On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

7: Home

In a lull filled by my short breaths, Einar turned the SUV around. Approving or disapproving or just plain annoyed, not a word floated my way. Streetlights yielded to ragged pines then early morning sun. I rested my chin and arm on the window sill, simultaneously trying to forget and remember the way Marc's mouth fit on mine.

I needed that. He needed that.

A rueful sigh fogged the glass panel.

Nik didn't.

We were single, but I used to love him. And several occasions since we'd broken up had proven I still did.

My younger years, when kisses were starlight and love was clumsy hands at a dance, felt like a dream from someone else's life, but back then there'd been boys I was desperate to kiss and, soon as the weekend arrived, I lost the urge to kiss them again. Maybe tonight marked the return of my former self, that kittenish filly not yet jaded by betrayal and secrets. I wanted to be that naive again, free and unbridled by consequence.

Except, according to Marc and everyone else these days, I was a bear and there was no going back.  The only thing standing between me and companionship was myself. I couldn't have everything I wanted, because everything I wanted wasn't one person.

"You lucked out," I told Einar. My fingers drummed the dash before flicking on the radio, desperate for relief from the noise in my head. "Now I don't feel like playing cards."

He ignored my scowl until the volume lowered to whispered weather reports. "I've reached my limit of soulful conversation today."

I groaned. "What are you, a magic eight ball?" No, he was a headache. And he'd be a problem in Boston.

His boorish grunt justified my assessment. Later, while Einar quizzed flight attendants on security protocol, I ducked into a bathroom and called Becky for an update -no change on any front- then requested she try and 'borrow' a set of handcuffs from police.

*

Amaranth fog drifted across a waxing moon as the jet landed. Apartment and office lights winked cheerily from a low horizon of violet-shaded towers and buildings. Boston was smooth and sweet and vibrant like wine coming into its age, so much richer than I used to think it was after spending time overseas.

The last time I'd set foot in this bustling airport I was deep in mourning of the lost relationship with Logan. I'd possessed slightly more anonymity then, something I missed now that Einar was a sharply-dressed thunder cloud in my periphery, but I didn't miss that sinking finality of broken dreams. That ache I never wanted to feel again.

Maybe that was why I'd become so reluctant to pulled the trigger and take a chance.

And then emerged that wonderful aroma of my go-to fast foods and cinnamon and salt and ground coffee- all things Norway had, just not quite in this blend.

My boots echoed across the tiled floor as a kind of confidence entered the sway of my hips- one that drew my chin higher and my shoulders squarer and more than a couple eyes on me. This was my city. I grew up here. I belonged here. I was home.

A gentleman a little older than myself offered to help me to my cab and asked about coffee (until Einar loomed nearer). I declined with the cheery, inward smile, and squished into the yellow car beside my bodyguard.

It was nice to be noticed, especially after coming off an hours-long flight where I'd spent the majority of my time drooling into a tiny pillow.

After everything had transpired there hadn't exactly been a lot of room for romance- nor should there be when you're traipsing across the Norwegian countryside, smelly and frizzy-haired and scared for your life. But life marched on and amorous thoughts -of wanting and being wanted- couldn't be held at bay forever.