I swallow around the lump in my throat, hating the ire in his voice. “We need to talk.”
His blue eyes are glacial. “You lost the right to talk to me a long time ago.”
He attempts to slam the door in my face, but I extend my arm, stopping it with the palm of my hand. His eyes are cold and hard. Bloodshot.
“I want to help you.”
“Bullshit.” His sardonic laugh is a slice to the chest. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You proved that to me a long time ago.”
“Look, I know you’re angry, but—”
His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Oh, I’m feeling a lot of things right now, sweetheart, and anger is just one of them.”
The contempt in his voice stings, but I hold my ground. “Fine. You hate me. I get it. But I know you didn’t do this.”
He stares at me for what feels like an eternity before he finallyreleases the handle on the door, allowing me to come inside. “You don’t know shit about me.”
Five years may have passed, but there was a time when I knew this man better than anyone. He’s right. I don’t know him now, but I still know who he is at his core.
He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at me. “You know, once they find out I fucked you, they’ll throw your ass off the case.”
My heart twists painfully. His cruel words are a sharp dagger to the chest.
“They already know,” I say.
After I left Ramirez, I drove straight to the bureau and told them myself. Then I resigned. I never wanted that job anyway. Taking it was a last resort.
He blinks several times at my revelation, glaring at me. “Why? Why would you jeopardize your precious career for me?”
God, I’d give anything to go back to that day at the cabin and do things differently. Where would we be now if I weren’t such a coward? If I hadn’t thrown away the one thing that ever truly meant anything to me? Over the years, I’ve often wondered what my life would look like had I stayed and chosen him instead.
“Because I care about what happens to you.”
He scoffs. I know he doesn’t believe me. And why should he? I’ve given him every reason to hate me. The truth is, we used to make a great team. He was my superior back then, but it never felt that way when we worked together for the Secret Service. He always valued my opinion and made me feel like an equal despite our positions. I know we can figure this out together if he could only allow himself to trust me again.
Neither one of us moves, eyes locked in a silent standoff. Thetension between us is killing me. I can’t stand how he keeps me at arm’s length. I remember a time when he couldn’t standnottouching me. Silence stretches between us, taut and electric, filled with unspoken words, memories, mistakes, and the kind of hurt that never fully heals. He squeezes his eyes closed, and when they reopen, that unfiltered emotion is gone.
“I’m too drunk for this shit,” he mutters, driving a hand through his hair.
Without another word, he shrugs off his shirt, then tosses it on the chair before staggering down the hall toward the bedroom. I inhale in a deep breath, then follow. When I enter the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed, all the tension drained from his body. His defeated posture tightens my chest.
“Someone’s trying to destroy me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and frayed with emotion. “Destroy everything I’ve worked for. The only good thing I have left.”
That familiar ache I’ve carried for so long squeezes my lungs, and it’s almost impossible to breathe. I kneel before him, his red-rimmed eyes lifting to mine, and for once, they’re not filled with resentment. For the first time since seeing him again, I see the man I fell in love with all those years ago.
“We’ll find out who’s doing this,” I murmur. “I promise.”
Lifting his hand to my face, his fingers tremble between us, but he stops himself from touching me, a pained expression on his handsome face. He collapses backward onto the bed and mutters, “My Karmen.”
My heart soars at the sound of those words leaving his lips. I would do anything to be his again.
It’s not long before he’s out cold, a soft snore filling the quiet space. Unlacing his boots, I tug them off one by one, then peeloff his socks before getting to my feet. The clinking of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet room. I ease the leather free, then unbutton his pants and pull them off too, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs. I maneuver him beneath the comforter as best I can.
When I straighten and look down at him, a deep sense of longing twists in my stomach. The harsh lines of his face soften with sleep as I brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment too long. Then I force myself to leave the room because, if I don’t, I may crawl into that bed with him.
Five years ago…
Ipulled up to Benson’s cabin and killed the engine, grabbing my overnight bag from the passenger seat, excitement thrumming through my veins at the thought of seeing him. It had been the longest two weeks of my life.
