Page 38 of Murder in Calusa Cove
Because what she wouldn’t do, what she couldn’t do, was stay in another relationship with one foot already out the door.
Not again.
He dried his hands and leaned against the counter, still not meeting her eyes.
“This isn’t you,” Chloe said, her voice calm but pointed. “You’ve been off all night, and I’m not buying that it’s just about being tired.”
His jaw worked, like he was chewing on a response he didn’t want to say out loud. “It’s been a long week. That’s all.”
She stepped forward, slowly. “You’ve had long weeks before, and you didn’t shut me out. That’s usually my job.” Her attempt at humor fell flat.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look her in the eyes, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
“You were the one who wanted to try again,” she said, quieter now. “I was the one who said I couldn’t make promises. Not until Heather’s case was closed. But you...you said we should see where this goes.”
“I know what I said.” The words came out low, not angry—but tight.
“Then help me understand why you’re pulling back when you’ve never done that with me before. When that’s always been my line.”
He finally shifted his gaze, but the look wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cold either—it was guarded. Careful. The kind of stare that belonged to someone retreating behind old, familiar defenses—and she knew that because she was the queen of hiding behind those defenses.
“I’m not trying to pull back,” he said. “I’m just trying not to screw this up, and right now, if I say anything, I will because you won’t like what comes out of my mouth, and I’m not even sure I can express it.” He heaved in a long breath and let it out with a big sigh. “And now I’ve said too much.”
That hit her sideways—because it didn’t sound like an answer. It sounded like a warning.
She blinked. “You’re not making any sense.”
He gave the barest shake of his head. “Because I’m tired, and there’s a lot on my plate right now. My brain is jumbled, and I can’t think straight.”
“Right,” she said, heat rising in her chest. Everything that he said were all the excuses and rationalizations she used to give Nick. They were non-answers. They were bullshit rhetoric meant to confuse and deflect, instead of dealing with the heart of the matter. “Because the rest of us are just coasting through life with nothing going on.”
“That’s not what I said, and I don’t want to get into this tonight.”
“Well, I do.” She raised her hand. “I know what you’re doing because I’ve done it a million times myself. Only, I don’t know why you’re doing it.” Her eyes burned. She shouldn’t care this much. “I pushed Nick away, or any man I got involved with—including you—because I couldn’t afford to be distracted from catching a killer. What am I distracting you from?”
“It’s not like that.” He lowered his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
“Then explain what it’s like,” she said. “Or are you going to disappear behind some wall I don’t have the blueprint for?”
“I’m not disappearing.”
“No? Because it feels a lot like you are.”
He looked like he wanted to argue—his jaw tight, eyes flashing with something sharp and unspoken—but instead, he turned slightly, putting space between them. Not much. Just enough to make her feel it.
Chloe didn’t hesitate. She reached out and curled her fingers around his biceps, grounding them both. “Don’t you dare turn away from me.”
“I don’t want to fight,” he said, quietly, like the words were a truth and a plea all in one.
“You know what? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight. Not really.” Her voice rose with frustration, and she threw her hands in the air. “Any time things get tense with anyone, you either charm your way out of it, or you fade into the background like it doesn’t touch you. But that’s not a connection, Hayes. That’s avoidance.” She slapped her palms against her thighs, not out of anger but exasperation. “Sometimes, a good, old-fashioned argument is healthy. It means you care enough to stay in it. It means you show up.” Then she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “So, show the hell up.”
He looked down at her finger, then up at her face. A slow, crooked grin tugged at his mouth. A soft chuckle slipped out before he could stop it.
“It’s not funny,” she muttered, but her voice cracked with something else—relief, maybe. Or hope.
“I know it’s not,” he said, gently. “But you...poking me in the chest like that, it’s kind of your thing.” He traced his finger across her jawline. “I really am utterly exhausted, and to be honest, I don’t completely understand why I’m in such a foul mood. I shouldn’t be. Not anymore. I didn’t want to talk to you about it tonight because it took me most of this evening to sort it all out in my brain. I’d rather be fresh. I’d rather it be at another time when the moment is better. Not forced, or rushed, or when we’re in the middle of all this chaos.”
“That’s all bullshit. You’re shutting down on me.” She pressed her finger over his lips. “Something triggered you tonight. Trust me, I know the signs, and I was triggered, too.”
