The Departed

half-eaten apple aside, he stood up and went to her, catching her arm. “How long , Dez?” he demanded.
    She glared at him. “Four months. The last few cases ran together on me and it took four months to get everything wrapped up and done. Okay? It’s been almost five months since I’ve gone more than a couple of days without having ghosts whisper to me. I had a week. Before that? The jobs would last a few weeks, maybe a month. I’d have three or four days of peace before they started again. But it’s nonstop. Ever since I walked. I get no peace; I get no rest. It’s worse than it was before I came to you. Are you happy?”
    Fury punched through him but he shoved it down, lashed it under control. Fury wouldn’t help her—it would just feed the wild desperation he could see in her eyes.
    Staring into her tormented, tired gaze, he reached up and cupped her cheek. “Happy?” He stroked his thumb over her lip.
    “Yeah.” She jerked back from him and stalked away, like she couldn’t bear to have him touching her. “Are you happy? I couldn’t take going those three months of leave without helping—I know I couldn’t. It would have driven me crazy.”
    She glared at him, rage all but vibrating off of her. “ You know it, too, and don’t deny it.”
    “Okay.” He closed his hands into fists, resisted the urge to reach for her. It was something he’d forced himself to admit over the past year. Too long—it had been too long, and he never should have touched her and forced himself into that position.
    She sneered at him. “Okay? Okay? You stand there and say okay ? You push me out and now you say okay ?”
    “I didn’t push you out,” he snapped. “You walked .” And he’d wanted to come after her, every damn day. If he’d known she was suffering like that, he would have, too. But he’d thought she’d be better off…happier.
    “I walked because you didn’t give me a choice .” She glared at him. “And now you get to stand there and smile in that lofty, superior way of yours, because—guess what? I might not have gone crazy this way, but I sure as hell am working myself into an early grave.”
    She pressed a hand to her belly and smiled at him, a brittle, empty smile. “So either way, I was screwed. I was destined either to lose my mind or to work myself into the ground. You’re right—I’m no better off leaving than I was staying. Either I’m sick in the head or sick physically. Neither one is much fun.”
    She shoved past him, leaving him alone in the small, quiet chapel.
    He lingered, waiting. Watching. Wanting so desperately to go after her. And once more, he found himself pulling that necklace out of his pocket. Closing his eyes, he thought back, remembering all those months ago when he’d wanted to go after her.
    He hadn’t. And she’d suffered. All this time, she’d suffered and it was his fault.
    He’d thought he was doing the right thing—for both of them. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted , it seemed like the right thing. Letting her go, when all he’d wanted was for her to stay.
    Closing his eyes, he whispered, “Damn it, I don’t know what to do…”
    Then he opened his eyes and found his gaze locked on the warm, gentle glow of the cross on the wall. He knew what he wanted to do—it was what he’d wanted then. But it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple…
    Why not?
    It sounded like something Dez would say. Why wasn’t it that simple? She didn’t work for him now. That issue was solved. Sucking in a deep, desperate breath, he lifted his hands to his face, wondered what he should do.
    For once, damn it, for once, I want to do what I want—what I need…
    He looked down at the necklace he held. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned and took off after her.
    Hell, could he possibly make things any worse than they already were? For either of them?
    THE parking lot was empty. But it didn’t take long to spot her. She was storming down the sidewalk leading away from the hospital. It was roughly five miles to the house and it looked like she was going to walk it.
    In the dead of night.
    Shit.
    Say something , he thought. Stop her, damn it. His mind was a raw, ragged wound and today, of all days—shit, today, yesterday, it was the worst possible time for him to be trying to think of something coherent to say to anybody. Especially the person who mattered to him the most. Dez.
    But he had to say something. He just didn’t know what.