The Detective and Her Bachelor

Chapter 51

I wasn't a coward. I knew that. I was brave, strong and determined. But when it came to expressing my feelings there was no other word to describe it. In that sense...

I, Delle Falls, am a coward. 

All the evidence pointed to that conclusion too many times to count. Life had taught me that how you felt about someone wasn't enough to get people to stay. So it was often best to just... let them go before they could hurt you first. 

But that didn't make getting Andrew out of my mind an easy task. Not when he gave me little to no reasons to leave. It was terrifying to have very few excuses to let him go. 

So, instead of focusing on the chaos I left behind at the Walker Mansion, I tackled another scary task that was far more manageable. 

Paper crackled in my fist as I shoved a letter into my back pocket, fingers brushing over the physical proof of my decision, concrete in its finality. I traced my hand along the crease of the paper, using it to ground me. Then, I sucked in a deep breath and walked into the detective building an hour after leaving the mansion, hoping to get in and out without seeing Decker at all. 

The elevator stuttered to a wobbly halt, the doors to our office floor screeching open, the sound echoing loudly down the long hall like a dying bird squawk. A sound that had come to serve as a comedic greeting to the others already in the office. 

The place was mostly dark, everyone now home, making more normal life choices than myself. Something I was determined to change. 

The computers sat humming, home screens flickering through generic backdrops, serving as the only light that filled the large cubicle layout as I walked past, red peacoat flapping out behind me like a cape.

But those lights weren't the ones I was worried about. It was the light in Decker's office. The light at the end of the hall. The light that I had been hoping would be off. 

It wasn't. 

Bright like a shining beacon that promised that the evening was going to continue being filled with unfortunate reactions. It left me tired just looking at it. 

You would think solving two murders would bring me a some peace, but— Andrew's face flashed into my mind, greenish blue eyes full of unwavering sincerity as he asked me to stay. I shoved the image away, unable to process yet. 

Then I pushed open Decker's door without knocking, and watched it hit the opposite wall with a loud crack. 

Decker's face was glued to a set of papers, one hand gripping a coffee cup that was halfway to his lips. The side of his face still wearing the shape of my hand. 

My entrance startled him, sending coffee splashing down the front of Decker's white shirt, seeping in and leaving a permanent stain that showcased hints of the ink black tattoos that snaked across his body like an uncovered story underneath. 

Decker swore, snatched up a piece of paper from the pile he was looking through, dabbed at his shirt, froze, realizing he needed that piece of paper and then swore again, dropping the paper back down on the table, hands raised in defeat as it fluttered back down onto the table, covered in coffee splotches. 

"Hope that wasn't important," I said, slumping down into the seat across from him. 

"They are all important, Delle." He gestured to the mountain of papers scattered across his desk. "Potential clients, each wanting answers." Then he glanced up at me with an irritated expression. "Does it bring you joy to make me pour coffee on my only clean shirt?"

"Absolutely," I said with a deadpan expression. 

He rubbed his temples, seeming to collect his exhaustion and shove it behind a closed door in his mind. Then Decker shot me an impressed smile. "Well, you did it."