Heart in Wire: A by a Thread Companion Novel (7 page)

Michelle, Patrick, and Millie met her father at Donovan’s Steak House for dinner. Santiago Rodriguez was as tall as Patrick and three times his width, with black hair that was slicked back and hard brown eyes. His skin was as dark as Patrick’s.

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Rodriguez,” Patrick said, pulling out Millie’s chair and squeezing her shoulders as she sat. He reached out to shake Millie’s father’s hand; Patrick had the perfect handshake, not too hard, but firm enough to be manly. He moved to his seat and straightened the blazer he’d put on to go to dinner.

“So Patrick, I’ve heard so much about you. You work for the ATF?” Millie’s father asked above the rim of his margarita.

“Yes, sir.”

“Really, that’s so interesting. So you shoot criminals?” Stepmother chimed in, running her hands through her hair.

“We try not to be in situations where we have to shoot anyone,” he answered, putting his hand on Millie’s thigh under the table. He played with the hem of her short dress as he answered more questions about his work and life.

Once dinner came, the questions shifted to Millie and her job. She’d been working for the Department of Education for around a year and she loved it. It showed in her face as it lit up as she talked about all the senators she met and worked with; her hands flew around in excitement talking about a particular bill. Patrick let his mind wander as he ate his steak and potato. He’d spoken to El briefly this week about what went down in the Keys. She was still shutting him out and it was frustrating.

After digging into Jamie, he was able to determine that the douchebag’s cover wasn’t blown, but after the explosion, he’d taken over $200,000 from the family and skipped town. The agency and the family he was working with were both looking for him; the ATF had teams looking for him in the southeast to no avail. Kevin, his supervisor, told Patrick that Burns, Jamie’s boss, was in trouble, but it was hard to find agents that were willing to go undercover so it might be a slap on the wrist for both him and Jamie when they found him. They
would
find him, though; they couldn’t let him get away from the operation. The ATF had years invested and would pull out all the stops to get convictions; they needed Jack Ryder, Jamie’s alias, for that.

He felt a kick under the table. He looked up into the expectant faces of all three dining partners. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Daddy was asking when you thought you’d be getting your own house.” Millie looked at him inquisitively.

He shoved a piece of potato in his mouth. Millie had been hinting at them getting a place together for a few weeks. “I hadn’t really thought about it. DC is so expensive; it makes more sense to live with a group until you can afford it. You’d think since we’re catching the bad guys we’d be paid more, but we aren’t.” Not to mention the fact that he was sending money to his family every month as well.

“But with your combined income, surely you’d be able to find something suitable,” Millie’s dad said, but the question hung in the air—when would he be marrying his daughter and starting a life with her, instead of just living together?

Fucking sandbagging motherfucker.

“Well, that’s certainly something Millie and I will discuss when the time’s right,” he answered without looking at Millie.

Although Millie’s mother was still on shift at the hospital, her stepmother dropped them off at her mother’s house. Millie had made it clear she wasn’t staying with her father, against his requests. Patrick thought it was so they could sleep in the same room, which was totally fine with him. Both of them were full of food, alcohol, and questions after their dinner with Millie’s dad. Patrick just wanted to crawl in bed and leave this day behind. He kissed Millie as she sat on the couch with the remote and her Kindle.

“I’m going to bed,” he said.

“Okay,” she answered to his back and he walked to the room she’d led him to earlier.

Hours later, a light woke him up. Millie was walking around the room with her cell phone lit so she could make her way to the bed. She eased in and sighed. He rolled over and pulled her into his arms, nuzzling his face in her hair.

“Patrick?” Millie turned over and faced him, the dark cloaking them so they could only see the outline of each other’s bodies.

“Yeah, babe,” he whispered back.

“You’re not going to marry me, are you.” It was a statement, not a question, and it hung in the air while he tried to wake up enough to give her an answer that would calm her fears, which were coming from somewhere he wasn’t comfortable with.

“Mil…” he pulled her closer, “I love you. We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, you know?”

“Patrick, I want things for myself. I want to get married and have a family. If you don’t want that, then I need to look for someone who does.”

Her sentences were direct and sounded rehearsed; like she’d been practicing this conversation for a while. He was floored; he didn’t realize she wanted all of these things already. He was meeting her family for the first time and she was throwing this shit on him? He didn’t know what to say.

“Babe, where is this coming from?” He leaned in and kissed her, but she pulled away from him. “We’re happy. Why are you pushing things?”

“We’re happy, but I think we need to think about getting our own place. Don’t you feel too old to live with other people?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it.” He sighed and rolled over to face the ceiling. “I thought we were happy.”

Silence.

“Millie?”

“I want more, Patrick.”

Patrick was balls deep in Millie, she was screaming his name, and all he thought about was El. He’d gotten back from his second trip to Montana to see El in the hospital; this one had hurt him more than the trip before. She was awake and had come at him swinging. When he walked into her room, she pretended to sleep.

“Look, El,” he started, but he didn’t know what to say. The entire flight he’d imagined what he’d say, how he’d tell her he loved her and was glad she was alive, how he never meant for any of this to happen, how he thought he would die without her in his life, but nothing came out. He examined his hands. “I’m so sorry…about everything. I’ll keep apologizing to you until I die. I swear...I’d do anything if I could make this all go away.”

He took a chance and looked into her eyes and saw only a shell of her former self. It killed him to see her like this, so fucking broken. El met his gaze and they stared silently at each other for at least a minute. She refused to talk to him, but he needed to talk to her, to know what happened.

“I need to know,” he implored, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You need what?” she spat at him. “What is it that you think YOU need that I can give you, Patrick? Forgiveness? Acceptance? Answers? I can’t give you any of that. YOU lied to me. YOU LIED TO ME! FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS YOU LIED!”

She was killing him. His heart felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. Everywhere he turned it hurt. El was dead, it hurt. El lived and hated him, it hurt. He just wanted to go back and do it all over and tell her immediately, to explain that her piece of shit fiancé lied to her, but tell her everything. Everything.

“I know.” He wanted her to listen to his explanation, but he didn’t think the excuse that he was following orders would work. He had no words and laid his head on the edge of her bed. “I just...”

“You held me while I cried, while I had nonstop nightmares and stayed drunk, mourning all over my ‘dead fiancé.’ You let me lie on his grave and cry. You let me get a tattoo that’s a huge joke. YOU DID THAT TO ME!” Her voice choked with emotion.

All of a sudden Stella’s mother rushed in, startled by the commotion. “What’s wrong, Stella?” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, Patrick. I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Hi, Miranda, could you give us a minute?” Patrick implored.

“No,” El demanded.

“Please, El,” Patrick pleaded.

“I... I’ll just be right outside, Stella.” Miranda backed out of the room, allowing Patrick to finish.

“Mom, no—” Stella protested.

“El, please. Just listen,” he said, speaking calmly. Truth, he told himself. Tell her the truth. “You know I love you and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing the best thing for you. I couldn’t figure out what to do. What would be better for you—the reality of what he did or that he passed away? I honestly thought it would be easier for you to think he was dead and for you to start over. Nobody knew when he was coming back or anything…” Patrick stumbled over his words. “He called me every week to see how you were doing. After a while, I thought I should just tell you, but then I knew I’d lose you. I was selfish, Stella. I love you, too. You’re my best friend and he put me in the worst possible position.” Patrick pulled her right hand in his and held it fiercely. He needed to know if Jamie had anything to do with the bombing, with her being injured. He didn’t think he could live with himself if Jamie had done this to the woman Patrick now admitted (to himself) he loved. “El, please tell me he didn’t have anything to do with this.”

El pulled against him, trying to get her hand away. It was like she couldn’t stand for him to touch her. It was like she lit a match and he was burning from her hatred. El pulled so hard against him, she hurt herself and let out a gasp that was gasoline to the flames that engulfed him. He was burning alive and she was watching. All he wanted to do was protect her and he continued to hurt her. Patrick immediately let go of her hand.

“Shit!” Patrick ran to get someone to help El.

Miranda was sitting in a chair next to the nurse’s station, on the phone, and didn’t see him waving at the nurse.

“Help!” Patrick called frantically to the nurse.

A large, older nurse walked past him, slower than he would’ve liked. When she entered El’s room, she asked El a few questions and looked at her chest. “Oh, Stella. You’ll be fine, just a little popped stitch. You’re tougher than that,” the nurse joked.

Tears slid down El’s face and she refused to look at Patrick. He’d only just admitted to himself that he loved this woman, so full of piss and vinegar, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to make things better for her. Maybe it’d just be best to stay away from her like she wanted him to. He stood at the end of the bed, his head hung in shame and in acknowledgement that they were done; whatever they were, it was over. When he looked up, they were alone in the room again and they simply looked at each other, neither saying a word. Her green eyes were full of tears, his blue eyes full of remorse and love.

This was it. Patrick turned and walked toward the door. This would be the last time he’d see her. “I’m sorry all I do is hurt you,” he’d said softly and left the woman he loved in a hospital room, crying.

That memory, in the middle of nailing his current girlfriend, had led him to blurt mid-thrust, “Move in with me.”

Millie’s eyes snapped open. “Really?”

He had to stop torturing himself. “Yes,” he answered.

“This is sort of sucky timing,” she commented as their bodies stilled and they looked at each other, naked and sweating.

“Well, I never said I had good timing.” He shrugged and leaned in to claim her mouth with his.

“All right then.” She lifted her hips to his.

“All right?”

“All right.” She tightened her muscles around him and he let go.