Earth Bound (32 page)

“Congratulations, Dr. Eason. You saved the mission.”

Charlie felt the words in her heels, in her hair. She wanted to cry at them, the relief she felt at knowing that she’d done what they’d hired her to do.

He was formal, stiff, but they had an audience. Surely later, surely when they were alone, he would be warmer. More effusive. More personal.

“I appreciate it, Mr. Parsons, but I was only doing my job,” she stammered out, feeling every bit as awkward as he looked. She had been doing her job, but it had been an incredible job. No one else—no one else—could have done it. And they both knew it.

He gave her a sad, quiet almost-smile. He didn’t move to touch her, not even in socially approved, handshake ways. She almost offered to shake his so she could touch him. But he was already moving back, fading into the crowd.

She tried to keep him close. “But of course you helped.”

“Helped?”

She glanced at Hal’s door, which was still shut. She couldn’t stab him in the back, not now in her hour of triumph. “You helped me magnify voices that needed to be magnified.” She raised her brows, hoping he would take her meaning. “And you got me
anything
I needed. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He cleared his throat, and muttered something she couldn’t make out, but before she could press him, the door to Hal’s office opened, and the almost-party immediately fell silent.

Oh hell.

Hal, hat on his head and briefcase in hand, emerged. “Good evening. I just… Oh. Congratulations, Dr. Eason.”

She gave her erstwhile boss a smile. “Thank you. But of course, it’s an achievement the entire computing department shares.”
Some more than others
.

“Yes, we do, don’t we?” He brightened, as if this hadn’t occurred to him.

“Dot and Beverly are home for the evening, but I’m certain you’ll share this with them tomorrow. And Jack, where is Jack?”

A few more calls of “Jack” went up—clearly he was popular.

Jack waved from the back, his eyes glazed from alcohol and sleeplessness.

“And with Jack.”

“Of course, of course,” Hal said, “Jack deserves his share of the credit.”

Charlie cocked her head to the side.

“We all worked… hard,” Hal said at last. Several beats passed. Then Hal looked down at his shoes, and he swallowed. “Good night.”

Except the words felt final. They felt like goodbye. He gave everyone what was supposed to be a jaunty wave before leaving.

When the door shut behind him, all the fun seemed to have gone from the room.
 

Rodger held up the bottle of the beer he’d offered her earlier. “Are you certain I can’t tempt you?”

“No, I really should be getting home… Where did Parsons get off to?”

She wanted to know how he’d responded to Hal’s sad exit.

“He left a minute ago,” someone said.

Charlie had a jolt of clarity. She knew where he had gone. It turned out she did have the energy for one stop before going home.

Mulligan’s was as it always had been: dingy, dim, and utterly without charm.

Parsons set his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room: the bed with its thin blanket, the dresser gouged from years of careless occupants, the bathroom door sagging on its hinges. The memories that rose weren’t exactly pleasant—but they didn’t hurt. At least no more than a dull ache.

Was he healed? Or simply numb? It didn’t matter, really. He already knew what he ought to do. This was one last goodbye.

The mission was over. It had been saved by Charlie’s heroic efforts. No doubt Hal Reed would be on the way out after this. If Jensen had any sense, Charlie would take over as head of computing. Parsons would have to agitate for that himself. It didn’t matter now if Jensen guessed there was anything more between Parsons and Charlie.

This was the room where they’d had their first encounter. She’d been lying on that very bed, her slip catching on her garter as she’d invited him forward.

For all the months they’d met, he’d never stayed after they'd finished, never curled up in the sheets warmed by their bodies and closed his eyes to sleep. But now it was all he wanted, to climb under the blankets and find oblivion. God, but he was tired. So tired.

It was stupid and sentimental to want that, but since this was the last time, he could indulge himself. They might never have slept in this bed together, but he’d paid for the entire night, after all.

He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his tie, rubbing at his neck once it was free. He unbuttoned one cuff, then the other—

And the door opened.

His heart seized at the sight of Charlie in the doorway, kicked into a tight, painful drumbeat as she closed the door behind her.

She was as lovely as ever, her makeup firmly in place and her hair pinned back, even though he knew she’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours. There was a hint of exhaustion in the droop of her eyelids and the curve of her shoulders, but only a hint.

“You’re not working.” Her voice was rough, as if she might be catching a cold.

The memories of the last time they’d been in the motel pierced him: him rushing to stuff away his memos while she’d smiled at him with amusement, affection, and lust. And after, when he’d glimpsed how they might have been together… if things had gone differently. Well, he would always have those memories, even after tonight.

“No,” he said. “It’s over. Congratulations again.”

Her hand stayed tight on the door handle and she rocked slightly against it. She looked like a schoolgirl who’d been caught red-handed, but she stood between him and escape, so he was trapped. “The rendezvous was your idea. And now we’ll use it to go to the moon.”

He tried for an amused noise, but it was only harsh. “Too bad I won’t be here to see it. I’m resigning from ASD.”

“What?” She pushed off from the door, taking the three steps to the dresser and setting her fist against it. Two more steps and she would have come to him, but the stubborn last few feet remained. “If you’re leaving, then what are you doing here?”

Good question. “I could ask you the same. Don’t worry; I’ll recommend that you be promoted to Director of Computing before I leave. But if you’ve come for one last”—his mouth twisted with bitter amusement—“
rendezvous
, I’m afraid I can’t oblige.”

He’d come here to say goodbye, not restart the cycle of failure. He couldn’t touch her, not knowing it would be the last time.

Her fist smashed into the dresser, hard enough to make him wince. “You can’t resign.” He voice gathered volume and anger. “ASD will fall apart without you.” Another hit to the dresser. “I saved this mission—
your
mission.” Another hit, although weaker this time. “You asked me for the impossible—
and I gave it to you.”

That last could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything. It was the possibility of everything that had him going toward her and catching her fist.

Their first real touch after so long without was like completing a circuit—current instantly flowed between them. He rubbed his thumb over her reddened knuckles. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He pressed her fist into his belly. “Hit me instead.”

She turned her face away, the line of her jaw tense. “I don’t want to hit you.”
 

“Get it out,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

She didn’t hit him, but her fist burrowed deeper into his stomach. “I hate that the mission went wrong. I hate that the astronauts are such arrogant shit-bags.” She shifted the angle of her neck, bringing her cheek parallel to his. “I hate that Hal took the project away from me. I hate that I suspected you were involved in it. I hate that I was right all along about Maynard and no one would listen to me.”

He put his hand into the small of her back and stretched his fingers wide, silently urging her on.

“I hate that no one listens to me, period,” she said.

“I know the feeling,” he murmured.

“I hate Hal Reed.”

“He probably won’t be around much longer. What else?”

Her fist uncurled and her palm flattened against his belly. “I hate your undershirts. I hate that I can’t talk about work with you anymore. I hate that you can’t see yourself the way I do.” Her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling the fabric tight against his shoulders and canting him toward her. “I hate that you’re not my lover anymore.”

He put his lips against her temple, too light to be a kiss. “You’re wrong about that. I always was. I still am.”

She went very still, the muscles of her back going tight beneath his hand. The warm brush of her breath against his throat was the only indication not everything about her had gone rigid. “So you’re leaving ASD because of me?”

He searched for the best way to put it, a way that wouldn’t expose him any more than he already was. One that wouldn’t force her hand either. He couldn’t say how he truly felt and not hear those words back—it might shatter him.

He cleared his throat. “I thought I was good at compartmentalization. I could ignore George’s death and manage to work with Friedrich, so why couldn’t I do the same with you?” He shook his head. He’d been such a fool. “But I can’t. Not with you. I can’t behave as if you’re only another co-worker, not anymore. But I don’t want to go back to what we had. How I feel for you”—he pulled in a breath, struck for a point close to his feelings but not dead on—“the
regard
I feel for you… I can’t go back to how things were. And there’s no backup plan for fixing it. So it’s best if I leave.”

She tilted her face up, her eyes clear as they met his, her expression hard with resolve. “What would convince you to stay?”

“Don’t. This isn’t me trying to coerce you. I need more than we had, but that’s not what you’re willing to give.” He wasn’t going to bargain for snatched time with her in this hotel room. Not anymore.

The curves of her mouth softened then, and he felt a tremor go through her. “What if I told you I agree?”

Now the tremor went through him. “That might do it.” He had to bury his face in her hair then, because no matter how much he’d needed the words, they still hit hard. And it still wasn’t the real thing, the final declaration. He tightened his arms around her.

He sensed her preparing those words, but then he saw the water stains on the ceiling and the peeling wallpaper.

Without loosening his arms, he said, “I know it all started here, and it would be poetic and all that, but… There’s something I want to show you. If you’ll come with me.”

He wanted those three words to happen somewhere else. He couldn’t quite explain why, but the sensation wouldn’t stop nagging at him.

“That sounds very mysterious.” She yawned widely then.

God, he was an idiot. She was probably half asleep right now. “You know what—it can wait. You’re exhausted. You should go home and get some rest.”

“No, I want to.” She pushed back on his chest, put a few inches between them, and covered another, smaller yawn. “But would you mind driving?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

And as he opened the passenger side door for her, he felt like they’d said goodbye to Mulligan’s forever.

Parsons’s apartment was exactly as Charlie had imagined it might be: small, sparsely furnished, but meticulously neat. He didn’t spend much time here, but he still kept it organized to a T. The bookshelf in the living room held what looked like his college textbooks, organized by subject and author. And on the very bottom shelf was a row of battered paperbacks, also arranged alphabetically.

She smiled at the sight. Maybe it was only her tiredness—she didn’t think she’d been this worn-out in her entire life—but she immediately felt content here.
 

He was clearly nervous though, his movements stiff and jittery. “So, it’s not much. I’m really not here most of the time. I only eat and sleep here.”

“How much do you think I’m at my house?”

“Right.” He nodded rapidly. “Right.” He was anxious and tired—probably as tired as she was. And it was adorable. “Well, the thing is here.”

She heard the water first, a gurgling noise as if there were a small stream running through the room. But instead of a stream, there were three large aquariums set up in what she guessed should have been the dining room.