un-break

Black brows beetled above eyes that always seemed to have that pewter edge of a stormy sea to them these days. Will glanced up as he tugged open the door to the fridge door to pick through the bags of frozen fruit. He caught his own eye and looked away again, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Elbowing the door open wider he pushed aside the jumbled bags of cranberries – why anyone would try and make their cranberry sauce with frozen was beyond him or God forbid picked up a can – snagging the last two bags of dark sweet cherries from the back of the cabinet. Probably more than he needed just for himself but there were some things he hadn’t been able to leave behind in New York.

Like her.

Will put the bags down gently in the trolley – he wasn’t looking to macerate the cherries yet! He gripped the handle tight, fingers left momentarily cold by the frozen fruit pressed hard against the plastic. Seconds later they were drumming hard, the dirge rolling through his head like it was playing the death knell for his newly patched life. In a way that had been macerated too. The neat edges he’d tried to set out for it to at least slap the appearance of a man doing well over the scarred ground of his heart chewed up, left raw and aching again. Zoey’s fingerprints were all over them, the press of her hands still palpable against his back. The scent of her had seemed to linger in his apartment for days after his birthday, like some whisp of that ruined past had returned. To torment him.

Zoey wouldn’t be here for this Christmas, as they hadn’t been together the last. The two signatures scrawled on multiple lines after months of lies and stone walling had put a savage and heart-breaking end to what had been all too brief. Only the impression of it remained, like that scent and the touch of her hands.

Like a fool he was clinging to tradition, their traditions. The tree hadn’t been delivered until last night – not to be put up until Hanukkah was over. He’d sat on the last night, potato latkes slowly going cold on the plate in front of him, staring at the candle he’d lit in lieu of the menorah, thinking of the last time he had celebrated with them. Zoey’s family around them, welcoming him in with open arms, unlike his own father. Dalton’s tradition stretched as far as dinner at some restaurant on the East Side, with whoever he had lured into his bed for Christmas that year.

He rolled into the next aisle, shoulders bunched beneath his shirt as he avoided meeting anybody’s eye as he passed. This wasn’t a social trip – it was pure masochism and for a time he wanted to indulge in it. Wrapping himself in the memories of her until Zoey was gone and it would happen eventually. The case would go cold or it would go roasting hot – either she’d return to her family and New York, or she’d lock him up and walk away anyway.

Will left the trolley in the middle of the aisle, squeezed between it and the racks of bumper sized bottles and jars. A hoarder’s dream or a one shop stop for anybody trying to slap together Christmas Costco style. Fingers that could drill holes straight through keyboards when the mood struck picking lightly through the bottles on the shelf, the frown feeling like it was etching itself bone deep. If anybody had seen it then it seemed it was doing its job in keeping them away from him, steering the flow of traffic around him so he could leave the mayhem of a shop this close to Christmas far behind him.

Brandy, port, the sherry his third step-mother had preferred – a shudder rolling through him at the memory of the scent of it wafting off of her in a way that would’ve gotten everybody contact drunk. How in the hell could this town not have marsala? A nudge of the scattered bottles along the shelf’s edge to reorder them and reveal the shadowed depths at the back of the shelf. Thank God. It wouldn’t be beef rib if it wasn’t for the marsala. The sauce sticky with it, warm in his throat, faintly sweet when he drawn his wife in with a garland wrapped around her hips when they’d started decorating afterwards. Smiling into the kiss, letting it linger until the two of them had settled at the foot of the tree like children. The fireplace in the apartment crackling, the overhead low enough that the room was only illuminated by those tiny little multicoloured lights. Like a room full of fire flies, reflected in Zoey’s eyes as he’d drawn her towards him again.

His throat went thick and he almost put it back but as though the ghost of Christmas past had made a silent appearance to get him to repent his selfish ways Zoey appeared right there. Will made a low sound, turned to see the irritation fading away. ”I swear they make these things big enough to cause log jams on purpose,” he muttered. ”Sorry.” The word he could say a thousand times over without it making a bit of difference.

Heat rose in his cheeks as he saw her look at the bottle in his hands. Almost embarrassed to be holding it, as though it was diorama of their marriage, clutched to a heart that was still hollowed out by its loss. He set it slowly into the trolley, making sure it wasn’t pressed up against the cherries. ”Of me?” Will asked, a hint of humour threading through his voice, loosening some of the corset-like tightness that wanted to string it up. ”No guests for dinner, unless my partners decide to try and pick the locks … again.”

A huff of amusement dried up fast, his adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced into her trolley. ”Looks like you’re planning a gathering though. You must’ve been fast getting your hands on all of that. Are you heading home for the holidays?” After months in Mystic Falls her family must’ve been desperate to have her home for a time at least. Addy had made sure he’d learned very early on what would happen to vital parts of him if he happened to steal her away from them … or hurt her. His fingers curled around the side of the cart, wasn’t that just what he’d ended up doing after all.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1096

William Carnegie, pictured with Lady Cecelia Throckmorten. Newly divorced Detective Carnegie attends his first benefit without his wife. Lady Throckmorten has been single since last year when her engagement to hedge fund managed Jakob Wilde was called off a month before the wedding. A fresh start for both?

The first story splashed across the society pages after the ink on the divorce decree had dried. Sat at the table in the kitchen of his suite at the Palace, Will had almost picked the phone up to apologise. What could he say though? It’s not what you think had grown weaker with every rumble of it as Zoey had begun to question what was happening in their marriage. It hadn’t been, there’d not been another woman during their marriage, nobody who had done more than cling to his arm for a photo opportunity since but when the reason most disappeared at all hours of the day and grew secretive from the person they loved and had vowed themselves to was cheating every action was painted that same way.

Cee had been a friend practically from childhood, had slept in the suite’s second bedroom that night before she’d stumbled out at midday, trailing the reason her engagement had actually broken up – Rosica. She’d kissed the top of his head, approving of the cut of his tuxedo. The offer of breakfast then had been tossed back with a tinkle of a laugh. Meals together behind closed doors weren’t on their agenda, or his with anybody else.

Cover. For appearances sake when he needed a look somewhere that might have been conspicuous alone. Dalton’s meddling. None of it burrowing any deeper that Cee’s light scritch of the surface of his life. There wasn’t a fresh woman every week, warming his bed or curling up on the sofa with a bowl of chicken noodle soup on cold afternoons, sweaters tugged over the delicate curve of knee, chilly toes buried beneath the heat trap of his thigh. There wasn’t another Zoey. Couldn’t have been even if he’d given into those hotly whispered offers pressed on him at those events. She hadn’t known it though. Will could see it in the hitch of her brows as he’d told her it was just him for dinner. All this for one.

He’d batted the question back lightly, amusement warming his words but it was a different sort of heat rising in his cheeks as he curled his fingers around the handle of the cart. Squeezing as the pink stain appeared like the scarlet letter to damn him. He could have extended the invitation, Will supposed. Dalton would never have left the city and the caterers who’d zip around the kitchen on Christmas day, seen but heard. His partners had their own life here but it hadn’t occurred to him to open that part of his life to either one of them. Only one partner had ever seen it. Only one partner had carved herself out of it like a turkey wing.

Will dipped his head, his smile, hers, one echoing the other as they broadened. The ragged end of their last meeting was still jagged beneath the surface of his memories but perhaps as they’d done on his birthday they’d ease past it for a time at least. He tossed the question back, feeling the loss of their Christmases together and the embrace of her family like that wing suddenly ripped from his carcass.

Dark brows furrowed at the no. ‘A few things to make the apartment more festive’ barely registering before the confusion struck. Just her dad? Dalton wouldn’t have bothered keeping up at sort of connection with the Washingtons, had believed them well and truly below him from the start. He wouldn’t have remained in contact, exchanging apologies for what had happened between their children. Will’s frown deepened, something twisting painfully in his gut. ”Just your dad. No Addy or your mom?” The belly of those warm memories of a real household, a family who would hold each other together without judgment or reproach, was torn out in an instant as Zoey answered him. Not just a wing but a complete gutting that had his shoulders sagging and a shard of grief stabbing through the pit of his stomach.

Oh God.

Grief swelled In a tidal wave that had him nudging the cart aside. ”Zo, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry for your loss.” How? The question stuck in his throat. An accident? It had to before both of them to have … He drew in a breath,felt the squeeze in his chest. His eyes went soft, his fingers curling into his palms as he went to reach for her. She was already easing in though, the explanation slipping out without his interrogation. Each word another nail through a heart that had still held some affection for them all. They weren’t his, couldn’t have been with the way he’d broken Zoey’s heart but they had been and they had still meant more than his own blood.

Caving, Will settled his hand at her elbow to draw Zoey in to a hug. His thumb brushing the back of her bicep as he held her for a moment. To have gone through that with just her father. The heart torn from their family. Tears burned in the back of his own eyes like clouds scudding across a summer sky scattering rain. ”It was all she could talk about the … last Christmas,” he recalled hoarsely. ”I said if she wanted to go that badly you would all see it.” Now he wished the words had stopped up in his throat. Utica. The crash that had been all over the Post’s website. He’d seen part of Dalton’s press conference on it and hadn’t been able to stomach listening to more. ”I didn’t know … I’d heard about the crash but I didn’t realise … I’m sorry.” Those perfectly inadequate words again. Ones that wouldn’t make up for that loss for even a moment as they tore their way free of his heart.

Will squeezed her arm lightly as he stepped back, clearing a throat that had gone thick. He blinked with it, that burn still there as he saw the tears soft as that summer rain in Zoey’s own eyes. ”Of course not, I’m sure it’s a relief for him to come here.” Those ghosts of a family and a love that had to have half broken the man left behind. Tilting his head, Will tried to push a smile through that veil of grief. ”You should both come to me. I’m cooking for an army anyway and it’ll save me from doing the whole thing on my own. Come tonight too. How does he feel about beef rib?” There’d been no chance to apologise to his in-laws or Addy for what had happened. There wouldn’t be for him to make any sort of amends with Addy or Zoey’s mother now but the least he could do was offer his sympathies to her father himself. They deserved that for all the welcome and the warmth they’d ever shown to him.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1190

The hollow inside of him hadn’t felt like it could grow any bigger after his birthday but the news about Zoey’s mother and Addy took another bite. A great white’s voracious appetite that would leave little more than a shell behind by the time it was done. That shell already had cracks shot through it – put there by his own hand right along with fate’s heavy touch. For her it had to be far worse, he’d done more damage them himself. Will felt the vibration of those blows he’d struck time and time again in his bones as he drew her in. He couldn’t blame himself for every wound that had scored Zoey’s life but there was plenty he’d done, plenty he’d failed to do. A husband wasn’t supposed to do any of that to the wife he loved. They were supposed to be the ones holding your world together when it shattered, not just babbling a weak sorry months afterwards.

Will ducked his head, pressed his lips to the dark silk of her hair as Zoey relaxed into him. He’d been close to doing something more that night, alcohol stripping away the distance and his control. For dizzying moments as she’d tumbled onto his bed with him he’d considered finally setting the gauntlet aside. When did you consider it enough good done? How many more years would he set aside all that meant anything to him to right what Dalton and his cronies had done? He’d already given enough years to it to have lost Zoey, not even one more and he was staring down a future without her, without the job that had been the one thing left. Enough.

That thought of giving in bit harder as he Zoey sniffing, felt her biceps squeeze around his ribs. Not enough, not yet with jobs still outstanding, not enough of this. He wanted to keep his arms around her, protecting her from all the other awful slings and arrows this world would toss at her. That she’d already felt them, had been torn at by them wasn’t alright. ”I wish I could say more than sorry,” he breathed into her hair as she began to draw back. Will could still feel the impression of her against him, like his own sudden hollow of grief had been filled with a silhouette of Zoey’s own.

Perhaps the meal was just a desperate man’s way of holding on a little longer or it was a way to try and fill that void when it had to have been yawning wide enough to swallow those caught in it whole. Will tossed the offer out, feeling something loose in his stomach as he did it. One corner of his mouth lifted higher as he shook his head. ”You’re not,” he assured her hoarsely, his hand still on her arm to stroke a thumb down her bicep in a promise. ”I’d like to see him.” To give his condolences personally, Zoey’s father deserved that much. To feel as though perhaps those rare Christmases of old weren’t gone even if Zoey’s mom and Addy were. ”Please come. You know I love to play for a crowd in the kitchen.” What was it they called it now? A love language? What he couldn’t get out in the words that stoppered up in his throat despite the glib charm that he’d inherited from Dalton poured out into the bowls, onto plates of food that he shared with few others.

He looked down into the cart, tossed around timings – how long was it going to take to fight his way through the remnants of the crowd, get home, start marinating the beef. Will looked back up, that slanted smile on his lips. ”How about we say seven thirty? Just bring yourself and your dad.” The rest of his life was in scattered pieces at the moment, his desperate juggling of it doing nothing to ease the feeling that it was all finally going to crumble. He could manage this though. One night, back where he’d fumbled them before to try and make up for it.



Steam damp curls tumbled over his brow as Will leaned over the pot to test the marsala sauce again. The roux had thickened it up perfectly but it had been just a hair on the salty side before he’d added another splash of the beef jus he’d simmered up two days ago. Will sipped the silky sauce from the tea spoon, let it spread over his tongue before he nodded and picked up the jar of redcurrent jelly to whisk it in. The meal had been a staple for years but this was like the first time he’d cooked it, or anything else for Zoey. That opening up of a part of yourself to someone else leaving you vulnerable, no matter how small a thing it seemed. Cooking it for himself would’ve been enough of an exposure but this … this was going to be opening the door and that wound in his chest to two people more wounded. People still hurting, people he loved.

Will gaze the sauce a quick whisk, turned the heat off under it before he wiped his hands off on a clock. Nerves shouldn’t have been biting, especially not after the glass of Malbec he’d drunk while he’d worked, but they jangled as the rap of knuckles sounded on the door. He tossed the cloth aside, got halfway to do the door behind he realised he still had the apron on over the charcoal sweater he’d meant to get changed out of. Drawing in a breath to steady himself, Will stripped it off, had it gathered up in one hand when he opened the door.

Every time a knock had sounded or one of his partners had come bustling into the apartment in the last three months hope had flared like a match in his gut. The elevator, their tumble into his apartment, Zoey’s hunger before she’d shoved at him, suddenly appalled and accusatory, memories that left just enough hope to be snuffed out each time.

A thin trace of rue at the thought threaded through his smile as he returned Zoey’s and gestured the two of them inside. He didn’t even manage to push his hair back from his brow before his father-in-law – former – was sweeping in. Will returned his half hug, his hand clapping the man’s back lightly. ”It’s good to see you too. Come in, come in.” His throat felt thick as he nodded to the man. He wasn’t bringing up who they were missing at the door, they deserved more than that.

Will set the apron down on the console table next to the door, delaying the harder greeting by just a few moments. ”Hi,” he breathed hoarsely. Thick gave way to an ache as he kissed Zoey’s cheek formally in greeting. Blue eyes searched brown as he eased back, narrowing faintly with the smile that struck. ”It’s good to see you both. Dinner’s almost ready to be dished up. I’ve got some wine open too. Figured it was time to celebrate at least a little. Can I get you both a glass?” Reluctantly Will eased back, his hand found Zoey’s though, his other reaching out to touch his father-in-law’s arm lightly to lead them both into the kitchen.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1256

Zoey’s mention of Eddy’s birthday had stayed with him. Months after his birthday and it had still felt like in the seething mass of deputies and detectives at a crime scene or in the bustling confines of the station he could extend his hand and find hers. The two of them finding an escape together in the centre of all that activity. Walls going up around them as though the rest of the world could be kept at bay. Every time he’d thought it Will had found himself disappointed. His hand empty, that ache blooming like a fresh bruise in his chest. If he’d done that earlier, more often…

He felt that same ache now – ruefully as it would’ve been just Zoey’s grieving father there to block out. She was back in his life and in some small, measured, painful steps they were treading the same ground. Now it was pock-marked by the landmines both he and fate had planted and Will was desperately hoping not to stumble back into one trying to get back to that place where they would find each other in all of that chaos, ports in a storm they would weather together.

The waters closed warm and slow around him now as he touched his lips to her cheek, the maelstrom left outside in the cold. He lingered just a moment, eyes fluttering shut as the hand still clutching the apron brushed against her hip. Pulling back took a real effort of will, one he wasn’t sure he was capable of. Either of them were capable of. He heard the croak in Zoey’s voice as he drew back, his hand finding hers despite the warning in his head not to rush forward. Will’s mouth quirked in mock-chiding at his former father-in-law. ”Always. I’d have said I’d raided the wine cellar but its more a wine nook now.” Bottles tended to linger in the fridge for days, even though it pained him to cap the bottle and refrigerate it – there was always some deterioration, even in the fridge and he was snob enough over it all to feel the pang.

In the marsala scented air of the kitchen Will slipped his hand from Zoey’s to pour the trio of glasses – there would be no remnants to chill with them there tonight – handing one off to Zoey, to her father. The quiet toast of ‘merry Christmas’ slipping out as the glasses clinked. Blue eyes watched her over the rim of his glass, crinkling at the corners as his father-in-law’s compliment had them sliding to him. ”It’s from a California vineyard, relatively new but …” Will’s voice faltered as he realised exactly what had been said. Ami would, not would have. As Zoey’s eyes flicked up to his Will felt a fist tighten on his gut. ”… but, really quiet excellent, hmm?” He had to force the words out. There might have been some question over his competency at the start but he really was an excellent detective. He could hear when the alarm bells started ringing and his were only growing louder as Zoey thanked him.

The smile he pasted on was probably still shaky around the edges but it was steady enough his father-in-law wouldn’t hear it. Will let a thin thread of chagrin work its way in as he gestured them both to the table. ”Hopefully as great as you remember.” He’d been about to say it had been too long since he’d had any critic but himself but Will bit it back. ”If you’d like to slice some of the bread on the table, that would be great. Everything else was just about done. I hope you’re both hungry.” As always, he’d cooked for an army, not expecting when he’d started planning this that it would be more than an army of one.

As the meat had browned earlier he’d set the table. Usually it was just a single plate he took down from the cupboard. One setting at the head of the table, or more often carried through to his desk. The stack had been halved this time, napkins of forest green folded carefully, glasses set out, candles lit and set among the strands of holly and pine cones he’d picked up in a fit of inspiration at the check out earlier. Zoey’s father’s place set for the head of the table, he and Zoey opposite one another.

Will gave the sauce one last stir before he poured it into a gravy boat. Dishes of roasted potatoes, glazed carrots and the passable cavolo nero studded with little nuggets of bacon were set out. The meat was perfect as the beef rib emerged from the stove, sliced through and set in the middle of the table too. Picking up his wine, Will joined them at the table, passing the meat first to his father-in-law. ”Bon appetit.” He scooped potatoes onto his own plate, eyes flicking between Zoey and the older man. ”Zoey said you were here just a few days. I imagine it’s been a real change of scenery. Virginia’s not much like New York but if you have a hankering for fresh air and greenery at every turn, it’s a little piece of paradise. How are you enjoying it so far?” Will held the potatoes out to Zoey, eyes fixing on her. He meant the both of them, although the little signs of how Zoey had struggled with settling with him there had been there to see until that point. The constant tug and pull that he’d felt himself too.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 926

It might have seemed to everybody who had seen the two of them at their best that he had been a blind fool. Tossing aside the best woman he was ever going to find – courageous, funny, beautiful enough to leave him speechless sometimes, loyal, loving and so smart, even if she’d probably made the biggest mistake of her life agreeing to marry him in the first place. For all of that perhaps they would’ve been right but he wasn’t smart. He’d earned his place in a big chair and Will had aimed to prove that he was so much more than just Dalton Carnegie’s son every damn day of his career. A detective who’d earned his badge and until the cracks had run too deep in his marriage, a great son in law too.

Will remembered the way Zoey had stumbled through the explanation of just her dad visiting at the store. Just a tiny hitch in her step but he’d put it all down to grief – Addy and her mom had been taken so recently, so violently that it was understandable. There’d been another hitch at the door with her dad, like someone hopping a crack in a sidewalk. Alone it would’ve been easy to dismiss but he knew her dad, knew her and Will felt that ache of a loss of a family that hadn’t been his a thousand percent as much as it had been Zoey’s again.

He pushed on glossing over those little hops with a prattling on about the wine, a grape scented band aid on what might be a gaping wound that there was no fixing. ”I’ll have to send you home with a bottle,” he said lightly, brows furrowing faintly as Zoey’s strained laugh emerged. Will tried to push the frown away, huffing out a sound of amusement himself. ”I will swear it’s a curse.” He lifted his chin towards the phone, aiming for levity again but the mix already seemed thrown out just enough that he spent the rest of the meal prep with one eye on the two of them and that tight feeling in his chest.

The smile Zoey aimed at him across the table eased it a hair, the rumble of her stomach drawing a smile out of him. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst case scenario his mind had started to slip towards. Physically her dad seemed well enough, a man who might’ve given Dalton a run for his money that way even now. Well enough that you could overlook so much, pushing it aside as nothing more than a hiccup. He’d have lingered over the bowl of potatoes, purposefully brushing his fingers against hers in that silent show of support but it seemed it would only confuse matters further. Her dad was happy to drift into conversation about his trip.

A quiet laugh rumbled out of Will, his hand pressed flat against his chest before he went for the carrots. New York had been home, through the years with his dad when all he had wanted to do was escape the apartment and Dalton’s pressure, his years in uniform, the short time in his marriage when it felt like he’d finally escaped all of that. Leaving had torn something further inside of him but he’d sworn it had been for the best, to give Zoey as much of the life they’d had as possible. ”I thought I would too. I’ve survived. I still miss the place though. The neighbourhood, the people.” His eyes had settled on Zoey for a moment then before he cleared his throat. The smile was almost automatic but there was a stutter to it.

You two.

Zoey carried on like she hadn’t heard it, at least not in the same way. Will pasted on his smile, took a few slices of the beef for himself, some of the greens. It was a conversation for afterwards, when her dad had gone home … if she wanted to have it with him. Tonight was supposed to be an echo of the old times, not touched by the spectres of what had happened to their marriage and families. ”I’ve still got my touch,” Will promised lightly as he earned himself a wow. He hummed, eating a piece himself before he pretended to clutch at his chest in self-heaped praise. His partners would have appreciated the meal, barging into the apartment or digging through the small fridge in their office to root out what he’d made eventually but it wouldn’t have been the same.

Heat rose faintly in Will’s cheeks as his father-in-law added to the heap. He’d always been happy to have them all to the apartment for dinner but now the times they’d managed it seemed too few, not enough advantage taken of their closeness, the bond they’d shared. The ache was there as Will swallowed, tightening as the conversation slid, the cogs in Zoey’s dad’s head slipping until it was all muddled. The past and present crashing together in that merry way that shouldn’t have been breaking his heart. Will lowered a hand to the table, balling a napkin in his hand until his knuckles ached. ”Zoey…” His voice was so quiet, slipping away beneath the truth she hammered home with that bare finger.

She took the lead so he didn’t have to stumble through an explanation of his mistake, the denials that had tumbled out to everybody who’d asked why they had separated. Was it infidelity? Had he finally done what they’d all expected and found himself a bevvy of twenty year old blondes to cheat with? Will cringed as the focus was turned on him. ”I’m sorry.” The apology was automatically, his hand tightening on the napkin to hide that band of gold on his finger. He stood as her dad did, the shield of fabric taken with him, unsure how to steer his way through it. ”No, no, of course, take as long as you need. The doors are unlocked …” A route out to a frigid escape that left the two of them caught beneath that cloud of grief and worry.

He almost sank back down into his seat but Zoey was sitting there looking so … No. He wasn’t going to leave the table between them when she had to be hurting. Will set the napkin down on the table, rounding to her side to pull up her dad’s chair close to her. ”You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.” It wasn’t his father-in-law’s either. Whatever reason fate had, it had taken a swing at the Washingtons, tearing two of them from the family, carving into the mind of another until the past and present seemed one painful confused mess.

Will reached for her, giving her another hug that hurt somewhere in his chest, pressing his lips to her temple as he stayed there a moment. ”How long?” he asked lightly. ”There … there are some tests they can do. Things that can help.” But those were realities you didn’t want to face when all you had left was falling apart right there in your hands. ”I couldn’t bring myself to take it off before but … I can do it now if you think it’ll help.” Eyes softened with their fill of sympathy glanced down at where his hand had come to rest on top of hers.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1232

Having parts of your life, your heart, carved away were perhaps easier with people to fill the void it left. That had been the one comfort he’d had when the last solid ground their marriage had stood upon had crumbled with the signing of the divorce decree. Zoey had her family to gather her in, with open arms and likely as much bashing of him as she could stand if that was what she wanted – and, as much as she wouldn’t have wanted it then, she would always have him – but now, with what was happening to her dad, she was alone. Will wasn’t sure how close she would let him now, with that gulf full of razor blades sharpened by their broken marriage between them, but he wasn’t going to let her sit alone with the twin shark bites of her dad’s failing memory and her mom and Addy’s deaths pouring blood.

If it had happened before it wouldn’t have reached this point, there wouldn’t have been a moment’s hesitation before he reached for her or the feeling of something brittle shattering in his chest as she shifted into him, her face tucked into his shoulder. Whatever had given way left an ache behind, an echo of the rending he’d felt at the news earlier. There was an ache behind Will’s eyes, an echoing burn in his throat as they stayed like that.

It felt wrong to shatter it with his question in the end, like it would have those ice walls shooting back up between them. Each time they had spoken since Zoey had arrived in town they’d brought some down but one wrong word, one wrong move and the chill rushed back in. Will was tired of living in the cold, wanted the warmth of this, everything he destroyed back. He wanted to fix this for her and he couldn’t. Bringing her mom and Addy back was impossible, so was repairing her father’s mind if this was what he thought. Modern medicine could do something to slow it but nothing turned back that clock.

Will made a small sound of understanding, nodding just enough to have his lips skimming her temple again. ”The little things had built up by then,” he said quietly, like he knew much more than what they’d all been taught in those courses everybody groaned about – awareness fundamentals, how to avoid sexual harassment, dealing with vulnerable adults. The last had contained the starkest warnings, the videos earning warnings but every single one of them had gone quiet as they’d stared down what might be in their own future.

Would the decline have been slower with Zoey’s mom here? Grief could wreak such damage, broken heart syndrome not the sort of bullshit it sounded. Will’s brows furrowed faintly as he skimmed his thumbs over Zoey’s back, gently tracing the line of her shoulder blades as he shook his head. ”And you’ll find out for sure,” he said hoarsely. ”If he does fight … perhaps some part of him already knows. It’s terrifying and heart breaking but you won’t be dealing with it on your own.” He could feel her fear in his own throat as his fingers flexed on her back for a moment. It wasn’t his place to shoulder his way into this anymore but he couldn’t leave either of them like this, he would wade into what would eventually be a losing fight with them.

His throat tight, Will shook his head again. One hand coming up to cup Zoey’s cheek, his thumb tracing the familiar line of her cheekbone. If it had been Dalton he’d have had no such worries. The man’s toadies in city hall would just have taken the opportunity to finally sway the wretch in the ways he’d always resisted. Perhaps it would even be a blessing but Zoey’s father … the man didn’t deserve a moment of this, he’d worked hard his entire life, raised two incredible daughters and had then had the core torn from his world too. When was enough enough? When would the torment of a good man, a good woman stop? ”You won’t, you won’t let him. You won’t lose him, not the way you did them. No matter what happens, Zo, you’ll have him still. There’s time …” For those gears to stop running smooth, a gradual grind to a halt that wouldn’t hurt any less but it wouldn’t tear the way the crash had done. There was time to see all of this coming. To fear it.

The same way he’d done the end of their marriage. Nights he’d come home to find her waiting for him with the fear and pain written so plain in her eyes that he could read every letter of it. The truth had torn bloodily at his throat beneath the mask he’d grown so used to keeping in place. To do the right thing. It had not been a sacrifice until then, not really, but Will had felt it with every lie he’d told, each truth he’d hidden behind a shake of his head and a skitter of his eyes away from the ones that had always been able to undo him.

Now Will’s gaze slipped away again, from Zoey’s down to where she skimmed her hands down to his. He could feel the trail they’d taken, burning under his skin from guilt, from that never ceasing need, from doubt. His throat worked, his fingers twitching lightly. Perhaps if he’d taken it off, left it tucked in the box in his closet that held his watches, the signet ring emblazoned with what Dalton had sworn was their crest when he’d handed it over on his eighteenth birthday, the earrings he’d bought Zoey for her last birthday, well, the last before he had left New York, the one they’d already been too far apart to celebrate. The last part of his marriage he could hold onto secreted away instead of glinting there for Zoey’s father to fix upon, perhaps with some unspoken hope of a shattered brain that her daughter would have someone when …

Lips dry, Will could barely find his voice to give his explanation. His gaze slid back up, the sweep of dark lashes, the glint of her iris, not budging as her thumb traced the line of the ring she’d slid onto his finger in a church filled with her family and Dalton’s hangers on. The only one he’d had eyes for that day had been Zoey, the world drifting away around them as he’d made those vows of always and forever, in sickness and health, in good times and bad. Vows he’d meant to keep. ”I … wasn’t ready.” The admission was raw, his eyes sliding shut at that same accusation.

He’d never fought it the way he should, thinking it was easier that she hate him for what he hadn’t done with another woman instead of having to tear herself in two trying to decide whether the truth meant she had to put her marriage over the duty she had sworn to uphold. ”I never said I didn’t. I always wanted to be, I’ve always loved you. This … it’s my reminder of it. Of what I let go of. Zoey…” Will turned his head slightly, fingers curling around hers in a desperation for her to know enough of it. ”There was never anybody but you.” Even cut free, bleeding then as she was now from the gaping wound his loss had cut through him, he couldn’t bring himself to look at anybody the same way. Not when he still loved her.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1272