I resent the implication that it was something I did on purpose.
Notice I said "was."
Because that's the only choice, really, when you realize there's something in your life that you can't control. If I was an alcoholic, I'd stop drinking. If I was a gambling addict, I wouldn't even touch a crane game at the mall. But my vice is relationships, so there's only one clear solution.
Stay away. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
Someday I'll try again. Someday, maybe when I have enough of a nest egg and my career is waning and I can actually focus on being there for another person. Someday, maybe, when I'm less of a selfish piece of shit.
I'm almost sure that day will come.
***
It was only a matter of time before Beckett caught us flirting.
Harmless, I kept telling myself, over and over again until I almost believed it. Harmless. It's harmless. She hates you, really, and when push comes to shove, that'll override everything else.
As usual, it took someone from the outside to see things clearly.
Once Jill had left the room, her cheeks pink and a smile playing on her lips, Beckett caught my eyes with an expression that said it all.
"Don't start," I said.
He shook his head. "What happened to the whole..." He made a vague gesture around his neck, which I supposed was meant to be a reference to a priest's collar, or a rosary, or something. He always was shit at charades.
"It's nothing," I said. "We're just getting along better, that's all. It only seems like something more, because we were always on the verge of killing each other before."#p#分页标题#e#
"Uh huh," said Beckett, studying his fingernails. "Okay, sure."
I fumed quietly, focusing on my work, but I could feel Beckett's eyes on me for a long time.
Later on, after closing time, he managed to corner me in my office before I could pretend to be on the phone, or busy with the numbers.
"The only reason I'm doing this," he said, dragging out a chair, "is that when things go pear-shaped, which you know is going to happen, because it happens every time - you're going to knock down my door and demand to know why I didn't stop you. Trust me. I'd be more than happy to let you self-destruct for the five-hundredth time, but not if it's going to become my fault."
"It won't," I muttered, knowing that I couldn't possibly make that promise.
"Ah," said Beckett, plopping his feet up on my desk. "So you admit there is something going on."
"Absolutely not," I said. "We're talking in purely theoretical terms, little brother."
He wanted to get a rise out of me, but the feet-on-the-desk thing wasn't working - so he sat up and started drumming his fingers on the polished wood surface, instead.
"You know what," he said, finally. "You're right. I guess I'm just picking up on something that's not there. She's nothing special, right?"
My jaw clenched, involuntarily. "Subtle," I said. "Have you considered going into work as a police interrogator?"
Beckett sighed, dropping his head back on the chair. "Max, just stop. You're not fooling anybody, least of all yourself. The one way to guarantee that this goes horribly, horribly wrong is to keep pretending that it's not happening."
"Fine," I snapped, slamming my hand down on the desk, hard enough to make him jump a little. "So let's pretend it's happening. Let's pretend it's completely out of my control. What the hell do you suggest that I do, then?"
Beckett steepled his fingers. "Stop pretending it's out of your control," he said. "That's step one."
I didn't have a snappy response to that - and he knew it.
"Honestly," he went on, ignoring the murderous glare that I was throwing his way. "How long have you been using that excuse? It's ridiculous, and you know it."
He was right, and I knew he was right, and that was the most infuriating thing about it. I'd always known in the back of my mind, in that way you can know something even as you desperately pretend it isn't true.
I stood up.
"Good night, Beckett."
He watched me leave, but he didn't try to say anything else.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Liaison
Liaison is such a salacious word for an ordinary thing: any sort of binding agent that helps a mixture become something entirely new.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
On Thursday, Max asked me to come in early the following day. He didn't say why, and I didn't ask. I had to catch a train that got me there even earlier, and I spent my morning sitting in the little waterfront park where people bring their dogs to play. Even if I hadn't been going straight to work, Heidi was simply not an option - I couldn't trust her not to run into traffic.