Chapter Text
“I know he had a bit of a reputation as a hardass, but it was always justified. He didn’t take that step forward unless it was something he genuinely –”
Blah, blah, blah.
Olivia had heard it all. Had been hearing it all for the last two weeks. Ever since she’d woken up to Detective Cole Porter nervously standing in her doorway informing her that her husband of three years had committed suicide. Bastard.
That’s right. Suicide.
Not a car wreck. Not sepsis. Not a heart attack. Not fucking goddamn sonofabitch brain cancer. No. Her husband, the love of her life, the father of her children, the man who’d stood at the church altar and vowed to spend the rest of his life loving her had put his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
“And I bet those sons of bitches will say you don’t qualify for the 9/11 Widows Fund but the fact that –”
She did her best to keep from rolling her eyes or huffing loudly or looking away with derision. Ed had left her his pension. He’d left her a fat life insurance policy they’d taken out because they wanted the kids to be provided for should anything happen to them. If only she’d known when she was signing the papers just how important the suicide clause would be.
That was the thing. That was the . . .
“Brain cancer. What a bastard of a disease,” said some white shirt whose name she couldn’t bother to remember. Olivia took a sip of her third bourbon. Glen Livet. Ed’s favorite. Fuck the burn that hit the back of her throat reminded her of him and made tears well in her eyes but she blinked them away and nodded her head as one person after another walked up to her in the mourning line to tell her just how awful her husband’s death was.
“You be sure to tell me or the missus if you need anything, alright? Nothing I wouldn’t do for Eddie’s widow.”
Fucking widow. She wasn’t even fifty but goddamn fucking Edward Clark Tucker had made her a widow.
“I know it’s hard to understand,” Cole told her as he’d led her to her couch where she sat because her shaky legs could no longer hold her up. He’d arrived at four in the morning and the kids were still asleep. She’d been asleep. Ed was supposed to be asleep beside her. But the bastard had left in the middle of the night to eat his pistol in a car garage.
She idly wondered just how much of a bitch it would be to get Ed’s blood out of the upholstery of his SUV but figured she’d just sell it anyway. Let someone else deal with the mess. She had enough to deal with.
Enough like the fact that her husband, her soulmate, had killed himself and how was she supposed to explain that to Noah and Jessica? Jessica could barely understand what death was, let alone suicide. She just walked around the apartment on her chubby toddler legs, searching room after room and asking, “daddy?” Noah understood better. She’d tried to lie and say it was cancer but her little boy was precocious and not above eavesdropping and she’d had to sit down and reassure him that just because his dad blew his brains out didn’t mean he didn’t love him.
It just meant that the fucker had too much goddamn pride to allow his family the privilege, the honor, the duty of taking care of him in his dying days.
Goddammit, she would have done it, too. Happily. Gladly. Without complaint. She would have learned how to find a vein, how to install a catheter, wipe his ass when he lost motor function and could no longer walk to the bathroom. She would have spoon fed him broth and checked his temperature and wiped his brow. She would have been brave and reassured him that it didn’t matter that he was no longer the strong, tough as nails man she’d fallen in love with, she would love him in sickness and health, better or worse. She’d love him if he gambled away all their money and they ended up homeless. She’d love him if he accused her squad of being dirty. She’d even loved him the brief few hours she suspected he was having an affair with Curry. That had just ended up being them very badly trying to throw her a surprise birthday party, but she’d been ready to forgive him when he came to her contrite and on his knees, vowing it was just a slip and would never happen again.
The thing was, she loved the sonofabitch. She loved the line of his jaw and his wonky toes and gray pubic hair. She loved his stupid accent that came out when he was upset, she loved the way he would get up and make her coffee when she got called out in the middle of the night, even when she told him to go back to sleep. She especially loved him when he fucked her brains out to the point that she’d had to explain to Noah that she’d only cried out like that because she thought she saw a big spider.
And she wasn’t done loving him.
“ – such a decent guy. Real integrity, you know. They don’t make them like that anymore –”
“ – taught me everything I know. Hope I can be as good a captain as he was –”
“ – still remember that time in high school when he ran across the football field stark naked because of a dare. Guy was crazy back then –”
“ – you know the bastard once handcuffed me? I should hate his guts but I learned over the years . . . you know, he really cared about keeping PD clean –”
So many accomplishments, so many funny stories, so many anecdotes about her husband who was now no more than ashes in an urn at the end of the bar.
Olivia downed the rest of her bourbon and considered getting a fourth. The first one she’d practically shot back, but she’d nursed numbers two and three. She was loose, but not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy. Maybe feeling the warmth of the liquid in her veins. A fourth might tip her over the edge.
But when someone put another drink in her hand she took it gratefully. After all, she didn’t have to worry about the kids. Ed’s mom had taken them to her place because it was one thing for them to be at the funeral service, another thing to be at O’Malley’s where everyone would drink toast after toast to his memory, slowly getting shit faced until a line of Ubers lined the block to take everyone home. Fin had made sure to collect car keys at the door.
“Hey,” said a voice, warm, familiar. Soothing. “How are –”
Olivia looked up from her drink to look her old partner in the eye, one brow cocked and her lips pressed in a thin line.
“I know,” Elliot said, holding up his hands, rocking back on his feet. “It gets old. The goddamn well meaning people acting like you’re not experiencing the worst day of your life.”
“I think,” she said slowly, “the worst day of my life was the day I had to explain to a six year old that daddy blew his brains out because he was too proud to get sick.”
Anyone else would have judged her for her bitterness. But not Elliot. Not good old Elliot. He’d left. He’d left in a brutal way that left her bereft of any warm feelings that didn’t center around resentment and second guessing every shared joke and warm moment of reassurance he’d given her.
And then he’d come back. He’d come back and he’d been . . . different. Not better, not worse. Just different.
But then, so was she.
“Ed Tucker?” Elliot had said with raised eyebrows when they were sitting in a cafe after his own wife’s funeral. Fucking Kathy Stabler being blown up was still a better death than leaving your body in such a state that you couldn’t have an open casket funeral. No chance for her to kiss his cheek when he lay cold on the slab. Just a hole where her husband’s brain had been.
“You really married Ed Tucker?” His tone had been incredulous but there was only surprise. No anger, no resentment. No condescension. She’d held up her wedding ring for him to see and gave him a half smile.
That was really all that they’d said about her marriage. Maybe it was payback. Payback because for all the ways Olivia had loved Elliot and maybe resented the woman who kept them apart, she’d never said a single bad word about his wife. Elliot had been mature enough to return the favor. Something he’d have been incapable of if they’d still been partners.
They saw each other off and on over the years. Once or twice working a case together. Driving her son to her mother in law’s in upstate New York when she had a hit on her because Ed was too determined to play bodyguard to leave her side.
Fucker.
Olivia looked at her glass and was surprised to see in that brief conversation she’d already knocked back half.
“You doing okay?” Elliot asked, one hand on her elbow, stepping into her space much too close to a woman who’d just lost her husband. But his face was kind, his concern was genuine and for all the condolences she’d been hearing the past few days, his was the first that actually made her feel something.
“Sure,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “How else am I supposed to be?”
At this range she could smell his cologne. He still wore the same he’d worn back when they were partners. Underneath she could smell a faint hint of sweat from the day, just a tiny touch of pure Elliot Stabler to fill her senses and just a hint of enough intrigue to remind her that it would be a long time before she had sex again.
“I just . . .” Olivia said, looking around the bar. Everyone was too intoxicated by this point to notice them. Thank god just about everyone had had their piece to say to her and were now exchanging memories and stories. Even her squad was playing the game and sharing a few anecdotes about the time he arrested her, or arrested Rollins or did his damndest to arrest Elliot.
“You know,” she said with a soft exhale, “I wasn’t done loving him. I wasn’t . . . I’m not done. I’m not . . . I’m not ready for it to be over, you know?”
He nodded his head. Of course he understood. His wife had been taken away from him, too.
“Does it get easier?” she asked, feeling much too vulnerable for her level of alcohol intake, feeling like if she didn’t nip it in the bud she’d slip into melancholy. “Please, tell me it gets easier.”
“Yeah, you know,” he said, taking her drink from her, taking a sip and grimacing. Ed wouldn’t have grimaced. She liked that Elliot had. “Nights will be the worst. You sort of . . . reach out a hand to pull them into your arms or flop over in bed and open your eyes and for the briefest moment . . . it just hits you at funny times. It will devastate you at the most inopportune times. But it will get better.”
Olivia nodded her head, trusting him. Believing him that one day the ache in her heart, the fury that filled her would ease and she’d be able to think of her husband without rage filling her.
But the bourbon was a lot and she could feel the burn in her cheeks. When she excused herself to go to the restroom he nodded his head and ordered himself a beer, offering once more that if she needed anything, he was only a phone call away.
He was just so . . . Elliot was so . . .
Elliot was Elliot and he was who he’d always been, except now he was different. She was different. They were different but somehow despite those differences, like Kathy had said, they’d managed to move in sync once more. Both of them with their shared grief, with the trust that time and betrayal couldn’t rid her of. Knowing that their spouses hated how close they were but neither of them had dared to call them out on it, probably because they were worried they’d lose if they did.
O’Malley’s restroom wasn’t so bad. She’d been adamant that it was cleaned at least every half hour while the place was rented and it looked like they’d kept up their end of the bargain. Still, she didn’t feel too bad when she upchucked into the toilet and missed a few droplets. It was fine. She’d just leave them a huge tip with her husband’s pension.
There was a large mirror, a full size mirror and she took the time to look at herself. Really look at herself. She had two young children, she’d be fifty soon, she was a widow and life would never be the same again. Still, for all the ways her husband had just left her, he’d still managed to leave her with more than she’d had before he’d snuck into her life. She had their children. She had the memories. She had –
A knock on the door and it took all her fortitude to bite back a huff of irritation. Couldn’t she have five fucking minutes to –
“Liv? Liv, are you okay?”
She unlocked the restroom door but didn’t leave, but Elliot being Elliot, he felt no inhibition to leave her alone and walked inside, locking the door behind him.
“You’ve been in here a long time,” he said by way of explanation.
“Have I?” she said, before leaning over the sink to rinse out her mouth, doing her best to rid herself of the remnants of bile and bourbon. “I didn’t realize there was a line.”
“There isn’t. There’s two restrooms. You’re fine. I was just . . .”
“Worried?” she asked, standing up straight, not turning to face him, but looking at him in the mirror.
He was wearing a suit. One of the tailored suits he’d worn when he’d first returned from Italy. The past few years he’d been a henley and jeans sort of guy because he said he kept getting mocked for dressing like a bartender, but she liked the suit. Liked seeing him in his shirtsleeves and vest. Liked the cut that made him seem broader, bigger. Made him seem like he took up all the space in the room. Elliot was fucking great at taking up all the space in the room.
“Yeah, worried.”
“I’d be lying if I said I was fine,” she answered honestly. “But I think I’ll be fine.”
“You will.”
And when Elliot said it she believed it. Believed that one day the ache in her heart might be replaced with happiness. That one day it wouldn’t be painful to smile. That one day –
To her horror – to her relief – a sob escaped her. She slammed her eyes shut but hot tears fell down her face anyway. Her body trembled with sobs that hadn’t come since Cole had told her the news. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t –
“Oh, god, El,” she whispered through hiccuped sobs. “Oh, god, how do I do this? How do I –”
Before she could speak one more word she was embraced in strong arms, nestled against a solid chest, her face pressed against the warm skin of Elliot’s neck as tears fell and she asked him over and over how she was supposed to get through this. How she was supposed to figure out this new way of living that –
He didn’t try to answer her questions, though she knew he had the answers. He only gently rocked her in his arms, rubbed her back, whispered soothing words in her ears until her sobs turned to muted crying, turned to her slowly breathing in sync with him, letting his calm assurance fill her with something resembling peace.
It was a sudden thought. A sudden ridiculous thought.
Olivia thought that Ed would have hated this. He’d never been a fan of Elliot’s. Even after he left PD he’d still maintained that he was a bad cop and should have been off the force years ago. He’d hated that he’d gotten his badge back. The prodigal son shouldn’t have been welcomed back in his opinion.
Ed would have hated that Elliot seemed to be the only person capable of comforting her. God, he’d hated her partner. Truly, truly –
Olivia tightened her grasp on Elliot, her arms around his waist, head tucked against his shoulder and pressed closer, her breasts pressed against his firm chest, her right leg nudging between his thighs and when he let out a swift inhale she knew that he felt the same sweet, insane, impossible desire that coursed through her veins for him.
It wouldn’t be so bad. She was single now. Ed had made sure that she was single when he killed himself. Elliot was single, Kathy long buried under the soil.
And she was so sad, so tired, so desperate to feel something.
Lust was an emotion. It was an emotion worth exploring.
Besides, if she had any day after regrets, she could blame it on the bourbon. That was the final push she needed to slip to her tiptoes and press her mouth to Elliot’s. For a long moment he stood rigid against her, his arms still tight around her but his body filled with tension, even as she licked the seam of his lips in an attempt to get him to open up to her.
Just as she was about to pull away to apologize and explain she didn’t know what she was thinking, he began to respond. Elliot opened his mouth and she tasted him for the first time. He tasted like her bourbon and the bourbon reminded her of her husband. Reminded her that she no longer had a husband and that only filled her assurance that this was okay. This was fine. There was nothing wrong with kissing her friend and Ed’s nemesis, making out with him the same day she said goodbye to her husband.
She wasn’t sure who moved first. At first it was only their mouths, but hands began to move of their own volition, first a hand against the jaw to hold each other steady as they drank one another in, but soon hands began to wander. One hand moved to squeeze a hip bone, to press against the small of her back, to lower to her ass. Elliot’s hand pressed against her ass and when their pelvises met she could feel him beginning to harden and instead of being disgusted she found she was intrigued. Intrigued and aroused to know that she could turn him on with just a few kisses. Impressive given his age.
Olivia palmed his growing erection, letting out a hum of appreciation to feel him, larger than she would have thought, growing thicker by the second until he was straining against his suit pants.
“Fuck, we need to stop,” he whispered against her lips, even as his free hand moved to her breast, reached inside her dress, lowered it enough to free a breast to his gaze before he swiped his thumb against her peaked nipple before lowering his mouth to suckle at her, causing her to tilt her head back and let out a groan as pleasure shot from her nipple through her body to send electricity straight to her clit that felt like it was almost pulsing with a need to be touched. Christ, she was soaking wet.
“This is so –” he mumbled against her skin, sucking a mark into her. And so what if he did? There was no one who would know it now.
“Please,” she said as she moved her hands to his tie, began to tug it loose before giving up and moving her hands to his belt buckle where she blindly fumbled around in an effort to release his cock. “Please, El –”
“Liv –” It wasn’t whispered in desire. It was a question. A desperate request that they needed to stop because what they were doing couldn’t be undone but so fucking what? What was there to regret? Who was there left to be hurt by this? Who did they have to answer to?
“I need to feel something,” she whispered, finally freeing him, reaching into his briefs to pull out his cock, feeling precum beading out the head, stroking him. “You’re the only person who can make me feel something.”
Elliot cursed under his breath but reached to pull up the hem of her dress, pushing it over her hips, not taking the time to build her up which was just as well because she was already ready. She was already soaking wet for him like she hadn’t been in a long time. Maybe it was the illicitness. Maybe it was the taboo. Maybe it was just that it was Elliot and he’d always had that effect on her.
“Fuck me,” she practically begged. “God, I need you. I need –”
“Oh, baby,” he said, walking her so that she was pressed against the sink counter, “you don’t have to beg.”
Elliot dropped to his knees in front of her in one fluid movement, ran his large hands up and down her thighs as she held her dress up for him, anticipating him as he rolled her panties down her legs, helped her step out of them, placed them in his pocket. Before she could object to his theft he was diving inside of her, pressing his mouth against her curls, inhaling deeply before licking a stripe from the bottom of her pussy to where her clit was peeking out, engorged and begging to be tasted.
“So good,” he groaned against her cunt, drinking her in, lapping at her, thrusting his tongue between the folds of her sex as he nuzzled his face against her before taking her swollen clit in his mouth. The first suck of his mouth had her crying out, a loud groan as feeling moved through her, reminding her that her heart might be broken, but she was still capable of emotions.
Elliot ate her out in earnest, teasing her, essaying her with his thick fingers as he stroked the walls of her sex, crooking his fingers as he found that sweet spot, pulling her orgasm out and making her cry his name as she came on his face.
It took all her fortitude to stay standing, even as her legs trembled uncontrollably from the pleasure licking its way through her.
Still, it wasn’t enough. There was some part still frozen inside of her and she needed more of Elliot’s heat, his rage, his passion filling her and reminding her that she was a flesh and blood woman.
“Need you,” she mumbled, tugging at his shirt collar, trying desperately to get him to stand to his feet.
He obeyed her readily and took her mouth, making her taste herself on his tongue, diving into every crevice to taste her orgasm, fueling her fire until it was an uncontrollable inferno that could only be satisfied by burning everything in its path.
Elliot was in her path.
He was still impossibly hard, still thick and heavy in her hand as she stroked him.
This was where they should have asked if they were sure. If they really wanted their inevitable first time to happen in the restroom at her husband’s repast when his ashes were resting on the bar feet away but fuck it. Ed had left her alone and what she did was no longer his concern to worry about.
Elliot turned her around, pressed her hips into the counter top, placed a hand between her shoulder blades to make her lean forward until she was forced to strike out her hand against the mirror to hold herself up just as he bunched the skirt of her dress over her waist, his cock gently kissing the wet folds of her sex. Their gazes met in the mirror and there was no need to ask if she was sure as he slowly slid inside of her, filling her one delicious inch at a time until he was pressed against her ass, shoving her hard into the counter and leaving her impossibly full of his cock.
God, this was real. This was really happening.
“Look at me,” he demanded, even though she already was. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.” He leaned forward enough to press a kiss against the back of her neck. “Look at me while I love you.”
A whimper escaped her but he didn’t hear it because without warning he slid out of her, only to thrust forward hard, forcing the air from her lungs as he gripped her waist hard enough that he’d probably leave bruises before he began to give her the fucking of her life.
Elliot was brutal. Elliot was a machine. Elliot took everything she had to give and still demanded more from her.
He fucked her relentlessly, using every ounce of power and muscle to steal the breath from her lungs and make her body sing his praises as he filled her with desire unrivaled. As he brought out pleasure that made her burn with want.
One of his hands stayed on her hip to use as a grip to hold her steady as he pounded his body into hers, but his other hand reached forward to grasp the tit he’d left exposed, grasping it, pinching the nipple, feeling the heavy weight in his hands.
“So good – fuck – perfect,” he mumbled under his breath, their eyes still on one another even as her jaw dropped open and grunts escaped her.
She wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him how good he felt. How good he was at fucking her. Wanted to tell him that she loved him. Had always loved him. Would always love him. Wanted to thank him for chasing the blackness away that had threatened to close in around her. She could do nothing but whimper as he pushed and pulled and dragged her into him, barely leaving her warmth before slamming back inside, the sound of their bodies meeting loud around their harsh breathing. The room filled with the scent of sex, intoxicating her, filling all her senses with him, taking up the space in her heart that had been so cruelly abandoned.
It was . . . oh, god . . . it was . . . it was . . .
Shocked gasps fell from her tongue, dripped out of her mouth as decades worth of sexual frustration came to a head in a bar’s restroom. Elliot fucked her like he was proving a point. Like he was born for this one thing and goddammit he was going to do it better than anyone before him.
His hand reluctantly left her tit and his thrusting wasn’t as rough as he slipped his hand between her body and the sink counter, found her clit and stroked it in time with his thrusts, his heavy cock stretching her walls, reminding her that she was loved, cherished, wanted.
“Wanna feel you come on my cock,” he said against her neck, pressing a wet kiss to her heated skin as he continued to stroke her, pushing her closer to tipping over the edge until she was gasping. “That’s it, baby. Let go. It’s okay. Just let go, Liv. I’ll catch you.”
And, fuck, she believed him. She did as he asked and came on his cock, the walls of her sex contracting around him, massaging his dick with her body, grasping at him to keep him sheathed where it felt like he belonged.
Her pleasure ripped through her so hard and strong that she was incapable of sound. A rush of air escaped her lungs, her mouth hung open, eyes rolled to the back of her head as Elliot continued to stroke her through it, never letting up, never backing down, keeping at her until her body gave one last shudder and she fell limp against the mirror.
Elliot remained hard inside of her and it took her a moment to wonder why he didn’t finish but she quickly got a better idea.
Her point still needed to be proven.
It wasn’t that she refused to give blow jobs, necessarily. She just felt that they were rewards that should be doled out sparingly. They were treats best left to anniversaries or birthdays or the time her husband had bought her a diamond tennis bracelet. Hell, she’d let him fuck her ass, the least he could do was give her mouth a rest.
Still, she was pissed off at Ed and Ed had loved blow jobs and he’d hated Elliot and she was now very grateful towards her erstwhile partner. It made it easy to gently shove him off her back. He backed away, shirt hanging over the penis pointed directly at her as she sank down to her knees.
“Fuck,” Elliot said, not bothering to demure and say she didn’t need to do this. “I’ve thought about this so many –” But his words were cut off with a groan as she took him in her mouth and began to bob her head over his cock, taking him inside until he hit the back of her throat, fucking him like he’d just fucked her: hard and rough, hollowing out her cheeks to suck greedily, tasting herself once more. Tasting the two of them combined. God, he tasted divine.
Elliot placed his hand on the back of her head and nudged her forward, keeping his grasp firm without pushing, but letting her know the pace he wanted. She obeyed readily, knowing her husband would be filled with rage if he knew she was sucking off a man he loathed at his funeral. Knowing he never would have forgiven her. Knowing she would have hated him if he’d done the same to her.
But Ed was dead. Ed was ashes. Elliot was hot and warm, thick and heavy in her mouth, twitching, choking her as she fucked herself on him, taking him deep enough that tears welled in her eyes, but she figured crying from choking on a dick was better than crying over her dead husband, so she forced her throat to relax, took a deep breath and moved her head harder until she felt him ease into her throat, glorying in the sounds of him cursing above her as his hand tightened in her hair, pulling at the roots, a choke escaping her in protest but Elliot took the opportunity to use his grasp to hold her steady as he began to move his hips, grasping her hair to pull her on and off his cock as he skull fucked her.
Tears fell from her eyes as he pushed past her gag reflex, and she had to remind herself to breathe steadily as her jaw grew sore from staying so wide around his thick length. Elliot’s balls bounced against her chin, his pubes brushed her nose as he bottomed out inside of her, holding her steady on him as he ground into her throat before letting her off until a string of saliva fell from her mouth as he pulled his entire length out leaving only the head as he began to spurt pulse after pulse, filling her with the taste of his cum as he demanded, “Swallow it. I want to see you swallow it like a good girl.”
And she did. She hated swallowing, but for Elliot she drank down every goddamn drop, not stopping sucking on him even when the last pulse hit her tongue. He had to push her off him when he started to go soft or she wouldn’t have stopped even then.
“Goddamn,” Elliot said, stumbling backwards as his dick went soft, leaning against the counter as he fought to catch his breath.
Olivia wiped the saliva off her chin with the back of her hand and shakily stood to her feet.
For a long moment they stood there, her with her dress still pushed over her hips, cunt exposed to his greedy gaze, him with his suit pants bunched at his feet before he sheepishly began to pull them back up his legs. It was her cue to right herself and she went back to the full length mirror to see if she could manage to arrange herself so she didn’t look like she’d just gotten skull fucked in a bar restroom by a man who was decidedly not her husband.
She was a mess. Elliot had kissed or fucked a good portion of her makeup off her face, her eyeliner was nothing but a smudge beneath her eyes, her mascara ran in rivulets down the side of her eyes, her lipstick was now coating Elliot’s dick and her hair looked like she’d been through a hurricane.
“I guess . . .” Elliot said but Oliva stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest.
“I needed this,” she said, her voice hoarse from how sore her throat was after his fucking. “Trust me, El. I was drowning. I really, really needed this.”
Elliot nodded his head in easy acceptance before gesturing to her hair. “Sorry about that. I was . . . I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. I just . . .” He had the grace to blush. “I’ve really been thinking about this for a long time.”
It was impossible not to laugh. Her first laugh in two weeks. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Me too.”
“I don’t . . .” he began to say before pausing. “I don’t know where we go from here.”
The smile dropped from her face and she reminded him. “My husband’s dead. He just died. We’re at his funeral.”
Elliot’s gaze dropped to his feet and he nodded his head. “Right. Yes. Of course. I’m . . . this is whatever you need it to be.”
But as she thought about it, really thought about it, she came to discover that not only was there no guilt, but it felt as if a deep, clean breeze had swept through and left her feeling refreshed. Feeling human again.
“Carrie – Ed’s mom – she’s taking the kids for the night. I think . . . she’s holding onto them, you know. It can’t be easy for her to lose a son.”
“Right,” he said, nodding his head in understanding. “Right, right.”
“I . . . don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Elliot looked up, blue eyes met brown and she caught the tiny glint of hope in his gaze.
“Will you drive me home?” She let the real question remain unasked but Elliot understood. Elliot knew what she was thinking, anticipated her move before she knew her own mind.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I can do that.”