took the story. The whole story.
My father didn’t say much, which is understandable. It’s a lot to take in. What did surprise me was his silence. He walked into his office, leaving the three of us alone in the living room. I went to my room and passed out for five hours.
When I woke, my father was gone, and Mom was abuzz with instructions on how to clean my wound, making sure I took my antibiotics, and her general nervousness about what would happen next.
As I got dressed this morning, I knew I needed to be home.
More importantly, I need Jesse.
I hate that we don’t talk on the phone. Before, I knew we shouldn’t because we were being watched. Now, I’m not sure how it might complicate things. All I wish is that we were just a normal couple. No secret meetings or life-altering events.
As I look back on our time together, one of my favorite moments is cuddling with him on the couch, watching television. It was simple, boring, and what I wish we could do for the rest of our lives.
I have big plans for him and me—places to travel and food to cook. I want to go to those fights he loves, and the next day, I want to bore him to death at a museum. We’ll go to work during the day and cook dinner together in the evening. It’s a simple dream. One I know he wants too. I could feel it in the way he held me.
I just don’t know if it’s possible. At the end of the day, he’s an undercover agent. He’ll be gone for months, perhaps years at a time. I can’t live like that, waiting for him to come home without knowing if he’s alive or dead.
I’m not that strong.
I drive back to my apartment and let myself in. It looks the same as when I left. The white sheet is still on my bed from when I ran out of here in a rush. There’s still coffee in the pot.
I clean the house and then take a shower, careful not to soak my wound. In my comfiest pajamas, I lie down on my couch and stare at my phone, willing it to ring. When it doesn’t, I get up to open my refrigerator and grab a bottle of water, drinking and walking to the window.
My heart races at the sight of a familiar white car in the parking lot. I drop the bottle and race to the front door. I open it just in time to see the handsome face of the bravest man I’ve ever met standing on the other side.
“You’re here,” I state, excited and relieved.
“I was surprised when I found out you were coming home. I thought they’d tell me you were with your mother.”
“I couldn’t stay at my parents’ house any longer. They were smothering me.”
He grins. “Sounds like they love you.”
I roll my eyes and pull him in. Once inside, I throw my arms around him and lock my lips with his. “I was so worried about you. Where did you go? I waited for you to show up at my parents’, but you never did.”
“I had a lot to take care of,” he speaks against my lips, walking us into the living room and down to the couch.
We’re in a seated position as he takes my hands and lowers them from his neck. “We need to talk.”
A sagging feeling overcomes my chest. Telling someone you’re dating that you have to talk is never a good sign. I look at him warily.
His blue eyes, those turquoise gems that mesmerize my soul, hold steady as he speaks, “I was able to get ahold of the northeast bureau today and give the government my story.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“It is, and it isn’t.” He swallows, and I wait for him to speak. “Do you remember when I told you that this could get messy?”
“Yes,” I answer slowly.
“I made a deal with your father. I can’t talk about the details yet, but what you need to know is that he is going to be okay and that this was his decision.”
“Okay …” Again, my answer is stretched out and slow. “What does that mean? Remember, no more secrets.”
“This time, you’re going to have to trust me because you still need to give your statement.”
An internal panic ensues. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’ve never lied, especially to the cops. If they were to give me a