Beautiful Redemption Read online

  When the song was over, Trenton walked over to Camille and lifted her in his arms, twirling her around in the air. When he lowered her to her feet, she crossed her arms at the back of Trenton's neck and kissed him.

  Another song boomed through the speakers, and the few other women present pulled their men onto the modest dance floor. Some of the men joined them, mostly just being silly.

  Thomas remained sandwiched between his father and uncle, glancing at me only once in a while. He was angry with me, and he had every right to be. I was giving myself whiplash. I couldn't imagine how he must be feeling.

  There I stood, glaring at Camille every time she drew attention to herself, and I hadn't treated Thomas much better. He wasn't just playing a part. He'd expressed interest in me before we had left for the assignment. If anything, I was worse than Camille. At least she didn't jerk around his heart, knowing she was already dealing with broken pieces.

  The responsible thing to do would be to keep it professional. One day, I was going to have to choose between Thomas and the Bureau, and I would choose the job. But every time we were alone, every time he touched me, and what I'd felt when I saw him with Camille, I knew that my feelings had become too complex to ignore.

  Val had told me to be straight with Thomas, but he wouldn't accept it. My cheeks flushed. I was a strong and intelligent woman. I had broken down the problem, determined the solution, made a decision, and communicated that decision.

  I sighed. Then, I'd yelled at him in front of nearly all of his friends and family. He'd looked at me as if I were crazy.

  Am I?

  He'd told me the picture was gone, but taking a picture off a table wouldn't change feelings. Jim had said Camille was in Thomas's past, and that was true. But I couldn't reconcile that Thomas missed her or that he still loved her.

  What I really needed was Thomas's closure, and that solution was reliant on him. Closure wasn't an unreasonable request, but it might be an impossible one. It wasn't up to me. It was up to Thomas.

  For the first time in my adult life, I had allowed myself to be involved in a situation that I couldn't control or handle, and my stomach felt sick.

  I glanced over at Thomas, and once again, I caught him looking at me. I finally walked over to him, and his shoulders relaxed.

  I slipped my hands under his arms and curved them behind his back, pressing my cheek against his lower chest. "Thomas..."

  He touched his lips to my hair. "Yes?"

  Someone turned down the music, and Trenton walked over to Camille. He took both of her hands, pulling her to the center of the room. He knelt onto one knee and held up a small box.

  Thomas pulled away from me and shoved his hands into his pockets, fidgeting for a second or two. Then, he leaned down to whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry." He took a few steps backward and then quietly walked along the back wall, creeping behind the crowd, until he reached the exit.

  After one last glance at Camille as she covered her mouth and nodded her head, Thomas pushed open the glass door just enough to slip outside.

  Jim looked down and then over at me. "That would be tough for any man."

  Everyone cheered, and Trenton stood up to hug his new fiancee. The crowd closed in around them.

  "Tough for you, too, I'd imagine," Jim said again, gently patting me on the shoulder.

  I swallowed hard and looked to the glass door. "We'll see you at the house, Jim. It was so nice to meet you." I hugged Thomas's father and then hurried out to the parking lot.

  My sweater did little to stave off the Midwest's early spring temperatures. I wrapped the knitted fabric tighter around me and crossed my arms, walking along the sidewalk to the back of the hotel.

  "Thomas?" I called.

  A drunk man appeared from behind a beater Chevrolet that was older than I was. He wiped the vomit from his mouth and stumbled toward me.

  "Whoeryou?" he asked, his words melded together.

  I stopped and held out my hand. "I'm trying to get to my car. Please step aside."

  "Are you stayin' 'ere, sweet thing?"

  I raised an eyebrow. His beer gut and stained shirt didn't scream catch, but he clearly didn't see it that way.

  "I'm Joe," he said before burping. He smiled, his eyes half-closed.

  "It's nice to meet you, Joe. I can see you've had a lot to drink, so please don't touch me. I just want to get to my vehicle."

  "Wishesyers?" he asked, turning toward the lot.

  "That one." I pointed in a vague direction, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway.

  "Wanna dance?" he asked, stumbling to whatever music was in his head.

  "No, thank you."

  I sidestepped, but he caught my sweater in his fingers.

  "Whereyuhgoin' suhfast?"

  I sighed. "I don't want to hurt you. Please let go."

  He tugged on me once, and I gripped his fingers and pulled them back. He cried out in pain and then fell to his knees.

  "Okay, okay!" he pleaded.

  I let go of his hand. "The next time a woman tells you not to touch her, you listen. If you only remember one thing from tonight"--I poked his temple and pushed his head--"remember that."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, his breath puffing out in white wisps. Instead of attempting to get up, he got more comfortable on the ground.

  I groaned. "You can't sleep here, Joe. It's cold. Get up, and go inside."

  He looked up at me with sad eyes. "I don't 'member where m'room is."

  "Oh, shit. Joe! You're not harassing this pretty lady, are ya?" Trenton said, taking off his coat. He draped it over Joe's shoulders and then helped him to stand, bearing most of his weight.

  "She tried to break my damn hand!" Joe said.

  "You probably deserved it, you drunk fucker," he said to Joe. He looked to me. "You all right?"

  I nodded.

  Joe's knees gave way, and Trenton grunted as he tossed the large man over his shoulder.

  "You're Liis, right?"

  I nodded again. I was extremely uncomfortable with speaking to Trenton although I wasn't sure why.

  "Dad said Thomas came out here. Is he okay?"

  "What are you doing out here?" Thomas snapped. He wasn't speaking to me but to his brother.

  "I came to check on you," Trenton said, shifting his weight.

  "What the hell is going on out here?" Taylor said, staring at Joe hanging over Trenton's shoulder. He sucked on his cigarette and exhaled, the thick smoke swirling into the air.

  "She tried to break my damn hand!" Joe said.

  Taylor chuckled. "Then, don't put your hands on her, dumbass!"

  Thomas looked down at me. "What happened?"

  I shrugged. "He touched me."

  Taylor doubled over, his whole body trembling with roaring laughter.

  Tyler appeared from behind Trenton and Taylor, lighting his own cigarette. "This looks like the real party!"

  Taylor smiled. "Did Liis throw you down the first time you touched her, too?"

  Thomas frowned. "Shut the fuck up, Taylor. We're ready to go."

  Tyler's eyebrows shot up, and he laughed once. "Tommy's Asian beauty knows ca-rah-tay!" He chopped at the air a few times and then kicked forward.

  Thomas took a step toward him, but I touched his chest.

  Tyler took a step back and held up his hands, palms out. "Just kiddin', Tommy. Fuck!"

  All four of Thomas's younger brothers looked very much alike, but it was unsettling how identical the twins were. They even had matching tattoos. Standing next to each other, I couldn't tell who was who until Thomas said their names.

  "Well, Joe here is a fat bastard," Trenton said.

  "Put me down!" Joe groaned.

  Trenton hopped, readjusting Joe on his shoulder. "I'm going to take him to the lobby before he freezes to death."

  "You need help?" Thomas asked. "How's the arm?"

  "A little stiff," Trenton said. He winked. "I barely notice when I'm drunk."

  "See you tomorrow," Thomas said.


  "Love you, bro," Trenton said, turning for the entrance.

  Thomas's eyebrows pulled in, and he looked down.

  I touched his arm. "We're ready," I said to Taylor.

  "Okay," Taylor said. "No problem. Travis already left. What a piss biscuit he's turned into."

  We returned to the car, and Taylor drove through town, turning down various streets, until he turned into a narrow gravel drive. The headlights illuminated a modest white house with a red porch and a dirty screen door.

  Thomas opened my door, but he didn't take my hand. He took all the luggage from Taylor and made his way to the house, glancing back just once to make sure I was following.

  "Dad and Trent cleaned up everyone's rooms for the occasion. You can sleep in your old room."

  "Great," Thomas said.

  The screen door complained when Taylor pulled it open, and then he turned the knob to the front door, walking through.

  "Your dad doesn't lock his door when he leaves?" I asked as we followed Taylor into the house.

  Thomas shook his head. "This isn't Chicago."

  I followed him inside. The furniture was as worn as the carpet, and the air carried a hint of mildew, bacon grease, and stale smoke.

  "Good night," Taylor said. "My flight is early. Is yours?"

  Thomas nodded.

  Taylor hugged him. "See you in the morning then. I'll probably leave around five. Trav said I could take the Camry since he's riding with Shep." He began to walk down the hall and then turned around. "Hey, Tommy?"

  "Yeah?" Thomas said.

  "It's cool seeing you twice in one year."

  He disappeared down the hall, and Thomas looked down and sighed.

  "I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel--"

  "I know," Thomas said. He looked up at the ceiling. "We're up there."

  I nodded, following Thomas up the wooden stairs. They creaked under our feet, singing a bittersweet song of Thomas's return. Faded pictures hung on the walls, all featuring the same platinum-haired boy I'd seen in Thomas's condo. Then, I saw a picture of his parents, and I gasped. It looked like Travis sitting with a female version of Thomas. He had his mother's eyes. He bore all her features but her jaw and long hair. She was stunning, so young and full of life. It was hard to imagine her being so ill.

  Thomas turned into a doorway and then placed our luggage in a corner of the room. The iron-framed full-sized bed was pushed into the far corner, and still, the wooden dresser barely fit. Trophies from Thomas's high school years sat atop shelves on the walls, and pictures from his baseball and football teams hung next to them.

  "Thomas, we need to talk," I began.

  "I'm going to take a shower. You want to go first?"

  I shook my head.

  The zipper of Thomas's suitcase made a high-pitched noise as he opened it. He pulled out a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor, shaving cream, a pair of heather-gray boxer briefs, and navy basketball shorts.

  Without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom and began to close the door, but it was off the track. He sighed and set his things on the sink, and then he jostled the door until it sat straight in the doorway.

  "You need some help?" I asked.

  "Nope," he said before sliding the door closed.

  I sat on the bed in a huff, unsure how to fix the mess I'd made. On one hand, it was fairly simple. We worked together. We were on assignment. Worrying about feelings seemed asinine.

  On the other hand, the feelings were there. The next couple of days would be tough on Thomas. I'd pretty much stomped all over his heart because I was angry about another woman, who had coincidentally also stomped all over his heart.

  I stood up and took off my sweater, staring at the broken door. From beneath the space at the bottom, light glowed into the dark bedroom, and the pipes whined as the shower spit and then shot out water in a steady stream. The shower door opened and then closed.

  I shut the bedroom door and then pressed my palm and ear against the sliding door. "Thomas?"

  He didn't answer.

  I slid open the door, and a gust of steam poured out. "Thomas?" I said again into the foot-wide space.

  He still didn't answer.

  I slid the door open all the way and then closed it behind me. The shower door was fogged over, only showing Thomas's vague form. The sink was in desperate need of a good scrub with limescale remover, and the peach linoleum was peeling up at the corners.

  "It wasn't for show," I said. "I was jealous and angry, but mostly, I'm just scared."

  He still didn't answer, instead scrubbing his face with soap.

  "I didn't enjoy being with Jackson. Almost from the beginning, I knew this was different. I can see it and feel it, but it still doesn't seem right to me to jump back into something when I've been looking forward to being alone for so long."

  Still nothing.

  "But if I do, I need you to be totally over her. I don't think that's entirely unreasonable. Do you?" I waited. "Can you hear me?"

  Silence.

  I sighed and leaned against the vanity with its chipped Formica and rusted drawer pulls. The faucet leaked, and over the years, a black drip stain had formed just above the chrome ring of the drain.

  The tip of my thumb was at my mouth, and I nibbled at the skin around my nail, trying to think of what to say next. Maybe he didn't want to hear anything I had to say.

  I stood up and slipped my blouse over my head and then pulled off my tall boots. It took some effort to remove my skinny denim jeans, but the socks slipped off without effort. Thank God I'd thought to shave that morning. The long black strands of my hair fell over my breasts, so I didn't feel quite so vulnerable, and I took the two steps toward the shower door.

  I tugged once and then again. By the time it opened, Thomas was facing my direction with his eyes closed, lathered shampoo running down his face. He wiped the soap away and glanced at me, and then he quickly rinsed his face and looked again, his eyebrows pushing toward his hairline.

  I shut the door behind me. "Are you listening?"

  Thomas lifted his chin. "I'll start listening when you do."

  "We can talk later," I said, closing my eyes and pulling his face down so that my lips could reach his.

  He grabbed my wrists and held me at bay. "I realize what our predicament is this weekend, but I'm done playing games with you. I don't want to pretend anymore. I just want you."

  "I'm standing right in front of you." I pressed my body against his, feeling his impressive erection against my stomach.

  His breath faltered, and he closed his eyes, the water pouring from his hair down to his face before falling from his nose and chin.

  "But will you stay?" He looked down at me.

  I frowned. "Thomas..."

  "Will you stay?" he asked again, emphasizing the last word.

  "Define stay."

  He took a step back, the spell gone. He reached over and pulled the lever down, and ice-cold water began to pour over us. Thomas flattened his palms against the wall under the spout, letting his head fall, and I squealed, clawing at the door to escape.

  I pushed out and slipped, falling to the floor onto my knees.

  Thomas burst out of the door, reaching for me. "Christ! Are you okay?"

  "Yeah," I said, rubbing my elbow and then my knee.

  Thomas grabbed a towel that was folded over the top of the shower door and draped it over my shoulders, and then he ripped another off the rack and wrapped it around his waist.

  He shook his head. "Are you hurt?"

  "Just my pride."

  Thomas sighed and then lifted my arm to take a look. "Your knee?" he asked, leaning down.

  I held out the one that had crashed against the floor, and he inspected it.

  "I am a grade-A fuck-up," he said, rubbing his wet hair.

  "I'm not giving you much to work with." I let my cheeks fill with air, and then I exhaled.

  After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, I left him alone in the bathr
oom to retrieve my toothbrush, and then I returned. Thomas unscrewed the cap off of the tube of toothpaste. I held out my brush, and he squeezed out a short line onto the bristles and then did the same for his.

  We held our brushes under the water and then stared into the mirror of his high school bathroom, wearing thin floral towels, while brushing our teeth together over the same sink. It felt like such a domestic thing to do, and at the same time, the past ten minutes had been so awkward that it was hard to enjoy it.

  I leaned over to rinse and spit, and Thomas did the same. He chuckled and used his finger to wipe a speck of toothpaste from my chin, and then he gently cupped his hands on my cheeks. His smile faded.

  "I admire your ability to scrutinize every detail, but why do you have to dissect this?" he asked, unhappy. "Why can't we just try?"

  "You're not over Camille, Thomas. You made that clear tonight. And you just asked me to promise to stay with you in San Diego. That's a promise we both know I can't and won't keep. It's completely reasonable for you to want something stable after what happened to you, but I can't promise that I won't continue to work my way up the federal ladder."

  "What if I give you assurances?" he asked.

  "Like what? And don't tell me it's love. We met last month."

  "We're not like everyone else, Liis. We spend every day together--sometimes, all day and then evenings and even weekends. If we're keeping track, we've put in the time."

  I thought about that for a moment.

  "Stop overthinking it. You want assurances? This is not guesswork for me, Liis. I loved someone before, but the way I feel about you...it's that feeling, a thousand times over."

  "I have feelings for you, too. But feelings aren't always enough." I chewed on my lip. "I'm worried that if we don't work out, the job will be miserable. That's impossible for me to accept, Thomas, because I love my job."

  "I love mine, too, but being with you is worth the risk."

  "You don't know that."

  "I know that it won't be boring. I know that I'll never begrudge you a promotion even if it'll take you elsewhere. Maybe I'll get tired of San Diego. I like DC."

  "You would come to DC," I deadpanned.

  "That's a long time from now."

  "That is why I can't promise that I'll stay."

  "I don't want you to promise to stay in San Diego. I just want you to stay with me."

  I swallowed. "Oh. Then...I could...probably do that," I said, my eyes flitting around the tiny room.