explosion (jay halstead / one chicago)

chapter 10

liz's pov

I woke up with the sun shining brightly on my face and a throbbing headache that only got worse when I blinked a few times in a weak attempt to adjust my eyes to the light. Grumbling, I pulled the blanket over my head. Maybe I could sleep for just a tiny bit longer.

I definitely had one drink too many last night, since I couldn't remember anything that happened after Sylvie left Molly's, let alone how I got home. Wait. I suddenly tensed as realisation hit me. My friend and I only lived in our shared apartment for a few weeks now, but sure as hell there was no sun blinding me in the morning usually. I slowly pulled the blanket from my head again, squinting at the light and the pain in my head but this time making out a window and a nightstand that had my phone on it.

Now that I knew for sure I wasn't home, I didn't feel like sleeping anymore, although sleep would have been well needed and the bed was extraordinarily comfortable. Maybe I went with a friend, I told myself. I tried to remember who stayed at Molly's after Sylvie left. I had no idea. Maybe I was at Stella's. Or at Herrmann's, he surely had a guest room.

Content with my detective skills, at least in my still a bit drunk but at the same time already hungover state – Jay should be proud of me – I debated the pros and cons of reaching out for my phone. Maybe I had texted someone, maybe there was some evidence pointing to what happened last night. Maybe I could figure it out so I could save myself from the uncomfortable moment of admitting to whoever I would find outside this room that I had no idea where I was.

Just as I mentally prepared myself for the challenge of grabbing my phone, I was distracted by a shuffling sound behind me. Slowly, I turned in bed to see who was there. I let out a weird shriek in surprise just to immediately close my eyes at the unbearable pain in my head that followed the noise. After several years of being the on and off girlfriend of a gang boss in Madrid and occasionally working as a call girl, after spending a month living with my brother Kelly who had certainly fucked half of Chicago, and currently living with Sylvie, who surely didn't make a secret out of her private and intimate life, I could confidently say I was used to a lot. But yet again, nothing on earth could have prepared me for unexpectedly facing a shirtless Jay Halstead standing right in front of me with his hair wet from showering. Damn.

Unfortunately, he was still there when the headache went back to its normal level and I opened my eyes again. He watched me curiously, as if to read what was on my mind. I just silently drooled over his body and tousled hair, not able to think or say anything, remaining in my unusual state of shock. How did I get here? And more importantly: How could I have been so stupid to think I would just get drunk and forget about all my worries? I should have known drunk me would be all over Jay. I cursed myself. I had to figure out what happened.

"Nothing happened," Jay said out of nowhere. "In case that's what you're wondering." Relief washed over me and I nodded slightly, still unable to make sense of anything but thankful for his initiative. I must have looked troubled. Either that, or he could read thoughts, after all he was the detective. He chuckled slightly before grabbing a shirt from a chair beside the bed and putting it on. Then he disappeared out of the room just to return with a full glass in one and some pills in the other hand.

"Here, drink some water." He handed me the glass as I slowly sat up in bed. Then he inspected the pills in his hand carefully before placing them on the bedside table. "I don't take pills, but Will said these would help." Once again, I nodded. I had never had anyone take care of me when I was hungover and, in this moment, I was just overwhelmed. I vividly remembered mornings in our shady Madrid apartment after long nights when I would sit on the floor of our way-too-small, dirty bathroom, sick from all the alcohol or whatever we had the evening before, possibly still drugged and seeking some kind of relief or rest while the boys banged on the door, urging me to open up so they could use the toilet. I shook the thoughts from my head. I was in Chicago. My life here was different.