Ken’s Sunday routine was predictable, and that gave me several options for my ambushing plans.
I knew I could get up at five-thirty and wait for him to arrive at the Monument around six. This plan was good because it meant I could settle things earlier, rather than later—and if for some reason he didn’t run today, I’d realize it without too much standing around and waiting.
The downside was that it would be pre-run. Post-run Ken was more agreeable. I felt like I might have had a better shot at forgiveness if I let him have his exercise first.
Another option was hanging out in Buzzy’s until he came in for his coffee. This idea had merit because waiting in a busy coffee shop was a heck of a lot safer than the Monument at dawn. But I’d had to reject this idea because he didn’t always stop at Buzzy’s, and I couldn’t risk missing him.
I decided that waiting at the fountain for him to finish was what I was going to do. This allowed me to arrive once the sun had come up, at least. Now that it was October, sunrise was later than it had been back in the summer, and even though there were still very few people out here at this time, I felt safer in the daylight. King or no King, I wouldn’t have felt great standing alone in the dark at the park, anyway.
Unfortunately, waiting for Ken to finish meant I had to stand here for possibly up to two hours, depending on the length of his run, before I’d give up and go home. For all the thought I’d put into when I was going to do this, I’d neglected to dress appropriately and was in a thin, long-sleeved V-neck T-shirt and jeans. My only excuse was that I’d been nervous when I was getting ready and started sweating. Added warmth hadn’t crossed my mind. The clothes selection was entirely based on the one time Ken said my shoulders looked great in this shirt.
So, here I was—bringing my shoulder A-game, trying to shield myself from the breeze by standing just behind the planter below the first pillars of the monument. Rather than being worried about being accosted by criminals, I was starting to worry I’d be mistaken for one. I was sure I looked suspicious and strange skulking behind the stone monument. I could just imagine having to explain what I was doing.
Well, you see, officer, I’m just waiting here in the crisp, early hours hoping to ambush my ex-boyfriend in the hopes he’ll take me back. Totally normal behavior. Nothing to worry about.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
It’s fine. Over and over, I repeated it to myself. I wanted to believe it—tried to be optimistic—but I had resolved to go way outside my comfort zone and face my fears by confessing everything to Ken and Quinn. It was hard for me to believe that by doing all the things I was too afraid to do before I’d end up with a positive result.
Paulie was sure Ken would forgive me.
Ernesto was sure Quinn wouldn’t fire me.
All I knew was that I couldn’t keep going the way I was.
I needed Ken back in my life.
I needed to feel like I was on solid footing again.
I needed to be honest.
Quinn was coming back from Boston tomorrow. I was going to tell him everything—from the first scuffle in the apartment, to enlisting Alex’s help investigating, to the unhinged greeting cards I’d been receiving. I had to give this burden over and ask for help.
I hadn’t gotten any cards in the mail since Ken and I had split, and all last night I’d fought with myself over it. I was tempted to take the lack of communication as a sign that King’s torment was ending—and therefore no need to involve anyone. But I’d used that excuse several times before and it always started again. I also knew that if I wanted Ken back in my life, I was going to have to do it.
At some point I realized I wasn’t going to tell Quinn about King just to appease Ken. I was going to tell him because I needed to do it for my own peace of mind. It had taken a toll on me, this secrecy and fear.
I just hoped my relationship with Quinn would weather it. If not, I hoped I had Ken by my side to support and love me. If not…well, Paulie and Ern might have a sad, lost squatter sleeping on their couch for a while.
After a time, I got lost in thoughts of Ken, wondering how he was doing, wondering if his trip to Cleveland was stressful, wondering if he missed me, wondering if he still loved me.
And I wondered what his reaction was going to be when he found me here waiting for him. Would he turn on his heel and walk away? Would he tell me to leave him alone?
I didn’t have any idea, and that worried me.
My attention was snagged by a large figure emerging from the trees to the left. The way the man stepped forward with purpose and swiftness, immediately set me on edge. He was walking toward me, and it was difficult to make out much detail because the sun was behind him, casting his front in shadow. I could tell by his tall build, he wasn’t King, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat.
Just as I readied myself for a confrontation, the man held up his hand and called out to me. “Steven!”
I recognized the voice as Damon’s and held up my hand to shield my eyes against the sun to try to see his face more clearly. “Damon?”
The guard loped up to me, a concerned expression on his face. “There’s a car coming for us in a minute. Dr. Miles was just attacked.”
“How far down is he?” I asked, scanning the trail as Josh turned the SUV onto Lake Shore.
“Amid said they’re a quarter-mile north of Monroe,” Damon replied from the backseat.
As soon as the words left his mouth, I saw Ken. I saw his blond mop blowing in the breeze as he sat on a bench near the harbor. “Stop!” I pointed to the right. “Park in the grass, park in the grass.”
Josh turned and drove over the curb to maneuver the car between two trees in the sloping, grassy area separating the highway from the trail. Before he could come to a full stop, I was opening my door and hopping out.
“Ken!” I yelled. He stood up from the bench and relief suffused me. He really was okay. I hadn’t believed Damon when he tried to assure me—the word attack evoking all sorts of horrendous images and ideas.
But as I got closer to him, I saw the swollen state of his eye and the cut on his cheek. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” I grabbed up his hands in mine, afraid to hug him in case he was bruised anywhere else, and he let out a little hiss of pain at the contact.
I looked down and saw his right hand was also bruising.
I dropped it. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologized frantically. “Where else are you hurt? Is it just your face and hand? Are you okay? Your cheek is bleeding! I’m calling an ambulance—you need to see a doctor. I know you’re a doctor,” I rambled as I pulled my phone from my pants. “But you still need to go. Even doctors need doctors, right?”
“Steven,” he interjected. “I’ve called for emergency services already. They’re on their way.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” I slid the phone back into my pocket and stared at him.
He raised his left hand to stroke my cheek with his knuckle. “Why are you so cold?”
“Because of my shoulders,” I replied absently, examining his face. The small cut on his cheek and the swelling that was making his right eye puff up looked painful and I suspected it was going to be one hell of a shiner.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
I waved my hand dismissively, unconcerned with talk of my temperature. I wanted to examine him more—find out if he was hurt elsewhere. I looked over his body, from his shoulders to his feet and said, “I was waiting at the Monument for you.”
“You were?”
Underneath the obvious surprise in his tone, I heard a pitch change that sounded like happiness. Or maybe hope. Either way, it made my eyes snap back to his to gauge his expression.
His eyes—well, the one good eye—was soft and he was wearing a small smile. “No jacket?”
Shrugging I said, “I forgot.”
He removed his phone and earbuds from the front pocket of his pullover and put them in his sweatpants pocket. “Here,” he said, reaching behind to remove his hoodie.
“What are you doing? Leave your clothes on,” I demanded. He was the one who was hurt and needed warmth, not me.
He ignored me and held the shirt out. “It might be a little sweaty, but you should put it on, it will keep the wind off of you.”
I felt my face bunch up. There was no way I was letting him give it to me. He had on a long-sleeve compression shirt, and I imagined the sweat being cooled by the breeze had to feel nippy. As a matter of fact, I could see those homicidal, sexy nipples poking out, and I wasn’t going to let the poor things get exposed to the elements. “Are you crazy? I’m not taking that from you. You’ll freeze! You’ve had an ordeal!”
His nostrils flared. “Well, you either put it on and get warmer, or we both stand here cold because I’ll be damned if I put it back on!” he groused. I saw him wince, and he touched his cheek lightly as if it pained him.
“Harrumph,” I said, reluctantly taking the sweatshirt from him. “Good to know your hair-trigger pissyness didn’t disappear since last I saw you.” I removed my glasses and set them on the bench so I could slip into the shirt.
As soon as I had it on and adjusted the hood, Ken grabbed the front of it in his fist and pulled me to him, slamming our mouths together. And, by the mighty tool of Thor, my whole body lit up at the contact.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in tight. I matched his hunger—all the terror and aching releasing into passion and relief.
He was here in my arms. Safe. Safe, and kissing me like he missed me, like he wanted me, like he loved me.
Normally, I’d let this ride—let the sex do all the talking for me, or let the sex distract from the talking. But I couldn’t do that this time.
As much as I hated to do it, I pulled away from him. He started to protest, but the sound of approaching sirens diverted our attention to the road.
Two police SUVs and an ambulance arrived, and I remembered King. My attention had so wholly been on Ken, I’d forgot to examine the scene. I put my glasses back on and looked to the group.
Surrounded by Amid, Josh, and Damon, King was belly-down in the grass, his hands restrained behind his back and his head turned toward the trail. The lower half of his face was covered in drying blood. It looked ghastly.
Gingerly, I grasped Ken’s right hand and looked at his swelling knuckles. “Did you do that to him?”
He nodded. “Yes. He has a nasal fracture, but I’m almost certain I didn’t break his femur. He’ll be fine.”
There seemed to be an underlying importance to his words I didn’t understand. Any damage Ken did to him to protect himself, King had coming.
“Thank you,” I said, lifting his knuckle to my lips. Seeing my tormentor bleeding, broken, bested, and demoralized was a surreal experience. I didn’t know whether I wanted to crow or cry. It was over. Finally, over.
“What are you thanking me for?”
There was a flurry of activity around us, police officers and EMT, voices in conversation, King yelling obscenities, but my attention was entirely on Ken.
What was I thanking him for? For being smart and brave when I wasn’t. For ending this nightmare once and for all. For having integrity and self-respect. If he’d allowed me to have my way and run roughshod over him, where would we be now? With one of us dead? Critically injured?
“For everything.” My voice betrayed me by cracking. I didn’t think I could articulate all the guilt, relief, sadness and admiration I was feeling. But Ken honed-in on the crack, his one good eye narrowing. I knew he wasn’t going to ignore it—knew he wasn’t going to let me get away with not articulating it.
He squeezed my hand. “Why did you wait at the Monument?”
“To ta—” I began, but stopped myself. I was going to say to talk to you, but he knew that much. He was asking something else. Instead of taking the scenic route and making him pull it from me, I decided I needed to say it all.
I took a deep breath then bit my lip when I felt it begin to quiver.
He squeezed my hand again in silent support, causing my eyes to well with unshed tears.
“I’m tired.” A tear slipped down my cheek and I swiped at it, willing the rest to stay put or dry up. I didn’t think this was a great sign—losing my composure so early in the conversation. There was so much I needed to say to him, but I was verging on becoming a sobbing mess at any moment.
Taking another deep breath, I continued. “I’m tired of being afraid of everything. Tired of worrying about my job, of King, of juggling secrets. Tired of missing you.”
Ken released a shaky sigh, but didn’t reply, so I continued. “I was going to tell you that I had every intention of going to Quinn tomorrow when he came back from his trip, so that you’d know I was serious about this. But now…” I let the sentence hang, slightly dejected that I didn’t have any offering for Ken to prove my sincerity. Action always spoke louder than words, and after my treatment of him, I felt like he deserved more than promises.
But now, that was all I had for him.
He gave an insolent shrug of his shoulder. “I warned you.”
Our eyes connected for a protracted moment and I imagined he was restraining himself from blasting me with all the obvious I told you sos. I appreciated his control. I already felt terrible for bringing this into his life and putting him in danger, I didn’t think I could take it if he went on the attack right now.
“You did,” I agreed. “And it scared me. It scared me so much that I lashed out.”
He let go of my hand, a look of angry bewilderment crossing his battered face. “What do you mean? That’s what set you off?”
“I didn’t want Quinn angry,” I defended. “This job means the world to me. I have a lot of seniority there—a lot of responsibility. I couldn’t imagine there was a future for me that didn’t include Cipher Systems. I thought there was a very good chance you were going to ruin it all for me.”
He shook his head and cursed under his breath. “Instead of talking to me about it, you picked a fight?” He shook his head again, this time more forcefully. “Nope. Not buying it. You know I would have bent over backward to help you. If you explained it to me, we would have come up with another way that didn’t involve your boss.”
He put his hands on his hips, dipping his head closer to me. “What you said to me…you said because you wanted me gone forever—not just to make me keep my mouth shut. Do you really think I’m a liar? Think I’m a coward? Because if you do, there’s no point in talking about this anymore.”
Before I could respond, he barreled on, his voice rising, “I’ll admit that I haven’t always been forthcoming about my sexuality. I’ve let my interest speak for itself without explanation. But with you, I haven’t held anything back—not my feelings for you or my past. I didn’t hold back because I wanted everything. Saying you don’t trust me means you’re basing those feelings off things I can’t control. That’s insurmountable. I can’t fight that! I couldn’t have done anything different.” Ken lifted his face to the sky and took a deep breath. When he brought his eyes back to mine, his expression told me he wasn’t going to accept anything less than the unvarnished truth. “So, let me ask you again. Why did you wait at the Monument?”
“Because I was a liar and coward!” I shouted. “Because these secrets are suffocating me, and I needed to tell you everything. I didn’t think you’d stay with me—didn’t think you’d want me for long, so I used every excuse and weapon I had to drive you away.” Tears were spilling onto my cheeks then, all the shame and buried feelings of inadequacy surfacing.
“Didn’t think I’d want you for long? Because of women?” he asked gruffly. “That’s why?”
“Women! Men! Anyone who’s better looking than I am—anyone who doesn’t have this clusterfuck baggage of King on their shoulders. Look at you, for God’s sake!” I swirled my hand around his head. “Look at me.” I jabbed my index finger at my nose. “It’s—we’re—” I cut myself off, unwilling to continue this pitiful line of self-deprecation. I raised my hand to lightly touch his face. “And, I’ve been a nightmare for you, bringing a psycho into your life and acting like a crazy person myself, when you didn’t deserve any of it. All you did was love me and support me and I was too scared to rely on you. I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness, but you need to know I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything.”
Ken didn’t speak for a long moment. I watched as his throat worked and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Forgiving you is easy because it’s what I want to do.” He brought his hands to my hips, holding me in a way that could have been an embrace, or could have been a precursor to pushing me away. “But the secrets, Steven. What else don’t I know?” His lips screwed up into a sneer. “Got any other big bombshells I need to know about?”
“Yes, I do,” I admitted quietly. “There’s one big secret I never told you. It’s the scariest one.”
Understanding dawned. His face changed then—the cynical twist of his mouth relaxing, his eye widening from its watchful squint. “You should have trusted me with that secret. I trusted you with mine.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Yeah and look where that got you. At the first sign of trouble, I eviscerated you. You gave me so much power, and when I felt helpless, I wielded that power ruthlessly.” I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, shame and revulsion washing over me.
Ken gave my hips a jostle and ordered, “Look at me.”
Just as I opened my eyes, I caught sight of an EMT and uniformed police officer approaching. “Dr. Miles,” the officer began.
Ken stiffened, and without looking to them, he cocked his head and raised his hand in a halt gesture to the duo behind him. “Stop. You need to give us a minute,” he said loudly.
His tone, so full of authority and irritation, had the desired effect and the men stopped in their tracks, issuing each other confused looks.
I smiled, finding the moment comical in spite of the tears on my cheeks and pounding of my heart. “Did you really just give a member of the Chicago Police Department an order?”
“You’re damn right I did. You were just about to confess your love and they are not screwing this up for me.”
I laughed softly, but Ken’s expression didn’t change. “No more secrets,” he said gruffly.
Sobering, I promised, “No more secrets.”
“You need to trust me,” he demanded, sliding his arms around my middle, pulling my body flush with his. “And you need to give up your last secret. Tell me now. Give me the same power I’m giving you.”
“Yes! Have it! Have the power. There’s no one else I’d want holding my heart, Ken.” I grasped his cheeks in my hands, careful not to hurt his sore eye as I finally admitted what was in my heart.
“I love you. I love you in a way that’s completely terrifying but wholly necessary. I can’t be without you. I don’t want to be without you. I feel like I waited my whole life for this love and even one more minute without it might actually kill me, I’m sure of it.”
Ken smiled. “Well,” he began thickly, then cleared his throat. “We can’t afford to waste one minute.”
He met my lips with his own. I could feel the relief and love and forgiveness in him and hoped he could feel my own full capitulation to him. I was his. He had me completely. He was my soft place to land and I was going to be his.
“Um…” the officer said from behind us. “Dr. Miles?”
I huffed a laugh against Ken’s lips and soothed, “It’s okay, McGrumpy. We have all the time in the world for kissing.”
He pulled away slowly. His good eye was narrowed in exaggerated frustration, but his mouth was slanted with an impish grin. “You promise?”
“I promise.”