Page 120 of Diamond In The Rough

“What the hell happened inside that house?” She grabs an egg roll and wraps one end in a paper towel, then she slaps the small package in my hand and rolls my fingers around so it doesn’t fall away. “You went in as the old you, and you came out this…” She waves me up and down, “this. You haven’t been the same since.”

“And I said I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Honey…” Her voice comes out sharp. Exasperated. And yet, totally and completely gentle. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t ask for help.” I bring my dinner up and study the unoffending pastry in my hand. “I asked to be left alone. You seem to have misunderstood my request.”

“And you seem to misunderstand the purpose of my fists! I’ll be happy to reintroduce your face to my knuckles if you don’t shake yourself out of this funk.”

“Not in a funk.” She has energy for days. Righteousness. Doggedness, even. And I… care less about this conversation than I’ve ever cared about any conversation in the history of my life. “You seem to assume something is wrong when it isn’t. I didn’t ask you to come over, Jaz.”

“I don’t need you to tell me you’re going through some stuff,” she snarls. “A best friend knows! So how about you drop the coy shit and just talk?” She reaches across when I refuse to look her way, and grabs my jaw between her fingers, yanking me around until our eyes meet. Instantly, mine sting and water. My emotions, too close to the surface for me to hide for more than a few minutes.

Which is why I prefer solitude.

“What happened?” she begs. Her eyes burn red, tears forming in the corners that chip away at my soul. “You’re scaring me, Tiia. This isn’t normal.”

I’m scaring myself.

But I’m not sure I’m capable of doing anything else but sit here and rot away.

If I move, it hurts. And if I think, it burns.

“I’m going to quit my job,” I admit. “Take the medical pension they’ve offered because of the ear thing and just…” My voice rasps. Crackles and breaks. “I dunno. Become a bum.”

“Okay, well…” She snatches my egg roll, since it’s clear I’m not eating it, and tosses it back to the plate. “That’s a start. A conversation opener.”

“You’re not surprised? Or horrified?”

“I’m mostly horrified you haven’t showered since the day before yesterday.”

Curious, I bring my nose down and sniff my armpit. “I don’t smell. I haven’t left the air conditioning in days.”

“Exactly. You don’t smell, but going a day without a shower isn’t who you are.” She glides her thumbs over my hand. A massage, I suppose, absent-mindedly given in her determination to soothe me. But she has no clue the action reminds me of Micah. That I’ve rubbed his hand like this a hundred times when I’ve noticed he’s in pain. And he’s rubbed his own, a million times more when he thought no one was paying attention. “What the hell happened? You were doing the job. Sidling in close to the Malones, despite mine and Roscoe’s objections to the dangers it posed. You slept…” She pauses and leans closer, lowering her voice, “you slept at his place, girl. I wasn’t saying anything, and Roscoe was locking it down. Barely. You were doing it, and we didn’t want to blow it for you. No one in the Bureau’s history has ever gotten as close to Micah Malone as you were, so everyone left you alone to do your thing, but?—”

“Do you think I sold my body for the job?” A pesky, painful lump settles in the center of my throat. Tormenting me. Making it damn near impossible to breathe. Carefully extracting my hand from hers, I set it beneath my leg, purely so she can’t grab it again. “I fucked my mark, Jazzy.”

Her cheeks pale, her suspicions confirmed. I mean, we all knew it. But to hear me say it out loud…

“Several times. I slept in his bed, and he slept in mine. He stole my plant.” A stupid, ridiculous tear escapes my eye and slides along my cheek. Why, when I speak of a dying plant, do I want to sob and laugh, all in the same breath? “I fell in love like an idiot,” I groan. “With a man I knew to be New York’s most dangerous enforcer.”

“Is he… Did he…” Hesitant, she swallows and studies the side of my face until I feel it warm. “Did he do any of that stuff in front of you?”

I scoff. “No. And he didn’t actually admit to it. Not in plain words, anyway. But it was in the brief, right? It was in all the files I was given. Just because he didn’t murder a man in front of me doesn’t make him any less a killer.” I draw a deep breath, filling my lungs and expanding my chest. Then I release it again, sniffling and pushing emotion aside. I’d rather be that unfeeling robot again. That machine I’ve clung to for weeks.

It hurts less.

“I fell in love with a killer.” I meet my best friend’s dismayed stare. “And I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that information. Because he’s more than what his family made him be. He exists outside of his life as a Malone. And that part of him, the part that is more Micah, and less Malone, deserves better than the life he’s been given.”

“Holy shit.” She rests her head against the cushions and mirrors my pose. “You seriously fell in love?”

“Like an idiot. And even if I saw him murder someone, I don’t think I’d arrest him for it.” I turn just my head and look into her eyes. “I have a badge, Jazzy. One I worked really hard for. I have a duty to the law. An obligation to uphold it. And yet…” I chew my bottom lip and pray no one has bugged my home. “I’d rather let him do his thing, and remain a free man, than be the one who claps cuffs around his wrists and earns a promotion.”

“Honey…”

“It’s a crime for me to even admit that.” I glance back at the television when the news jumps to sports. Some big game. Basketball. Football. Something-ball. “Literally a jailable, and certainly a fireable, offense. Do we really want me to continue the job when I carry such loose convictions?”

“I mean?—”

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