The Departed

into his flesh. He welcomed the small bite of pain, hoped it might clear his head. It didn’t do much.
    Jogging up the walkway, he unlocked the door and used his master code on the alarm before he headed back out for Dez. He’d put her in bed, then he’d leave. Go home, pretend to sleep, then come back and they’d pretend like this night hadn’t happened.
    Everything still unresolved.
    He opened the door slowly but Dez was curled over the console now and her entire body was tense, trembling. Lines of strain bracketed her mouth and as he crouched by the door, she groaned, harsh and low in her throat.
    Scowling, he reached for her, working one arm under her legs, the other under her upper body. As he started to tug her closer, once more she turned toward him. Was it wishful thinking or did the tension in her body seem to fade? Was she suddenly more relaxed, curling against him, pliant and soft?
    Wishful thinking, he told himself. Just wishful thinking .
    She’d walked away, because he kept pushing her away, and damn it, he needed to figure out the right way to say what he felt when he looked at her or he was going to lose any chance he might have left with her. If he hadn’t already.
    You need to just forget about her, the ugly, cold voice of his conscience whispered. You don’t deserve a chance with her. Even if it were anything you should do, and you know it’s not…
    But the barriers between them, as far as what he should do and what he shouldn’t do, they were gone. Or mostly gone.
    * * *
     
    FIVE minutes later, he was settled on the edge of her bed, working her free of her coat, trying not to think about anything but that task. Once he was done with that, he dealt with the boots, focusing just on the boots. Not on the long legs clad in denim, not on the round curve of her hips, her ass, the breasts that had filled his hands so perfectly.
    He wasn’t going to think about the scar that marred her neck, or the way she’d stared at him all those months ago, that glint of challenge in her eyes as she said, It’s a scar, Taylor. A fucking scar. And I don’t mind it. Hell, I’ll wear it happily for the rest of my life. You know why? Because there’s a little girl who is alive .
    That scar, the sight of it was like claws in his gut, and she was happy to wear it, and he wasn’t going to look at it, or think about what happened that day when he brought her home from the hospital. Or what he did three days later. No, he was just going to put her boots down and cover her up, then get out of there.
    He managed to put the boots down, side by side, taking the time to make sure they were meticulously straight, the toes lined up perfectly. Then, still not looking at her, he grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed. Sheets rustled and from the corner of his eye, he saw her drawing up into a tight little ball, heard the ragged gasp of breath. It was dim in the bedroom, but he could see her face easily, thanks to the moonlight shining in. It fell in a silvery swath over her face and he could see the strain in the lines fanning out from her eyes, on her face. Saw her flinch, watched her mouth form the word No —
    One of her hands balled into a fist and she jerked, her back arching.
    The resolve to just get the hell out of there shattered and he crawled onto the bed, stroked a hand down her back. “Shhh. It’s just a dream, Dez. Just a dream,” he said softly.
    Blindly, she reached out and he caught her hand. “Sleep, baby.”
    “…can’t…”
    He stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her face. But her eyes were still closed. “Desiree?”
    She twisted on the bed, squirmed. “Everywhere—damn it.” Her voice was husky, heavy.
    “What’s everywhere?” he asked. He laid a hand on her cheek. “Open your eyes and talk to me.”
    She didn’t, though, and he realized she wasn’t really awake.
    “They are.” She sighed and curled closer to him. “All the time. They never stop talking to me anymore, Taylor. I can’t get away from them anymore…”
    He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. Guilt weighed down on him. This was his fault. She’d managed to balance things just fine for years, but then he forced her to walk away, and it had upset the balance she’d found. “Are they here now? Are they talking to you?”
    She was quiet. She was quiet for so long, he wondered if she’d slipped back into that dreamless sleep, but then she sighed. “No. I only hear you…”
    With a