Bodyguard

Chapter 14: February 2008

"Oh. I was hoping you'd changed your recipe."

I can't pinpoint whether the sass is coming from light-hearted banter or irritable sulkiness. There's no teasing in her eyes, but then she's probably exhausted. If it was a genuine snipe at me, I can only guess that she's in need of a punching bag and I'm the lucky victim.

"Not my problem that you don't like mushrooms," I say, lowering my eyes to my sudoku again.

"It's your problem if you've gone to the effort of picking them out for me."

"It's not that much effort."

I'm not rising to this provocation attempt. She wants a fight. That's evident now. And if she wants a fight, it's because she needs an outlet for whatever is troubling her. I recognise it perfectly well, because I enjoy the same coping strategy myself. Switch an uncomfortable emotion for something easier to handle.

In my periphery, she starts shovelling food into her mouth, so at least she's over her hunger strike.

"Washed up as well," she states when she carries her plate over to the sink.

"Yes, but you can do yours."

"Tomorrow." The plate and fork clatter into the steel basin with an ear-piercing clang.

My jaw clenches. If she is trying to piss me off, she's starting to succeed. I draw in a slow breath and toss the puzzle book onto the coffee table. It skids across the surface until it collides with the remote control and stops.

When I look across at her, though, to see watery eyes glaring back at me, my irritation fades away.

"Come here, Zo."

She shakes her head, but then her bottom lip trembles and she spins around to face away. Her shoulders lock as she grabs onto the edge of the worktop and tips her head back. I give her a few seconds. Ten tops. And then I lunge out of the sofa and rush over to her.

As soon as my hand touches her shoulder, she lets out a sob and crumbles into my body, her arms winding around my torso. Tears soak through my t-shirt.

Whatever has got her this upset better not be a person. I promised her I'd never hit anyone again after my lapse of judgement with Jennings, but I've got access to resources through this CPO role that could come in very handy if I wanted to make someone's life difficult for a brief period of time.

I nestle one hand into her hair and rub the other in soothing circles across her lower back. Gradually, the sobs quieten into softer sniffles.

"Rough day?" I ask.

Her head bobs against my chest, fingers clutching fistfuls of cotton. I itch to prise her away from me so I can talk to her properly, but she's clinging on like a koala, so I stand there and let her take what she needs.

"Tell me how I can help," I murmur.

"You're already helping." Her arms tighten around me, and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. It's an empathetic reaction to her pain—nothing more than that.

After several minutes, she releases me and steps back from my body.

"I'm going to jump in the shower," she says. "Can we talk after?"

"Sure."

While she's in the bathroom, I wash up. Zoe wears her heart on her sleeve. She feels deeply and reacts with emotion. I usually love that about her, the not having to guess how she's feeling. Not having to analyse or assess like I do with other people. It's refreshing. It's also not lost on me that she resents how I'm the opposite to her, so I need to do something that shows I'm here for her. Just like she'd be there for me if I needed her.