“You cleaned.”
I bristle at the surprise in her tone. “I’ve been alone in the desert for three years. But I still know my way around a kitchen.”
“Do you cook?” Lisette pours two glasses of sparkling water and gestures toward the sofa.
“I used to. But it’s been a while. I miss it, sometimes. It’s damn near impossible to get a good tamale in Afghanistan. And don’t get me started on what passes for ceviche in Kabul. Worst decision of my life. I almost died.”
Her laugh soothes some of my rough edges. “I can make mac and cheese, pizza, and corn dogs. Noele says I fail at being French.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, until she sets her empty glass on the side table. “Where did you go when you left me in Boston?”
I flinch. Not “when you left Boston” but “when you leftmein Boston.” She’s right. I did leave her. It didn’t matter that the President of the United States asked me to go. I could have said no. Ishouldhave said no.
“I can’t tell you, Lisette. It’s classified.”
She huffs. “You left after a year. Ford told me so. What did you do after?”
“Don’t ask me that, sweetheart.”
“Is that classified too?”
I stare up at the ceiling, searching for something—anything—I can share with her that won’t make her run or put her in danger. “No. But it was illegal as fuck.”
“Please, Nomar. I need to know why you left. Why you refused to return my calls for three years. I do not care what you did. Or how many men you killed.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
“You were the one who told me you were sent in when ‘shit went sideways.’ I know you have killed. Do you think it bothers me?””
I drop my head into my hands, elbows on my knees. “It should.”
“I have seen death, Nomar. I know the world is a dark, violent place.” Her gentle fingers stroke up and down my back. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t. If I tried…you’d never look at me the same way again.”
“Espèce d'homme têtu!”she mutters.
“Stubborn? I’m trying to protect you, Lisette! You’re too good. Too…perfect. Too…pure. If I told you all the things I’ve done, you’d run away screaming. And you’d be right to do so.”
Lisette jerks up. “You saved my life. You killedfor me. And yet you think I would run? How can you think so little of me?”
She stalks upstairs, then returns a minute later with a pillow and blanket. “Be ready to go tomorrow by 9:30. Good night, Nomar.”
The sound of her bedroom door slamming shut severs my last nerve, and I punch the pillow hard enough it flies across the room. I’ll never deserve her. I know it. She knows it. So why can’t I walk away?
* * *
Lisette
“Good? Perfect? Pure? He does not know me at all.”
Because he left. Because for three years, he refused to answer my calls or respond to my messages. And now, the man I longed for, the one who made me feel safe when nothing in my life made sense, is in my home.
He acted as if he wanted to know me. But why, if he will not let me know him?
I should sleep. The stress of the day has left me physically exhausted. But I toss and turn in the darkness, unable to forget the haunted edge to his voice.
“You’d never look at me the same way again.”
