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“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that your brother would be damn impressed with the way you handled yourself. I’ve known guys in this life who couldn’t have done half as well as you did back there.”
He’s looking at me in a way that makes me squirm; bits and pieces inside me — walls, prickly defenses, those icy, spiny, poisonous things that have kept me motivated and safe for so long — change. Come apart. Re-shape themselves into something that is altogether new and wholly frightening.
“Stop it,” I say.
He doesn’t know the damage he’s doing.
“Stop it? Why? You’re smart, capable, and I think we have a good chance of getting to the bottom of what happened to your brother,” he says. There’s earnestness in his voice, along with two other equally dangerous things: respect and hope. He’s sounding less like a man who wants to die, and more like a man with a reason to live.
And the way he’s looking at me? Unacceptable.
“Dixon, that’s enough.”
It’s too far. Too much. I can’t have him talking to me or looking at me like he’s anything other than the piece of shit who murdered my brother. The second he becomes something else, that’s the second that other feelings — feelings I’ve so desperately fought from the moment I first laid eyes on him — surge in. And then the question becomes: what is he to me if not the man that I hate?
“Keep your fucking opinions to yourself,” I say, loud, and throw the half-empty beer at him. It hits the wall with a loud thwack.
“Is there a problem in there?” Moose’s voice comes from the living room. “Dixon, whatever it is you’re trying, the lady said ‘no.’ And I’ll tell you one thing: there’s nothing sexier than consent. Consent is mandatory. Unless it’s one of those consensual non-consent things. Those walk a finer line. They can be hot as hell, but you really need to know what you’re doing, and I just don’t think you two have known each other long enough to have laid the groundwork for that type of fun.”
“Moose, I love you, but Dixon and I are having a thing.”
He nods. “Got it. You know what, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab one of your beers and take a walk. You two take your time. Text me when things are good, OK?”
“Stay safe, Moose,” Dixon says.
When the door shuts behind Moose, I glare at Dixon.
“This isn't just about the mission anymore, is it?” My voice trembles in my throat, a frightened, wary thing.
“What do you mean?”
“Somewhere along the way, this became real for me — you became real. And I can't pretend otherwise." I stop, look down at my feet, feet that are filled with the urge to cross the room to him. Then my feet that do just that. “I know that I’m supposed to hate you. In a way, I do. You’re still an asshole. And you’re still a smug prick. And you’re still someone that I want to punch, but…”
“But?” he interjects, a hint of vulnerability shimmering beneath his poised exterior.
“I don't only feel anger when I'm around you. There's something else, and it’s messing with my head.”
“Like you don’t know what’s up from what’s down?” He says. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, one that sears into me, burns through all the lies I’ve built around my heart. “Like what’s in front of you might be the most terrible choice you could ever make, or it might be the best one, and you don’t care either way. You know you’re going to make it because there’s no other way that you want to be?”
“Dixon? What are you saying?”
Deep down, I know what he’s saying. Words I’m too scared to say.
“I've spent so long convincing myself that I don't deserve this... Thinking that I was a killer who didn’t deserve to live. But standing here now, with the prospect of finding out that the thing I’ve told myself for so many years is actually a lie, I can't imagine being anywhere else. You've turned my world upside down, Alexandra.”
“This is going to end, Dixon. We’ll get a name, and maybe it’ll lead us to someone else, and maybe that someone will be the person really responsible, but what happens then? It’ll end.”
Dixon reaches out, his fingers brushing mine with a touch that sends a shockwave coursing through my veins. “Some endings are beginnings in disguise. Even people like us can get second chances.”
Frowning, I look at him. Look at every hateful, hopeful line on his handsome face; at those eyes that tease me just as much as they tempt me; at those lips that so often spark me to searing rage with their smirks, that I so ache to taste. Can he really be a part of my future?
“Even the prospect of something new scares me. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Wouldn’t know if I even want to… I mean, what will my life look like, then?”
“Maybe things will change. Maybe we’ll want to start over, maybe we won’t,” he says, leaning closer. “But there is something that I know I want without a doubt…”
“What is it?”
“This.”
