The Lion's Den (Faraway Book 2) (16 page)

There was something else. There had to be.

IT WAS THE END OF
November, and the weeks had flown by with me working at the police station four days a week and dreaming of the colonel every night. The dreams grew more frequent and more intense with each moment I spent in his presence. The days were excruciating as the memories of the night before came back, and my own memories stayed silent in my mind. I needed help, but I didn’t know who to turn to for it.

“Have you ever dreamed of having sex with another man?” I asked Jenna with a light tone. It wasn’t a big deal. Just some dream sex. I sat next to her on my back porch as the kids ran around my yard, playing manhunt.

“Probably. I don’t know.” Jenna took a drag of her cigarette. “Who are you dreaming about?” She sat up and faced me with a huge grin. “And don’t try to tell me no one.”

“I’ve had dreams about my boss.”

“Dreamssss? As in more than one?” she asked, suddenly full of energy.

“No. Just one.” I shook my head and added, “Every night. Just one a night.”

She slapped me across the shoulder. “Tell!”

The kids all stopped running to see why they were being yelled at.

“False alarm,” Jenna yelled into the group, and they returned to their search-and-rescue operation. She turned back to me. “When you say boss, are you talking about the chief?”

I should have regretted telling her, but I didn’t. It was such a relief having someone to talk to about it. Maybe they’d stop if I talked about them. Maybe exposing them to the light would silence them. “Yes. Vincent Pratt.” I stood, frozen in my spot, and scrutinized Jenna’s reaction, but she was only doing the same to me. “What do you think that means?”

“Like, what kind of dreams are we talking about? Holding hands? Kissing?” She was calming down, settling into the thought that this was innocent.

“Last night, I dreamed he was fucking me on top of his police cruiser, and I swear I had an orgasm in my sleep.” Jenna’s mouth fell open. She was blinking and making me uncomfortable. “It’s not normal, is it?”

“Do you like him? You know he and his wife split up, right? Does he flirt with you?”

“No. Yes.” I shook my head. “No. He’s always the perfect gentleman around me.” It was impossible to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Okay, let’s back up. You’ve been having dreams about your boss every night for how long?”

I thought back as far as I could remember. “Since right after I hurt my head.” Tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t sure what part was upsetting me. Not knowing if I’d had sex dreams about him before August, or the fact that I was having them now. “It’s crazy.”

“Aw, it’s not so crazy. You spend more time with him than you do your husband, and he’s hot. If you’re into the cop thing. I’m guessing he doesn’t get high.”

I laughed at her and her priorities. “I’m guessing not, but I haven’t asked him.”

“Maybe you should tell him you dream about him. Maybe he dreams about you, too.”

“And then what? We can exchange notes on how he handcuffed me in a hotel in Philadelphia?”

“You dreamed that, too?” Gaping mouth again. “What the fuck? I need to get a job at the police station.”

“I would love that,” I said as the sun completely disappeared behind the trees.

“Is Brad going to be home in time for Thanksgiving?”

“He says he is. He’s supposed to land Tuesday night, late.”

“Maybe if he were in town a little more, you’d stop dreaming about the chief.”

I sighed. “Maybe.”

That night I dreamed the colonel and I were swimming in the ocean. We were floating out past the breakers, and he promised me I wasn’t a whore. But I already knew I wasn’t because he was in love with me, and he was too good to love a whore. I kissed him, and he told me he loved me, but then a rip current pulled him away. No matter how fast I swam, I couldn’t catch up to him. He kept moving farther and farther away.

I woke up alone in my bed and alone in my mind. I wanted to call him, and for some reason that I couldn’t remember, I had his number. I yearned for him to touch me the way he did in my dreams. I wanted him to hold me as I buried my face in his chest and forgot that which I’d forgotten. But I rolled over and lay by myself until the sun came up.

I DROVE HOME FROM MY
brother’s on Thanksgiving. It was only seven thirty, but the sun had set hours before. It was twenty-six degrees out, and Brad adjusted the heat in the car until I almost died of suffocation and had to turn it down. He’d drunk too much at dinner and then drank some more while the rest of the adults had cleaned up. I was hoping he’d pass out, but he stayed awake reading something on his phone.

“I’m going to stop at the station on the way home,” I said. “I made some brownies for the guys on duty.”

“No.” It wasn’t even a question. Just a definitive no. I hated him for thinking he was in control of me.

“Why? It’ll just take a second.”

“I’m tired. I’m jet lagged. I need to go home.”

“You’re thirsty.” I rolled my eyes. “You should have brought a beer with you for the ride.”

“Drop me off at the house before you go to the station.” Brad shifted in his seat. He was tired of sitting while I drove his ass home. “Or just stay home with me and take them in when you go in next week.”

“They’re a thank you for working on a national holiday. I’m not taking them five days later.”

Brad shut up and closed his eyes, but when a song I liked came on the radio, he managed to move just enough to change the station. He was a treat.

Once Brad was comfortable and the kids were in bed, I grabbed my brownies and headed out the door. It was silly. They weren’t even all that special, the double chocolate box type Liv helped me make the day before.

I pulled into the station and ignored my disappointment at the absence of the colonel’s truck. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be here twenty-four hours a day. I carried the brownies into the barracks and faced my empty desk and the colonel’s empty office. It wasn’t the same without him.

“Meredith, did you miss me?” Daniels flew around the corner and took the brownies from my hands. “Oh, you
did
miss me.” He reached under the wrapping and grabbed a brownie. I watched as he put the entire thing in his mouth and closed his eyes while he chewed. He was barely an adult, and unbelievably a police officer.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Officer Daniels.”

“You, too,” he said and kissed me on the cheek. It was a kiss your neighbors and friends’ husbands would give—warm and full of heart.

“Who’s here with you?” I asked, not used to Officer Daniel’s tender side.

“Thompson, Collins, and Tencza are out on patrol. The chief left about an hour ago.”

“Did you get to have dinner?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I’m not missing stuffing, mashed potatoes, and turkey for anyone. The chief missed out on the whole day, though.”

I put the plate of brownies on the counter in the break room, separated four onto a different plate, and wrapped them with foil from the drawer. The rest I left for the other officers with a note saying “Happy Thanksgiving.” I waved to Daniels and headed out the door.

My car was already cold again, and it didn’t heat up on the three-minute drive to the house the colonel was living in. If you could call living in a demolition zone living. I parked far back in the driveway. I didn’t want anyone to see my car here, but I didn’t know why. I could visit him. There was nothing to hide. I would even tell Brad when I got home if he was still conscious.

I hopped out of the Escalade and pulled my coat around my ears. I could see the colonel through the cracked window of the door. He was painting in the back room of the house, wearing sweatpants that hung low and no shirt. The muscles in his back flexed as he reached to the top of the wall. I realized I was breathing heavy when my breath fogged the window. I closed my eyes and welcomed the silent recount of my dreams where he was throbbing and pushing inside of me. This wasn’t normal.
This
wasn’t me. I forced the thoughts from my mind. I was here to show my gratitude. It was an innocent gesture, but the way my nipples hardened at the sight of him didn’t feel innocent.

I opened the screen door and knocked on the wooden one, but the colonel never came. I knocked again, but he still didn’t answer. With my ear to the door, I could hear a radio playing inside the house. I turned the knob and opened the door, just leaning in, leaving my feet still outside until I’d been invited. “Hello,” I said toward the radio. The colonel wasn’t in sight. “Hello,” I said, louder this time, and he stuck his head out around the corner.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking around for a place to put down his paintbrush. He rested it on a can top in the corner of the room and rushed over to me. “Come in. It’s freezing out.”

I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. My sight skipped to his chest and then I forced it away. I looked around the room to avoid staring, which was exactly what I wanted to do. The heat in the house was almost unbearable. I unzipped my parka and took it off without being invited to.

“It’s so warm in here,” I said, and my chest heaved. My longing for him rested across the center of it, making it hard to breathe. It was a mistake to have come. A recap of the Cowboys game blared in the background.

The colonel turned down the volume on the radio and faced me again. “The radiators have only one setting: hot as hell.” He laughed, and I watched his body move and tried to think.

The heat traveled from my breasts to my throat, and I swallowed it down, wanting him. I needed to concentrate on something other than his body. “I brought you some brownies.” I extended the plate to him. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He took the plate and lifted the foil. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I figured your first Thanksgiving alone might be a tough one.”

The colonel held the brownies in his hands, and my heart with his eyes. He wouldn’t release it. He stared at me until a tiny smile settled on his mouth, and I feared the small gesture might break me.

“Come here.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “You can help me with something.” I followed him into the kitchen, happy to be away from the door. The floor was covered in drop cloths, a painting light beamed bright over the entire room, and a cardboard table was set up in the far corner. He handed me two squares of granite and said, “The cabinets are going to be dark wood. Very traditional. I can’t decide on a countertop.”