Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (22 page)

This is my chance to nip this in the bud.

“This is how it’s going to go, Nelson, so listen carefully.” I point toward Will’s room. “As I told Teague, he is an old friend of mine. After consuming several alcoholic beverages at your residence and having an altercation with my lover, an undercover DEA agent, I fled your home and ran into my friend. Literally. Our collision caused me a nosebleed, but now that I’m sober, I’m here to catch up with my friend and take him home.”

Nelson shakes his head, rejecting my account, but he knows what I know. This can turn into a scandal. “Your wife will be called to testify. So will you, Adams, and the DEA agent in question. Now,” I finish, eyeing him, “I’m game. Are you?”

Nelson’s face burns with fury. “So, the fact that he might be related to a serial killer doesn’t give you pause?”

“My mother is a selfish, manipulative gold digger. That doesn’t make me one, Nelson. So, no, possibilities don’t give me pause.”

“What’s your friend’s full name?” Ryan is back and in full-agent mode. He’s like Tommy, two different sides. Charlie is a great guy. Fun, daring, loyal. Ryan? Well, Agent Ryan is not someone you want to cross. When he gets to it, the seas get mighty rough.

He waits patiently for my answer, that unforgiving stare shaking and pounding, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I hang on and weather the storm. I can’t give up Will’s name; they’ll find him in the system and discover who knows what. Maybe that, in fact, he’s from the 1940s.

Hell no.

After a beat, the seas calm in that hazel storm. “Fine. Take your friend home, Harper. We’re done here.” He signals for Nelson to follow. “Let’s go, B. We have to get back to surveillance.”

Charlie’s calm retreat doesn’t fool me. He’s not giving up. He’ll just work another angle.

As they move toward the elevators, Nelson’s gunmetal stare throws daggers my way, letting me know this isn’t over.

“You two keep Colton out of this!” I call before the elevator door closes.

“Wayne is dead?”

Will’s voice startles me.

I turn to find him standing by the doorway a few feet away. He must have overheard our exchange and by the look on his face, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry.”

Will nods solemnly.

I just take him in. Dark curls brush his forehead, neck, and ears. He seems paler and a bit older than I remember. What remains intact is the effect he has on me. That imposing presence I remember is alive and well inside of him.

“Let’s go.”

His solemn expression morphs in question. “Where am I going?”

“Home. With me.”

He smiles in relief, and those damn dimples flash into full view.

قلب

The ride from the hospital to my place is quiet but eventful.

Will doesn’t know how to buckle up, so I strap him in. He is fascinated with all the buttons, and searches for the door handles, eyeing my door, and the rear doors in the process. When he presses the buttons, he flinches off his seat at the sound of the locks popping open and closed, and when the passenger window opens, he curses under his breath. He fiddles with the seatbelt the whole way, clearly uncomfortable with being restrained.

Unable to contain his questions, he shoots random thoughts off, one after another, and I do my best to answer him.

“So, this is 2013.”

“Actually, it’s 2014.”

“Oh.” He nods absentmindedly while gazing up at the sky. “Why are we not flying through the air?”

I shake my head at the thought. “Cars don’t fly,” I tell him. “They’re just like your cars, only faster.”

He frowns and tugs at the seat belt some more. “Then why do we need to be strapped into the seats?”

“To keep us safe in an accident,” I inform patiently.

“I see. Because there are so many cars on the road now,” he muses, satisfied with his power of deduction. “We wouldn’t have an accident if cars weren’t going this fast.” He’s getting annoyed. “Why is everyone in such a hurry?”

“We’re barely going fifty-five.”

“Why do you need so many buttons to operate the car?”

“We don’t. The buttons are for the radio, AC, and other stuff.”

“AC?”

“Air conditioning.”

“The air has to be conditioned now? What’s wrong with it?”

If I had my doubts he was from seventy years in the past, his reactions all but confirm it.

Other than his fascination with the cars, his shocked reaction to the music playing on my playlist, and the GPS, he’s impervious to the city.

Once we reach my place, his bright blue gaze silently skims the buttons of the elevator with fascination. Following me silently as we approach my door, he freezes. Standing motionless, he stares at my apartment door as if it’s an apparition.  

“Are you okay?”

I have a million questions for him, and he doesn’t look good. He’s in dire need of a hot shower, hot meal, and some fresh, clean clothes.

“This is where you live?” His voice breaking, he doesn’t move an inch. He’s just stares at my door, mesmerized.

“Yeah. Why, what’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s composing himself. He finally shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Leading the way, I welcome him inside.

Will’s initial fascination slowly dissipates. He turns around, taking everything in. First, my living room; his eyes roam over my furniture, landing on the framed pictures adorning the side table by the couch. Tommy and me in uniform back in the Army days, happily smiling and raising our champagne glasses at Chris and Brad’s wedding. That old, worn snapshot of me smiling at the camera that Tommy took on our last stakeout.

While he examines my memories, I examine him. As I remember, everything about him screams true 1940s style. Moving with purpose, he goes straight for the side table and picks up the frame with Tommy and me at Chris’s wedding.

“Is this him?” he asks while he studies the picture.

I try to swallow a harsh lump in my throat. This is awkward and surreal. Will Shaw is here. He is as real as I am. Flesh and bone, and he’s standing in my apartment holding a picture of Tommy in his hands. Then it hits me.

I
did
travel back in time. I
did
end up seventy years in the past. And now he’s here.

Adrenaline finally works its way through my system. My stomach drops and my knees weaken.

Is he here for me? Answers. What I need are answers. I need to focus.

“Yes,” I finally say, meeting his prying gaze and stern expression. “His name is Tommy. He was with me when…you showed up,” I add, seeing the question brimming in those sapphires.

“Was this your wedding?” he rasps, that deep voice I remember leveled and even.

“No. It was Nelson’s wedding. He was the tall agent back at the hospital? He married my roommate from college.” Why am I explaining this to him?

He nods and returns the frame then walks toward the kitchen, eyes absorbing everything. I’m still standing by the counter, waiting, giving him time to adjust.

“He lives here?”

“Tommy?”

“Yes.” There’s judgment in his tone, and that doesn’t sit well with me.

My silence is enough answer.

“But you’re not married.” It’s not a question. I take it he doesn’t approve.

“He stays here most of the time. He has his own place....” I trail off, because there I go again, explaining my life to him.

His jaw tightens but he doesn’t add anything. Instead, he walks around to the kitchen.

“Small kitchen.” He switches gears, now fascinated with the microwave.  

“Sit down, Will, please.” I need to take control.

He doesn’t comply. He continues to look around, peering down the hall toward the bedrooms, then again at the living room. His quizzical blue gaze roams over the hardwood floors, all the way up the exposed brick wall. He notices the large flat screen TV bolted to the opposite wall, framed by my built-in bookcases. He’s inspecting it closely when I chime in.
“That’s a television. It’s like a radio, but with pictures.”

“I remember reading about these...the radio television at the Chicago fair in 1933.”

He’s stalling.

“Why are you here, Will?” My question is a snap of fingers, capturing his attention.

He sighs deeply and collapses on my living room sofa. His shoulders slump forward as his gaze returns to the picture frame on the side table.

Defeat hangs off his shoulders. Resting his elbows on his knees, he’s pensive, as if carefully trying to put his thoughts together. Taking a seat on the chair across from him, I mimic his posture, patiently waiting until he’s ready to talk.

“I’m glad you found me.” Exhaustion marks each of his words. Nervously rubbing his hands together, he pushes his dirty and wrinkled sleeves up his forearms.

“Where else have you been?” I blurt. He just showed up, here, now…I just can’t compute that.

“Nowhere.” He shrugs defensively. His voice wavers and his gaze shifts just a flinch. He’s hiding something.

“All right, start from the beginning.”

He inhales deeply, and scrubs his face with his hands.

That is when I realize we’ve barely walked in the door and I’m giving him the third degree without so much as offering refreshment or a bite to eat.

“I’m sorry. We have time, Will. Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower. I’ll get some food ready for you. Are you hungry?”

He nods.

“Okay. I’ll heat something up and get you some clean clothes.”

Taking me up on the offer, he follows me down the hall while I fetch a fresh towel and some clothes from Tommy’s closet. I direct him to the hallway bathroom and conduct a crash course on how to use the shower. I grab him some toiletries, including shaving cream and a disposable razor, and leave him to it.

Recalling my own experience back in 1944, I remember how patient and understanding he was about my situation. I had days to absorb what happened to me, and he did everything he could to be there for me. Now that he is here in my time, on my turf, the least I can do is the same for him.

Rustling up some sheets, I make the futon with fresh bedding and pillows and tidy up the guest room for him. After pulling out some of Tommy’s old clothes, I lay them out for Will. They’re all I have for now. I haven’t called Tommy, yet. He doesn’t know Will is here, but I’ll worry about that when I have to. Right now, I need information from Will.

قلب

Will steps out of the bathroom, hot steam following him into the hallway. He was in there a good thirty minutes. He looks more relaxed, wet hair mussed from the towel, curls sticking to his neck and forehead. Tommy’s workout clothes are snug on him; although, he’s about the same size as Tommy, he’s taller and framed bigger, so the clothes fit him differently. The t-shirt and sweat pants are a tad short for him. I make a mental note to ask Chris for some of Nelson’s clothes. They will be a better fit for Will.

Not because Tommy will have a fit when he sees him wearing his clothes,
I assure myself.

I’ve reheated some leftover takeout from this weekend, bringing the plate up to my small dining table for four, along with a tall glass of water. I sit next to him, nursing a glass of wine.

“Smells good, what is it?” he asks as he grabs the fork, ready to dig in.

I can’t help but smile. “You don’t want to know.”

He pauses, but as soon as he notices I’m smiling, he returns it and those dimples make an appearance. My heart melts. He brings an unspoken ease that calms and soothes me. I was never able to understand it. Will feels safe, reassuring. Even now.

I patiently wait for him to eat, offering him a beer and surprisingly, he accepts it. He frowns at first at the taste of the leftover Thai, but continues eating while sipping on his beer.

I finally speak up. “As soon as you’re up to it, we’ll work on getting you back home.”

Trepidation weighs down his massive shoulders, and he tenses on the chair. He’s so large and imposing, it makes me look like a little girl having teatime with a grown up.

“I can’t, not yet,” he says, apprehensive, and won’t make eye contact.

What does he mean he
can’t
? “What are you not telling me, Will? If you want me to help, I need to know everything.”

He steadily avoids my gaze, which is not typical of the Will I remember. He was always honest, earnest, and well intentioned. I don’t think he has one malicious bone in his frame.

“Will?” I press.

He raises his blue eyes to mine. They’re an endless ocean, sadness swirling inside. “I can’t tell you more. I’m sorry, Ileana.” My name seems to cause him agony, physical pain.

I share something with Will I’ve never shared with Tommy or anyone. There’s camaraderie between us, like the only survivors of a tragedy. Something the rest of the world wouldn’t comprehend. These trumped-up accusations Tommy brought up infuriate me. I wish I didn’t lose consciousness the other night. I wish I could have stopped any law enforcement involvement, just as Will did for me back in 1944. He kept a world of hurt away from me, protected me, and took care of me when I needed it the most. I can’t help but feel I’m failing him somehow.

Longing blooms inside me, and I’m glad he’s here. Seems right to see him again, but I can’t explain it. It’s like we have this mysterious connection, as if somehow we’re supposed to be part of each other’s lives.

“So, how can I help if you won’t tell me everything? Can you tell me where you came from then?”

“You mean
when
.” He pins me with a frown. “I came from 1947.”

“It’s been three years,” I mumble, more to myself than anything.

He addresses me with a determination that wasn’t there moments ago. “Remember what you told us back then? There were things about history you couldn’t reveal, things that….” Leaning in, he implores, “Please understand. I can’t tell you. I can’t even imagine what would happen if I did. Trust me on this. All you need to know is that there’s somewhere I need to be.”

My eyes roam over his features. He’s telling the truth. He would tell me if he could, but he can’t. I have no choice but to trust him. “All right. So, how can I help? Why are you here?”

Will leans in, grabbing my hands, blazing eyes holding me steady.