Shayne looped an arm around Bianca's shoulders, dragged her in for a kiss.
"Stop," she giggled, pulling back with a hand over her mouth. "I've got shawarma breath."
"Don't care." Shayne eased her back against the brick wall of the side street shop and kissed her again. This time deeper. Richer. Spices and heat rolled across her tongue as Bianca met her demand with need, but as much as she wanted to feel something—anything—she couldn't.
"What's gotten into you," Bianca asked while nipping along Shayne's jaw, a smile thick in her voice. "You're not usually like this in public."
Shayne stopped her wandering hands as before they slid any further down her hips. She'd met up with her at the sports bar almost an hour ago when she wrapped up her shift. It beat lying around at home watching whatever she could to get her mind off things. A distraction. How messed up was that?
Drawing back, she looked down at Bianca. Really looked at her. Taking in those soft brown eyes, full lips, the curve of cheekbones and the dimpled chin. Shayne's fingers cupped her neck, skimming through the soft weight of the purple locks and sighed.
I don't deserve you...
"What?"
The vibrating pulse in her back pocket spared Shayne from a lapse in judgment where she spilled the mess of her emotions at Bianca's feet. As Bianca went back to nibbling and kissing a path along Shayne's throat, she dragged her phone out and frowned at the screen.
Rita. There hadn't been so much as a text or a voice message from her in the last four days after their little brush up at Asher's gym. So why was she calling now?
And when Bianca grumbled that exact question, Shayne rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that."
"It's almost two in the morning."
"Easy." Shayne kissed her quickly before swiping the screen and setting the phone to her ear. "Hey, everything all—," the words evaporated as she heard the clatter of glass and a cursing sob.
"Goddammit, Siri, I said call Shawn not Shayne. Shaaaawn!" Rita's voice broke into wet, heaving breaths of a woman past the point of sobbing and into straight meltdown.
Shayne pulled away from Bianca and wedge a finger into her ear, drowning out the few cars on the street, the hum of people enjoying the late evening. Everything but the sound of Rita's broken voice. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Rita."
"I'm...I'm fine."
No, she wasn't and worse...she sounded drunk. Her words, thick and slurred, like each syllable was dragged through mud. Heavy and dark. "Hang tight. I'm not far. I'll be there in twenty."
"Shayne." Bianca's sharp bark at her back was every bit as sharp as the fresh explosion of glass breaking over the line a second before the call cut out.
"Sh!t."
"Are you serious?" Bianca whirled in front of her, the whites of her eyes shocking around the dark brown iris. "You're running off to her place at this hour?"
Shayne weighed her phone, stunned. "Something's wrong with her."
"You're not her keeper, or her therapist, or hers."
"I'm not yours, either." The words were out before she had a mind to speak them, and the flash of hurt on Bianca's face should've moved her to feel something other than pity. But it didn't. Maybe it's better this way.
"Go f*ck yourself, Shayne." Bianca shoved past her with a slam of her shoulder.
Shayne lingered a moment, watching as she blazed down the sidewalk, arms hugged to her body and proud shoulders stooped.
"F*ck me, is right," Shayne whispered and thrust out her arm for a cab.
As they pulled out outside of Rita's townhouse; the windows were all dark but she heard the heavy beat of music playing followed by a clattering bang.
Hostia puta...how this street was not crawling with cruisers answering a noise complaint was beyond her. "Keep the change," she told the driver and leapt out of the back seat. Lopping up the steps, Shayne knocked briskly, and then jiggled the knob.
Shocker, it was unlocked.
"Rita?" Poking her head inside, Shayne looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dim and darkness. The song—Kings of Leon—faded to an end and she heard a whimpering sigh coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Shutting the door behind her, Shayne set the flashlight on her phone and whisked the bright beam around and was horrified. The room was in complete, utter disarray. The cushioned heaved off the couch, framed pictures scattered on the floor—broken and ruined. Glass shards and fragments scattered across the hardwood like confetti after a savage party. Mugs, from the look of it, and stemware. Maybe a wine bottle or two.
Each footstep crunched loudly over the debris and as she neared the length of the island, her light fell on Rita's leg. She was slumped on the floor, head hung and a bottle of vodka well on its way to joining on the shattered remains of the others, and a crumpled large envelope at her side.
"Hey." Shayne dropped to her haunches and angled the light so that it wouldn't flash directly into Rita's face. "What the hell happened? Are you okay?"
"Drinking yourself stupid isn't the answer, babe."
"It's worth a shot." A giddy snort escaped before she clapped hands over her mouth. "A shot, get it?"
"Cute. Real cute. But I'm keeping the bottle." Shayne plucked the vodka from Rita's loose grip and her mouth tumbled open.
"You can't do that."
"Watch me." Shayne rose to her feet and realizing what she meant to do, spitting with fury, Rita launched at her, fingers clawing for the bottle. Catching her around the waist, Shayne wrestled the vodka, and Rita, over to the sink and dumped the liquor down the drain as she howled in protest.
"Rita, come on—stop. This isn't you."
"I need it."
"No, you don't." Bottle empty, it clattered in the sink. "Is there anything else in this place?"
Rita pouted, all fight gone in her. "No."
"I'm not playing with you."
"No. It's gone. It's all gone. Everything's gone. Happy now? Are you happy, Shayne?" Weeping fiercely, Rita pressed her hands to her eyes and sobbed in loud, heavy breaths.
"Do you think you can manage a shower?"
Rita nodded.
"Good. Go upstairs, clean up and I'll make some coffee. Then you can tell me what's going on, okay?"
Rita nodded again. Swayed. Arm hooked around her waist, Shayne led her up the stairs. She waited until she heard the sound of the bathroom door close quickly followed by the hard rush of water and prayed that she wouldn't have to go in there and fish a passed out Rita off the shower floor.
In the kitchen, Shayne flicked on the lights and muttered a soft curse as only one came on in a weak beam of light. Apparently Rita had unscrewed the bulbs and added them to the carnage. Given the state of things, Shayne figured it was going to take more than coffee to cut through whatever Rita had guzzled down so she rooted around in the fridge, found a slab of havarti and decided a grilled cheese couldn't hurt.
She had only just slid the sandwich onto a plate when Rita ambled down the steps in a large white t-shirt and stripped men's boxers, her hair damp and face miserable.
"Drink," Shayne ordered, nudging the mug of coffee to the edge of the island. "Eat. Talk."
Saying nothing, Rita claimed the mug, shuffled around the island and slid back down to the same spot Shayne had found her. Stretched on the floor and this time a mug of black coffee in her hands.
Picking up the plate, Shayne sat down next to her and waved the sandwich beneath her nose. Rita snatched a half and bit into the golden bread, cheese pulled and stretched as she swallowed the first bite.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Shayne jerked a shoulder. "Forget about it."
"I can't believe he'd do this to me."
"Your husband?"
Rita sniffled, a wet, phlegmy sound. "Bastard didn't even have the balls to do it to my face. He goes and sends me that."
The crumpled edge of the oversize envelope peered out from beneath Shayne's hip so she shifted and pulled it out from under her, and glanced at the words written across the front.
A string of names that ended with Barristers & Sollictors.
She needed no help connecting the dots. "Sh!t," Shayne whispered. "Rita..."
"Ten years." Mouth full of sandwich, Rita struggled to chew and swallow around her grief. "I knew he was unhappy. Marriage isn't easy, you know? We fought. We fought a lot but I tried so hard, Shayne. I tried so damn hard to fix it. To be perfect. To be what he said he wanted."
"You can't change yourself to make someone happy."
"I wasn't trying to change, I was trying to compromise. You don't understand what it feels like—to have someone you love so much but to always feel like you're disappointing them, like you're failing. Every time they come to you and say you're not measuring up, you're not meeting their needs—it's like a knife to the heart, because how can you love someone so much and yet they can't feel it? Every day I'd ask myself what am I doing wrong? What am I missing?"
Shayne murmured an non-committal answer—because in truth she didn't know what the hell to say to any of it— as she nudged and encouraged her to drink or eat in between her onslaught of emotion.
"I took this job because I thought we needed some time to cool off. The last fight we had...it was ugly. So ugly. The things he said to me...he's never been so cruel. He said he was leaving me. And I was so broken. Then I received the email from your grandmother's head of private security. I decided to take this job to give him time to cool off. Hoping that the distance would fix everything and make him change his mind."
Shayne exhaled heavily, teeth working across her bottom lip. "Has he spoken to you at all since you've been here?"
Finished with both sandwich and coffee, Rita set the mug and plate aside. Both clattered against the hardwood at their rough treatment but otherwise didn't break. "No. Not really. It's all been cryptic, vague answers or flat out avoidance. Then this morning I received this via courier. Divorce papers. Signed and ready for my signature. The pages all flagged." She laughed bitterly. But it wasn't long before the laughter transformed into sobs.
As Rita wept, Shayne held her, consoled her. Wiping away tears and doing everything she could think of to make them stop. The silent splatter of each fallen, glittering orb shattered her with the ruthless hammering of a sledgehammer to concrete. The concrete of the walls entombing her own equally battered heart.
Soon enough they eased, softened and together, they sat there, amidst the debris of her marriage—her life and soul—two soldiers scarred, bloodied and ruined.
"Have you ever loved anyone, Shayne?" Rita asked, her voice thick and distant. She was heavy in Shayne's arms and her back ached something fierce but she'd sooner cut them off them let Rita go.
"'Course I have." Shayne shifted uncomfortably, but with Rita's weight slumped solidly against her there was no escaping this awkward position. Besides, Rita had poured out her shattered soul; the least she could do was reciprocate...
"Her name was Gabriella, and I was seventeen," she said and already her throat seized like a fist, the walls around her vocal cords throbbing like a wound so raw she could almost taste the blood. "She was a little bit older and she had this ability to draw you in. With her light and energy."
"What happened?" Rita pressed and Shayne sighed, thrusting a hand through her short hair, strands spiking across her palm.
"I would see her as I walked through park. I walked that route every day just so I could catch a glimpse of her in the high windows of the dance studio where she studied flamenco. One afternoon, she was sitting on the steps, her red skirts fanned around her legs and hair tied back. I can remember the sweat on her brow and curve of her lips as she worked the ball of her foot in her hands. She saw me walking, called me over and that was that. For reasons I can't understand Gabriella saw me. Wanted me."
Even now, Shayne could hear her thick, rich voice, feel the soft dark curls running through her fingers, and taste the warmth of her lips and the salt of her skin. It had been a love that had caught her so completely by surprised, knocked her clean off her feet and left her spinning in wide, open air.
A love she longed to know again but feared down to the root of her soul.
"The first time she touched me," Shayne whispered. "I'd never experienced anything like it. She was...magical, I guess." Her eyes closed as the memory slid into her, filled her. In the space of a soft, single breath she was seventeen again and in the arms of the woman she'd loved with every breath of her being. The love of her life who'd crushed her heart eight short weeks later.
"I thought the same when I saw you..."
Shayne's eyes popped open as Rita's hand settled on her cheek, shocking her back into her twenty four year old body. "Huh?"
"You, Shayne. You were magic to me. Still are."
A car could have exploded through Rita's living room window, slammed solidly into Shayne's chest and she wouldn't be anywhere near as stunned as she was right this moment.
"Don't you know? Can't you see?" Rita's fingers curled around her wrists, drawing closer. "I've tried fighting it. You have no idea how hard I've tired. But what's the point of resisting? The man I married abandoned me. I owe him nothing anymore. So why fight?" The edge of her tongue skimmed across her bottom lip, tentative and seeking. "Ava was my best friend growing up. Our fathers worked in politics together. We were ten and inseparable. She had the most beautiful hands. I used to love when she'd braid my hair just so I could feel them brushing through each strand."
Shayne's dropped down to their joined ones as Rita's fingers twined with hers, the soft pads of her thumbs sliding across her palm and back again, stirring up feelings deep inside of her.
Bright, terrifying feelings.
"I was twelve when I kissed her. We had gone to the embassy after school and she was...I don't know what came over me. I didn't know how to understand what I was feeling. I didn't know. We were so young...My father walked in and saw us together. He was furious. Growing up in the discrimination was still widespread and as a figure of political authority, he would not allow his children to be anything but what was considered morally respectable. So I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle in California after that. When I was old enough, my father introduced me to Shawn."
Introduced. Something about the way she said the word turned Shayne's stomach. "You were pressured into marrying him?"
Rita shook her head, swayed a little from the movement and the booze she'd chugged down to drown her emotions. "Yes and no. It's not uncommon for certain unions to be encouraged between influential families. I never would've gone ahead if I didn't actually believe I couldn't love Shawn. I cared about him a great deal. I wanted it to work between us. I thought it could. I thought all these feelings I'd locked away inside of me would go away." Fresh tears bubbled in her voice, welled in her eyes as she looked to Shayne. "I tried so hard and after awhile I thought this was it. I was happy. I might've had a moment or a flicker of attraction to other women, but nothing like I have with you."
Shayne groaned as Rita came closer still, her breath fanned across her face, warm and inviting. The brush of her lips, the soft whisper of her tongue and every nerve in Shayne's body snapped awake. Alive. Bright as a flash of lightning to split a dark sky.
It was a moment. The barest, hint of a moment where taking would have been easy. It was there, offered and willing, but easy didn't make it right, and after a hot, pounding moment of temptation—Shayne pulled back. "I can't."
But Rita's hands were strong, her mouth eager. "Yes. Yes you can."
"No. I can't." It took considerable effort to pry her off, to shift and roll away and find her feet. Distance. They needed distance, so Shayne made sure there was plenty between them as she crossed the room and braced the wall.
Heat and need and anger and longing spun inside her head, a vortex of everything she'd always been so afraid to feel again was churning viciously inside of her. And—joder—the pain of walking away from it was brutal even if necessary.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're hurting and looking to dull that pain with something physical. With me. And I'm telling you, Rita, it'll feel great while it's happening. God help me, I'd make f*cking sure of it, but it wouldn't be right. Then when it's over you'd hate yourself. You'd despise me. I can't let that happen. Not like this."
"I want this. So do you. Please, Shayne."
"No." The single syllable cracked the fractured edges of her heart, splitting down the fault lines. I'm no good for you. I'm not good for anyone.
Rita thrust up her chin, righteous in her fury and grief. "Get out."
The words, though softly spoken, were absolute. Not that she planned to challenge them, or needed to be told a second time as Shayne was always wheeling back and away for the door. Stepped out into the cold, crisp air as it slammed hard at her back. Her phone throbbed and pulsed in her hand and she glanced down at the blurry screen.
No, her vision was blurred.
"F*cking hell," she cursed, dragged her arm over her eyes to clear them of tears and answered without checking to see who it was.
"'Bout time I get a hold of you." A man's voice slid out and stopped her short.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Been avoiding me, and I don't appreciate it," he said, nonchalant.
Scowling, Shayne checked her screen and noted that he'd called private. Likely had changed his number, too, as she'd blocked the last one. "What do you want?" she demanded, shuffling down the steps to the side walk. There wasn't a cab in sight down this street so she'd have to walk a couple blocks to the next intersection. She could use the air anyways.
"I know you got my messages. And my emails. I want what's owed to me."
"I paid you. In full."
"It wasn't enough. All things considered, it's not like you can't afford the uptick in costs. The video put a lot of heat on my business and I've had to work twice as hard to dodge the press—they're like bloodhounds, get it? So if you want me to keep my trap shut, it comes at a cost."
"I'm not listening to your bullsh!t or playing your game," she said through clenched teeth. "I paid your fee, in full, so take your threats and go shove them up your—"
"I wonder what the little Miss would think if she knew what you did?" he said, cutting her off. "Setting her up like that."
"I didn't set her up."
"No, but she's paid the price for it. Think she deserves to know who to thank. Don't you?"
Cold spiked down to her toes, but Shayne wasn't the sort to give in to a bully and that's all this over bloated under achieving private investigator was—a bully. Give him an inch and he's fashion a noose to hang her and him both.
So she bit out her next words and hammered theminto the subject like nails into a coffin, "Go ahead." Ending the call, Shayneshut off her phone and shoved it into her back pocket.
**AN**
UGH. These moments are so hard to write. I got super teary for Rita and Shayne here. Heartbreak of any kind is never easy. And I feel for Rita so much as I was writing each scene trying to figure out how to show her own internal struggle without showing 'too' much.
I am proud of Shayne for choosing to walk rather than give in as Rita wanted her to. Sometimes, doing the right thing means doing what is hard instead of what's easy.
But now we have a bit a twist coming and it's a doozy.
I wonder what this introduction of the PI could mean and who is the 'Miss' he's referring to?