Page 79 of Power of the Mind
Fuck, I hated myself. I’d done this. After his confession, I’d thought I was doing a good thing. Showing him he was wrong. Showing him I wasn’t afraid of his history. Showing him he was a good man who deserved good things.
But I’d failed.
After an extended silence, I tried to figure out the best way to break the ice without completely disregarding the previous night and pretending it never happened. At the same time, I didn’t want to shine a light on it and ask if Diem wanted to discuss his feelings. Of course he didn’t.
“I’d kill for a latte,” I said into the faux silence of the city.
Diem shifted. I felt his gaze but continued staring at the busy street. “How long do you have?” he asked, his voice a quiet mumble.
“However long I need. Kitty’s got things covered, and if I don’t… come back with good news, she might cast a spell on me or something.”
Without another word, Diem hopped down, dug keys from his pants pocket, and grunted.Get in, the noise said. I didn’t tease him. I got in. Diem drove a few blocks to a café and parked in the crowded lot. The lunch rush had hit the city. In silent agreement, we got out and went inside. We took an available booth near the window, ordered food—and a latte for me, Diem preferred his Dr Pepper—and ate lunch together.
No words were exchanged except to relay our needs to the server. Over a half hour, Diem’s anxiety decreased. His muscles let go. His shoulders came down from his ears. His jaw relaxed. He stared surreptitiously for long periods of time while we ate—although I made sure not to meet his eyes or draw attention to it. I sensed he was still processing.
When lunch was over, Diem picked up the tab. Before he could stand or walk away, I reached for his hand, holding it lightly. He stilled and stared at the connection. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t startle at the contact. His breathing slowed, his entire body on alert. It was like his anxiety was waiting around the corner, wondering if it needed to come back. Is that what I did to him?
“For the record, Guns. This doesn’t count as a date. You need to ask me out properly if you want that to happen. And when it does, I want to go somewhere where they serve steak and a decent bottle of wine. Preferably when I don’t have to race back to work when I’m done.”
Diem seemed to consider my words and gave an almost indiscernible nod.
I let go of his hand, and we returned to the Jeep. He drove us back to headquarters and parked on the street. Before I got out, he said, “Your case.”
“We can drop it. I know it’s stupid.”
“We’re breaking into Hilty’s office tonight. We need to find out what those files are about.”
I sighed and remembered what Kitty said about manipulation. “This whole thing is nonsense, D. I think, subconsciously, I wanted an excuse to hang out with you.”
He remained quiet for several seconds before saying, “It’s not nonsense. I have a bad feeling I can’t shake. I want to see those files.”
“Really?”
Another grunt and nod.
“Okay. Tonight?”
“Meet me at the office when you get off work.”
I agreed and closed the door. Diem drove down the street, and I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, wondering if we’d ever find a proper connection or if my bold personality and kindly-meant pressure would continuously push him away.
***
Shortly past sundown, Diem pulled the Jeep into the shared parking lot belonging to the pharmacy and shawarma restaurant across the street from Dr. Hilty’s office building. The drugstoreclosed at nine. The street-facing windows were dark, and steel safety grates were pulled down for the night. The shawarma restaurant was open for another hour, but its street-facing windows showed a distinct lack of diners. We were long past the dinner hour, and business was not booming for the quaint family-owned establishment.
Since we were planning to partake in a touch of illegal B&E—I should not have been as excited about this as I was—Diem had wanted to wait for the cloak of darkness. He parked beside a green dumpster and aimed the nose of the Jeep so it faced the two-story strip mall across the street, then he killed the engine.
The bookstore beside Hilty’s office was closed, and the supplements store on the other side displayed dark windows. Someone had forgotten to turn off the lit-up sign in the window that announcedWe Deliver.
Diem, dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and a black beanie, pulled on a pair of black gloves as he scanned the street in both directions. I was less prepared since I’d come from the office. He should have suggested I run home and change.
I’d shown up at Diem’s at six, and the man hadn’t been any chattier than earlier in the day. Few words had passed between us, and he’d gone out of his way to avoid eye contact, grunting and grumbling as much, if not more than usual. In the past three hours, Diem had managed an accumulated ten words.We’ll leave at nine, andThere’s leftover Chinese in the fridge.
Honestly, it was nice to simply exist in the same room and not worry that he was struggling alone. Maybe he appreciated the company too. I couldn’t tell. He’d taken a handful of breaks to sneak outside and smoke. Each time, he seemed ashamed.
Now, as Diem scanned and surveyed the street, I thought it prudent to break the silence and get a rundown of exactly how we were going to make this happen. “What’s the game plan?”
“Stay here. Keep watch. Text if there’s a problem. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.” Diem reached for the door handle, but I snagged his shirt sleeve to stop him.