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The auburn fluid rested at the bottom of the glass. The bitter burning chill lingered on his tongue, the scent of sulfur echoed in his nostrils. He devoured the facets of his beverage, anchoring his thoughts to the experience of it.
He missed not the ringing of the bell at the door, yet refrained from glancing over his shoulder.
The perfume revealed her, and he counted her steps.
He grimaced and rolled the glass between his fingers. Carisi must be desperate.
She stood beside him, at war. He could envision her rigid shoulders, her clenched jaw, the muscles of her face tensing and relaxing as she played out sentences and outcomes.
“You knew I was coming,” an accusation.
Barba smiled. He had always liked her voice. “I did,” he said. Bordering a cautious attitude that wouldn’t quite fit him or his inebriated state, he spared a sideways glance. He scoffed then and spun on his stool, facing her with his whole figure. He was used to taking her in with all he had.
It flooded his veins, sweetness that had been corrupting his heart even before it had become poison; before her past caught up with them and doomed his condemned heart to remain locked, watching her behind a screen.
His tongue was sandpaper, dry as a desert whose thirst only oblivion and alcohol would quench.
“I’m half proud of Carisi, you know,” he said, “It’s a low blow, sending you here to squabble with me until I cave and let him have whatever deal he needs to make with my client.” His smile leaked out of his lips. Imprudent, inconsequential, uncaring for the wreckage of his emotions.
“He played us both,” said Benson.
“He did,” Rafael shrugged and gulped his whisky, allowing it to burn the rest of his sanity along with his tongue. “I want to put it behind us.”
Olivia blinked. “You don’t--”
“I don’t,” he said, “I don’t get to decide how you feel. And you don’t have to like me right now. You don’t have to forgive me, but we can still have fun. We’re still friends, aren’t we? Unless you don’t want that either, then… Then I’m sure Carisi will have a lot to answer for for sending you to me.”
“I don’t hate you, Rafa.”
Rafa . It burned hotter, brighter, it stung worse than whisky ever could.
The pause stretched in Olivia’s wandering, in her cautious gaze. She bid her time pulling a chair beside him, considering her words. “We are friends.”
His beam wouldn’t leave. “Good.” Peace. He hadn’t known this peace in a while.
A tectonic plate shifted into its original place, the missing puzzle piece falling into its slot. Order restored.
He could breathe .
“Sit,” he said, “drink, smile.”
She smirked, shooting him a glance. “Okay, now you might have had one too many.”
Rafael shrugged, gulped the remnants of the whisky on his glass. “I’m indulging tonight.”
Her eyes lingered on his features, cogs turning behind her forehead, leaving creases in their wake.
Yet the world had returned to its axis. Barba couldn’t be perturbed.
“Talk to me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”