Page 52 of Urban Justice
Chapter 22
“Sloane!”
At her name, Sloane once again burrowed deeper under the covers. The outside world annoyed her, and she never wanted to deal with it ever again. It wasn’t the first time someone had yelled at her through the closed door. At first it had been Devin, who’d tried every joke he knew. Then Melina, whose worried voice almost made her cry again. Lance just yelled, and he’d even launched his big body against the door in vain. Sam, Joshua, Arno, and Nieve, all the team members had attempted to coax her out, but Sloane ignored them all.
In fact, she tried hard to shut off her brain, return to the oblivion of sleep. How long had it been since Luke had left? The moment his face materialized in her mind, she stopped breathing and her throat clogged with tears. After the most incredible sex of her life, scratch that, the most meaningful connection of her life, she’d woken up cold and alone. When Sloane went looking for him, she’d discovered all his things were gone. Lance had told her he’d left hours before and didn’t want to be contacted anymore.
There was no way to express the hurt she’d felt. No amount of pain, no hardship or sorrow she’d ever faced could compare to the state of her heart at that moment.
Her mind blanked until she found herself back in the room, locking the door behind her, even using a chair to block it, making sure nobody would bother her until she felt steadier, until the fact Luke had abandoned her, turned his back on her, didn’t make her want to scream in agony.
The locked door wasn’t to prevent people from intruding, but to keep her from leaving. Once the tears had dried, and desolation infiltrated every crevice of her heart, another hunger took hold, one she hadn’t felt so keenly in years. Sloane knew that if she left the room, her first stop would be to one of the city’s dark alleys, and not as the Vigilante, but as its counterpart, a much darker and ruthless demon she wasn’t sure she could vanquish another time.
The desire was gnawing at her like never before and it made her huddle even deeper under the covers, as if she could bury herself into the mattress.
“Sloane, please talk to me. I just want to hear your voice.”
Ben McKenzie’s soft drawl came from the other side of the door. Ben, the unshakable, the know-it-all, the profiler.
Even behind the door, under the covers, she’d heard him walking, the familiar thumping of his white cane following his steps on the creaky floor. The last thing she wanted was to be analyzed. It was useless. She was useless.
“Leave me alone, Ben. I’ll come out when I well damn please.” She almost didn’t recognize her own raw and trembling voice.
“No problem. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit here for a while.”
Was he serious? With a sigh, Sloane lay still. From the other side of the door, she heard rustling and a loud thump. True to his word, he was sitting on the floor outside her door.
Half expecting to sink back into her own abyss, praying for numbness, it was burning annoyance that drew her out of bed, and had her marching toward the door. How good it felt to be led by anger.
“Get lost, Ben! Preferably away from my door.”
“Want a coffee?”
Sloane threw her arms in the air at that nonsense. She could play that game too. “Do you have any cocaine? I could do with an upper right now. At the point I’m at, I’d even try something harder.”
Ben didn’t answer her. Her anger fizzling, she sat on the bed, hands shaking, her body bathed in a cold sweat. It felt so similar to the withdrawal symptoms she’d experienced during her rehab, fainter, but just as scary.
“I think waffles would go great with coffee. Or pancakes with butter. I love butter with syrup. I drown my pancakes in them. Even burned, they taste great with syrup.” The more he talked the more her stomach unknotted before rumbling. “Why don’t you take a shower while I go prepare pancakes? Make it quick, I’m hungry.”
Ben moved and shuffled behind the door before walking away.
Alone, Sloane stood, then hesitated. Standing at the end of her bed, she knew she was about to make the most important decision of her life but couldn’t make up her mind which way to go.
It was her stomach that took charge and pulled her toward the shower stall. If all this was for nothing, at least she’d have pancakes.
* * *
When she followedher nose into the kitchen, there was no way Sloane would admit she was feeling more human after the shower. The trembling had receded, and her brain wasn’t as filled with fog. However, her heart still ached for Luke, even if her brain understood he no longer wanted her.
“Glad you finally took that shower. Even from behind the door, I could smell your retched stink. I made a fresh pot of coffee and already poured you a cup.”
Ben was busy manning a pan over the stove, his white cane resting against the kitchen island. For anyone outside looking in, it would be impossible to guess he could barely see.
Her radar zeroed in on the steaming cup on the kitchen island, so she sat on the stool. The first sip didn’t warm her as much as she hoped, but maybe her expectations were too high.
The silence was only broken with the clatter of utensils being moved around, and her mind went to the last time Luke stood in this very place. It was so easy for her mind to conjure him up.
Ben slid a plate in front of her, but Sloane had to swallow a few times before considering taking the first bite. Ben refilled his cup and installed himself by her side, pancakes piled ridiculously high and that made her mouth quirk up. “You can’t seriously think you’re going to eat all of that.”