at me.If she finds out I used department records to find Sterling’s address, I’ll be out on my ass so fast that I’ll reverse the clocks.
I’m stunned when Sterling opens the door.There’s dried blood on his shirt and a bandage over a cut on his cheek.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
He guides me inside and closes the door.“I’m fine, physically.”
I balk.This is fine?
With his hand on my elbow, he leads me farther into his apartment.It’s a lot smaller than I expected.I pictured big windows overlooking the city, where he’d sip whiskey and grumble about the state of corruption.
Instead, it’s plain and a little cramped and absolutely overrun with books.There’s one left open on the sofa, a collection of poetry, titledLove Poems and Death Threats.The pages are dog-eared and well loved.This isn’t his first read of it.
“Picked it up while on assignment in Australia,” he says.
“I’ve never left the country before, but I’d like to.Do you miss traveling?”
When I first started reading his work, I loved discovering all the new cities he’d visited.It was the closest I ever got to exploring.
“No.I’m where I want to be.There’s as much work to do here at home than anywhere else, and if I want to eat takeout in an empty room, I have my apartment for that.”
I take a second look.It’s a little sparse, but there are signs of history everywhere.Foreign language titles and a bouquet of dried flowers in an intricately painted vase.
“It doesn’t look empty to me.”
“It isn’t—now that you’re here.”
He hasn’t looked away from me since I walked in, and, sure, he’s always been intense, but there’s something else going on.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
He lets out a sharp exhale.“I’m more annoyed that I missed out on the story.Cox will surely move his money now, and I’ll lose the one good lead I had.”
“Nothing more important than the story, huh?”I ask, not expecting the tortured look he gives me.
