Tension (9 page)

“I’m serious, too.” George propped himself up on his elbow. “Let’s go away when you get out of here. Let’s go somewhere no one can get to us. Let’s just be together, the three of us.”

Stella’s heart swelled at his mention of “three.” Cooper was always included with George.
Maybe this is the perfect time.
She didn’t know how she was going to explain to her parents that she was moving in with George instead of them for a few weeks once she was released, but she’d figure it out. Her mom was going to freak. “I’ll go anywhere you want. Do anything you want,” she answered.

He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“I’m scared, George,” she whispered, staring into the cloudless sky.

“Why?” George looked into her eyes.

What a loaded question.
“Because I fuck everything up.”

Walking into the front of the makeshift field office, she smoothed the front of her wedding dress. The beading on the torso was what had attracted her to the dress. It made it sparkly and shimmery, but it wasn’t too much. The rest of the dress was flowing silk perfection. The delicate straps sat just outside of her collarbones and the back draped, exposing her back, including both tattoos, all the way to her tailbone.

She stepped inside the doorway and pulled up the bottom of her dress. Puzzled, she looked outside and it was the beach at St. Owens Island. Jamie came up behind her and wrapped his strong, tan arms around her. Nuzzling her ear, he gently pulled on her earlobe with his teeth. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. When she opened her eyes, Jamie morphed into the long-haired, full-bearded, rail thin undercover agent. Smiling at her, he grabbed her behind her head and kissed her forcefully. Stella felt an explosion of pain in her abdomen. Pushing him away, she watched as her own crimson blood spread across the white silk of her dress. She looked up at Jamie and screamed. “When I find you, I’ll kill you!”

“Stella. Stella!”

She was being shaken.

“It’s me. You’re okay. Love, it’s me.”

She opened her eyes, but wasn’t seeing George. Shoving him, she screamed, clearly dazed. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

He raised his hands. “Stella. Love, it’s me. It’s George.”

“George?” she asked softly, dazedly taking in her surroundings and remembering that she and George were still at the beach. “Oh my shit! George. My bad. Fuck.” Running a hand through her long black hair, she exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Love,” he whispered into her ear. “No worries.”

“Um, there are a plethora of worries.”

They stayed cocooned in each other’s embrace for quite a while, neither one wanting to break contact with the other.

“Stella, maybe you need to see someone.”

“I’m seeing you.”

He faked a laugh.

“You’re a horrible fake laugher,” she said.

“You’re horrible at changing the subject.” His face was inches from hers.

“The FBI is going to make me see a psychologist before I got back to work. I think one person analyzing how fucked up I am is enough, don’t you?”

“I just worry. What was your dream about?”

“Getting killed.”

“Love…” His thumb traced her jaw line and he kissed her gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t shoot me.” Stella would never admit that to the general public; but that’s how she felt. The only person who should apologize to her is the motherfucker who shot her. “I don’t understand why people keep apologizing to me. Apologizing means that you’re admitting to an error and expressing regret. Why do people apologize for shit they didn’t do?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. People aren’t apologizing to you; they’re saying they are sorry. They’re sad for you. I’m sad for you.”

Stella looked at him for several long minutes.
That does kind of make sense.
“Okay, genius...You’re right this time, but don’t get used to it.”

His fingers traced one of the many scars on her chest; she was wearing a tank top and several scars protruded from the low neckline. She was still disturbed by all the scars. Stella was trying to get back to normal, but she couldn’t make herself sleep naked like she did before the attack. Her body was so ugly now.

“I’m sorry, George,” she finally said.

“Sorry for what, El? You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sad for you,” she clarified.

“For me?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Yep. Not only did you fall in love with someone that’s emotionally broken; now I’m physically broken, too.”

“El, you’re amazing just the way you are.”

Stella pulled on a black string bikini and hate bounced off the walls as she seethed, taking in all the scars on her skin. Her once-flawless skin was now raised, puckered, and angry crimson. She put on a cover-up and walked into the den, Cooper following behind her.

“Hey, babe!” Stella called to George, who was typing on his laptop in one of the leather armchairs. “You working?” she asked.

“Just need to follow up on a few things,” he replied. George was already in his swim trunks and no shirt, his lean torso exposed.

Stella walked determinedly over to where he was sitting and took the laptop off his lap, putting it on the side table. She leaned down and kissed his neck, moving slowly up his throat until she captured his lips with hers. George grabbed her ass and lifted her on to his lap. He kissed her jaw line, then her neck, soft and teasing, and then moved to her chest. She tensed as his lips moved over her scars, hate tingling through her body before she pushed it out of her mind. George sensed her tension and pulled back, looking into her eyes.

“You okay?” His voice was filled with concern.

Instead of answering, Stella lifted herself up and easily pulled his swim trunks down his hips. She took her bikini bottoms off and sat back on his lap. They kissed slowly at first, taking time to explore each other. The deeper the kisses got, the more fevered their touches became, her need for him consuming her. She let her body take over and the building sensation in her gut made all her worries fall away.

Later, Cooper ran up and down the beach as Stella lay on a lounge chair, letting her broken body soak up the sun. George bobbed up and down in the surf with a beer. Cooper ran to Stella, kicked sand on her legs and jumped up on the chair, causing the part with Stella’s head to lift off the ground.

“Coop!” Stella yelled, swatting at him. Then she saw what was in his mouth. “Shit,” she moaned.

Cooper jabbed his mouth at Stella’s hand and then ran back.

“Give it!” Stella demanded.

Cooper was playing keep away.

She hung her head. “Damn it.” Stella sat up and put her feet in the sand. “Drop it,” she demanded again, exasperated. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to chase the ball away from him. Then she laughed. This is why she never gave Cooper tennis balls. He couldn’t grasp the concept of fetch. She and Jamie used to call it “bring it back,” because Cooper didn’t get it. They’d have to coax him back to them with the ball and he’d refuse to give it to them, but would taunt them with the ball and until they would get it from him.

Cooper pushed away from Stella with his paw and scratched her hand, drawing blood. “Coop. DROP IT!” she yelled as George was walking up the shore, beer in his hand and his red Washington Nationals baseball cap on, water dripping off his lean body. His board shorts were sitting dangerously low on his hips. Stella took him in appreciatively.

“Why are you yelling at Coop?”

“Oh, you’re about to see the most fucked up game of ‘bring it back’ you’ll ever see. This dog is incapable of understanding the purpose of the game.”

“’Bring it back?’”

“Yes, Coop doesn’t do fetch. He plays ‘bring it back’ and he’s horrible at it.” Stella lifted her scratched hand and pointed to it. “Look at my hand! He refuses to drop the ball so I can throw it.”

George looked at Cooper and said sternly, “drop it.”

Cooper ran at him and rose on his back legs to push off George’s chest with his front paws.

“Shit!” George yelled as he spilled some of his beer.

Stella lifted both of her eyebrows. “See?”

They spent the better part of an hour chasing Cooper around the beach, seeing who could get him to drop the ball. Stella won by using the seagulls to distract Cooper and prying his mouth open to grab the ball. She bounced on the balls of her feet with her arms lifted in the air, boasting that she was the winner. The pain increased with every bounce, but the fun was worth it.

George lifted her over his shoulder and carried her into the house, grabbing her ass the entire way and casually letting his fingers sneak under her bikini bottom. She laughed as he charged up the stairs.

“Come on, Coop!” she yelled.

Cooper dashed up the stairs and waited for George to open the door to the house. It was almost normal and completely foreign to her.

Stella woke up in George’s king-size bed in Old Town. Turning over, she stretched her arms as the sheets caressed her warm, sun-kissed body. They’d gotten in late from the beach the night before. Her skin was bronze after staying in the sun for the week and she felt almost relaxed. A smile spread across her face; she thought they may make it after all.

In George’s SUV on the way down to North Carolina, she’d asked him about every aspect of his life; all the questions normal people would’ve already covered.

“Where did you go to high school?”

“You know that school on the way to the gym, T.C. Williams? That’s where I went.”

“That’s the school from
Remember the Titans
!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, but I’m not that old. It’s not like I went to school during the 60s.” He chuckled and pulled her hand to his lips.

“I know that, George.” She looked out the SUV’s window. “And you went to Penn State, I know that part. Then what?”

“I kind of liked it when you didn’t care about any details of my life, El.”

“Shut up!” She slapped his arm.

“There was a regular at the bar that my Dad knew who got me a job with the
Washington Times
. I worked there for a few years and then moved over to the
Post
.”

“You worked for the
Washington Post
?” Stella was impressed, she had no idea he’d been a reporter at the Post.

“Yep, I covered the Hill for a couple of years.”

“Did you like it?”

“Loved it.”

Cooper nudged George’s arm so that George would pet him.

“Then what?”

“My dad got sick. Then he got sicker and someone had to run the bar. I’m the oldest and the only male, so it was me.”

“I bet that was a hard decision.”

“Not at all. It was necessary.” He stared straight ahead.

“How long was your dad sick?”

“Two years. It was a horrible, painful way to go. He basically drowned, you know. He had emphysema.”

“Oh, George.” She reached out and put her hand on his, rubbing his knuckles. “I had no idea, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just sorry for my mom, you know. She lived it every day. I ran Finnegan’s, and it was almost 24/7, so I didn’t see the worst of it.”