74:Trophy

“I’m not going to duck in back alleys for four years, pretending you’re not mine.  The boys are old enough to understand.  It’s time to end it.” 

Jon chose then to make his case because it’s when she was softest.  Limp but clinging, Chiara wasn’t ready to let go of him or the trust that came with stripping herself bare for him.  He was hoping the trust would carry over and have her agree that pushing up the self-imposed timeline was for the best.

Unfortunately, doe-soft eyes went wide with panic before she closed the windows to her soul and coldly requested, “Put me down.”

A request that he ignored.  The closer they were, the harder it was going to be for her to refuse.

“Chiara, think about it.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have that dumbfuck monkey off your back?  To breathe easy again?  To do whatever you wanted without looking over your shoulder?”

“It would.”  The agreement came easily, but she still pushed at him to release her.  “But I’m not ready yet.  I can’t.”

“You can do anything you choose to, Counselor.”

“And I don’t choose to do this.  Not now.” A mouth that had so sweetly belonged to him moments ago, was now flattened with stark displeasure.  “Please.  Put me down.”

Jon moved back to slide free of her body with a stifled sigh of resignation. 

Standing on her own feet, she swept back the shower curtain to immediately step out of the tub and tie her hair in a towel.  Another one was pulled from a corner shelf without a word and wrapped around her body.

“Why not?” he asked, reaching around her to grab his own towel and swipe it over his body.  “Give me a reason besides not being ready.  A real reason.”

Cutting a glare at him, she exited from the room and left him to climb out onto the fluffy mat that matched the rest of the white bathroom.  He swept the towel over his head and then up and down his limbs and torso until most of the water was absorbed.  Flinging it over the curtain rod left him bare-ass naked as he followed after her.

“Caleb just started his first semester of college and is recovering from surgery,” the counselor spoke as though there had been no interruption.  “I’m not going to drop that kind of psychological bomb on him now.  I’m also in the middle of a case – three, actually – that make flushing my career down the toilet a little untimely.”

“I concede the timing is bad for Caleb, but waiting four years isn’t going to make that much difference.  Christmas break gives him the time to acclimate before going back to school.  It also allows opportunity for you to wind down your workload.”

Now wearing a black bra and panties, her hair hung in wet ropes around her shoulders as she pulled clothes from the closet.  “I don’t even know if you’ll still be part of my life come Christmas.  Why should I create all that extra stress and anxiety for myself?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not, Chiara,” he argued in the midst of tugging on his jeans.  “Yeah, I don’t like the whole thing and want to see it over with.  That’s partly for selfish reasons, but in the big picture, this is about what’s best for you.”

While buttoning khaki pants that came to mid-calf, she shook her head and declared, “I’m not talking discussing it any more.  This will happen on my schedule.  No one else’s.  It’s my life.”

He’d clearly sung that song too many times, because the first words to pop out of Jon’s mouth were, “Don’t bend, don’t break, baby don’t back down.”

Her head popped through the neck of a dark blue blouse, and the look on her face was steeped with annoyance.  “Did you just quote lyrics to me?”

“Kinda, but they’re applicable here.”

“Honest to God, if you say ‘take my hand, we’ll make it I swear’…  You can just get out.”

She was so dead serious about it that, despite himself, Jon laughed.  “Never happen.” 

“Good.”  Now that she was dressed, she headed back to the bathroom, breezing by him with an authoritative, “End of conversation.”

“No.  It’s not.” In nothing but his jeans, he leaned familiarly in the bathroom doorway to finger-comb his own damp hair as she picked up a brush for hers. “We’re partners, remember?  Let me help you see past your goddamn fear.”

Jon could’ve saved his breath for all the good it did.  Without speaking or even looking away from her reflection in the vanity mirror, the counselor continued to repetitively pull the brush through wet tangles.  He waited and waited, exercising superhuman powers to hold his annoyance at bay for another several strokes before peevishly prompting, “Hey!  I’m talking to you.”

“I heard you,” was the terse response he received.  “But I told you the conversation was over.”

“And I told you it wasn’t.”

Her patience visibly gave way, and the counselor whirled to pin him with angrily snapping eyes.  Her knuckles were white around the handle of the brush she pointed at him.  “You may mean well, but you have no concept of my fear, so back off!”

“Then fucking explain it to me!”

“I can’t!” she cried and flung the hairbrush to the floor in frustration.  He hated seeing her beauty contorted by distress almost as much as the helpless sigh that followed.  “I can’t.  The only way I can put one foot in front of the other is to keep the fear and guilt locked away, and I’m not opening the box again today.  Don’t tell me that’s an unhealthy coping mechanism, either.  I’m very much aware.  Izzie is a psychiatrist and has offered that professional opinion more times than I can count.”   

Not only was it unhealthy, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him.  On multiple levels.  The first and foremost being… 

“Izzie?  I thought nobody knew about the deal with Owen?”

“Nobody but you,” the counselor confirmed with an exasperated shake of the head.  “I have other… issues that also fit that bill.  Congratulations, by the way.  In under a month, you’ve found all my hidden pockets of crazy.  Sorry I don’t have a kewpie doll prize for you, but the good news is that I’m painfully normal after this.”

Yes, it was good news, but he was still fixated on the “pockets of crazy”, and most especially with the fact that her friend was a psychiatrist.  With that kind of resource available, why in the hell would a woman who was so very meticulous about taking care of business not take care of this business?  She sure as hell had no problem facing an adversary head-on.  He was living proof, and it baffled him that she wouldn’t just buckle down and deal with this shit. 

The unfortunate downside was that he was the adversary in this case.  She wouldn’t blink an eye before ripping him a new ass, leaving the problem still solved.  Jon wasn’t going to be able to force her to do this, but he could remind her of something.  

“Counselor…”  He pushed himself out of the doorway to slowly approach and tuck a fist beneath her chin.  Tilting her face up to his, he asked quietly, “Remember what I told you on the plane?”

“Probably, but you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“Fear, baby,” he murmured, scraping the edge of his thumb along her jaw.  “Everything you want is on the other side.  If you can get through it, your life will better and you’ll be stronger.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that would be lovely on an inspirational calendar,” she observed, withdrawing from him to bend and pick up the discarded brush.  “But it’s not as simple as it sounds.”

Her huffiness would be amusing if it wasn’t such a strong indication that she planned to stay firmly mired in the fear.  He somewhat understood her reluctance give Owen’s blackmail efforts a kick in the balls, simply because of the boys.  That was a delicate situation, but workable if she would simply allow it. 

The other sources of fear would be, too, he was sure – if he only knew what they were. 

Propping his hand on his hip, he repeated his earlier request, “Then you should probably explain it to me.  Tell me what else is filling those crazy pockets of yours.”

“Didn’t you say something about playing?” she sighed, turning back to the mirror.  “Because I’ve sure as hell done enough a grownup shit for one day.  I need a break.”

“And I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder with a little frown.  “I’m not trying to keep anything from you.  As far as I’m concerned, my life is an open book to you now, if you’re interested in reading it.  Can we just not do it right this second?  I’m mentally exhausted.”

Carefully studying her, Jon could see that the counselor had aged a bit during the day.  The lines around her mouth were more pronounced, there was a weary dullness to her eyes, and the crease running between her eyebrows was deep. 

He didn’t like being responsible for that look and found himself backing down.  That didn’t mean he would stop trying to kick her stubborn ass in the right direction, but he would put it aside for another time.  Right now, she needed a little lightheartedness in her life and he had the perfect solution for that.

“Okay, Counselor.”  Easing up behind her, he leisurely spun her by the hips in order to touch their lips together in a conciliatory kiss.  “Feel like having lunch with one of my friends?”

He felt good about his decision when her expression smoothed into a mixture of relief and curiosity.  “Maybe.  What friend?”

“Dave.  I was supposed to get in touch when I got back from California and haven’t yet.  Thought you might like to meet him.”

It also didn’t hurt that the guy was crazy as a fucking loon most of the time.  Jon could count on him to lighten the day considerably.

“Dave from the band?”

“One and the same,” he confirmed.  “You’ll like him.  Everybody does.”

“Okay.”  Shrugging lightly, Chiara leaned in with a kiss of her own.  “I think it’s a minor miracle that you want me to meet anybody after the morning we’ve had, but since you do, I’m willing.”

So maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed a break, because the acquiescence that should have pleased him was irritating. 

“I told you I don’t run from problems and I’ve fucking committed to Team Monogamy, so don’t feed me that self-deprecating ‘it’s an honor just being nominated’ shit.  It’s annoying.”

His frown was nearly as dark as his tone, and she surprised him by not meeting it with her own surliness.  Instead, she beamed at him like he was Peter Pan in human form before throwing both arms around his neck for a fierce hug that lingered for long minutes. 

When she finally relinquished her stranglehold it was to step back and feistily inform him, “I wasn’t just nominated.  I brought home the trophy.”

Whatever the hell that meant.