“That you wanted higher ratings?”
He huffed out a laugh. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny.”
He dragged a hand down his face, then let out a real laugh this time, sharp and disbelieving. “That was either the dumbest thing I’ve ever done… or the most brilliant.”
“Well,” she said, “the dumbest thing you ever did was letting me go five years ago.”
“Fair.” He pulled her into his arms, holding on a little tighter than usual. “So, the smartest thing has been begging you to take me back.”
“Maybe.” She exhaled, reality starting to settle in. “This isn’t over.”
“I don’t want to go into work tomorrow,” he said, cupping her face, grounding himself in her again. “I want to stay home with you, in bed, and eat muffins.”
Noah figured they’d be allowed to take the day off. Or at least work from home while the fallout from this settled from a roar to a whisper. Although that could take weeks.
Or, they could be fired.
Either way, his secret was out. He never had to worry or look over his shoulder again. And he had Ziggy. That was more important than anything. No matter what happened going forward, he had the woman he loved, and life couldn’t get any better than that.
19
The following morning, Ziggy stood at Noah’s kitchen island with her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone from hot to drinkable somewhere between when she poured it and when she remembered it was there. She’d barely slept between conversations with her bosses and executives at the station, the police. Even though exhaustion had settled into her bones, she’d been so wired from what had happened on air, she couldn’t settle her mind.
The house was quiet, but not in a peaceful. More like how she imagined silence would be after a bomb went off and she couldn’t hear because of how deafening the noise had been.
She took a sip and forced herself to focus on all the ambient sounds. The low hum of the refrigerator, the scrape of paper as Jag unwrapped another sandwich—because he was a human disposal— the soft tap of Noah’s fingers against the side of his cup, which he knew annoyed the shit out of her.
She shifted her weight, pressing her bare foot against the cool tile, grounding herself with something that didn’t move.
“Eat this.” Jag pushed one of the wrapped sandwiches in front of her. “You need sustenance.”
“And if you don’t, he’s going to eat the rest of them.” Noah pointed at the sandwiches. “You’re lucky there’s even two left, and he brought over six.”
“Callie doesn’t like me having the take-out, so I stock up when she’s not looking.” Jag raised his like he was toasting the thought and took a big bite.
“There’s something wrong with you.” Ziggy pulled off a piece and plopped it in her mouth. She groaned. “So good.” She climbed up on the stool and caved into the urge to be normal.
Noah pushed his mug aside. “Are you going to tell us why you’re here at eight in the morning, still wearing the clothes you were in last night?”
“I wanted to fill you in on what’s going on with Claire,” Jag said.
Ziggy dropped her sandwich.
Claire.
Hearing her name now made her stomach pitch and roll like she’d been out on a dinghy and was lost at sea in ten-foot waves.
Not a pleasant feeling.
Noah reached out and took her hand.
“They took her right from the prison to the station house,” Jag said. “Brian and Amy told me I could stick around, as long as I didn’t get involved. Just observe from a distance. So, I did.”
Ziggy’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the island. She’d liked Claire in the beginning, even though she thought she might be a little too eager, but the girl did do good work. But Ziggy felt betrayed.
“What is she saying?” Noah asked.