Searching for Love Read online

  He showed his teeth at my hair again, some smile only Cameron could do, and walked into the living room without another word.

  I kicked my boots against the wall and rubbed my hands down my face. I was exhausted and stressed, and the thought of one of my mother’s home-cooked meals had my mouth watering. The house smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes.

  My mother’s heels clicked softly on the kitchen floor. The clinks and clanks of dishes and silverware being laid down made my shoulders relax. “Is that you, Ryan?”

  “Yeah, Ma. Just taking off my boots,” I called out to her.

  “Just a friend,” I heard Cameron repeat again as I walked inside the kitchen. He was sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth, a fork fisted in his hand, ready to eat.

  My mother ignored him and yelled out my stepfather’s name. From somewhere upstairs, I heard a television shut off and footsteps bounding overhead. “Come and sit, it’s getting cold. You’re late. I thought you were coming an hour ago.”

  “Sorry, I had work stuff,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Had a memorial party to show my face at.”

  Cameron looked under the table at my feet as I sat. “Shoes off.”

  “I took my shoes off already,” I said, grabbing a homemade garlic roll off a platter and placing it in his plate. He snagged it off his plate and devoured it in two huge bites.

  My mother plopped a heaping pile of baked ziti onto my dish, “Eat some salad too, will you?”

  “Yeah, Ma. Of course,” I smiled, grabbing my bowl of salad and shoving a huge forkful of green leaves in my mouth and smiling around it. “Yum,” I said between chews.

  She swatted me on the shoulder and laughed. “Animal.”

  Behind me, my stepfather, Anthony, walked through the door and smiled warmly. “Hey, Ryan. How’s the transfer going? You good in the new squad?” He sat down and grabbed a roll and a dish of salad.

  “Yeah, it’s great actually. Close to home,” I answered.

  “Yeah? Good guys?” he asked, dipping the top of his roll into the salad dressing,

  “Yeah, for the most part. The squad is awesome. I’m still getting to know them.”

  “Any pretty ones?” my mother interrupted, patting her mouth with a napkin.

  “Eh, here we go,” Anthony groaned, shaking his head. “Ignore her, Ryan. She’s been reading too many romance novels, and she’s been playing matchmaker at church.”

  My mother gasped dramatically and swatted him on the shoulder. “I have not!” She looked at me and smiled sweetly, “I just want you to find someone to settle down with, Ryan. My biological clock is ticking.”

  “Your biological clock?” I said, choking on a forkful of food.

  “I need grandbabies. Soon,” she said, wide-eyed and smiling.

  Next to me, Cameron rocked on his chair and chewed noisily.

  “I’m looking for the perfect girl, okay Ma?” I chuckled, softly. “But I can’t find one like you.”

  My mother clasped her hands in front of her lips, and I knew I was in for a lecture. I was thirty, when would I settle down. I had a dangerous job. I should go to confession every Sunday to make sure my soul was going to be saved. I braced for the impact. She kept glancing at me with nervous looks. I knew something big was coming. “You’re too much. Your father may he rest in peace. You’re just like him.” She looked up to the ceiling like she always did. When I was a kid, I used to imagine him sitting up in the corner hovering in the air, defying the laws of gravity, winking back at her and giving her a thumbs up.

  “What’s going on? Talk,” I said, putting my fork down.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, darting her eyes back and forth between Anthony and me.

  “You want something. Spill it,” I chuckled.

  She looked at Anthony, and he gestured for her to talk.

  “Anthony bought me tickets to Rome. It’s a four-week cruise,” she blurted out and squeezed her eyes shut. My mother was always so dramatic.

  “That’s great, Ma. Why do you look like you’re going to hurl?” I asked, laughing.

  “Well,” she said, placing her palms down on the table. “We were hoping you could take Cameron and watch after him while we went away.” Next to me Cameron rocked faster.

  “Watch Cameron?” How did one watch a sixteen-year old kid? One that had Autism? I wasn’t trained in that, what if I lost him or something? I chewed the rest of the food in my mouth and swallowed slowly. “Watch him do what?” I asked, positive I was hearing her wrong.

  She shot me a dark look. “I…” she started, but stopped as her eyes darted quickly to my stepfather. “Not I. We. We really need your help, Ryan. It’s only four weeks; it’ll go fast.” She folded her hands together, twisting and fidgeting her fingers. She was nervous asking me; it was plain to see. “Debbie lives too far away, and she’s got her hands full with the kids.” My sister Debbie was always too busy, always too far away. The minute she could get the hell out of this house, she flew clear across the country and settled down with the first guy with money she could find. She had three kids I never met, which goes to show you how close we were.

  Cameron rocked faster.

  “He goes to his school program from seven in the morning to six at night. Then, he has an exact routine before going to bed. He’s learning to—”

  “What’s going to happen when I need to go into work?” I rubbed my hand over my forehead, trying to figure out a way to make it work, but seeing all dead ends. “I mean, I want to help, but I don’t know if I’m the best person for this sort of a thing. Would he even stay with me?”

  I turned to Cameron and reached out to touch his shoulder. He slid the chair away, so I couldn’t touch him. I dropped my hand instantly. “You want to come and stay with me Cam?”

  He bolted out of the chair and ran up the stairs, coming right back down with a rolling cart of luggage already packed. “Please. Thank you.” His tone was flat.

  Anthony grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. My mother ran around the table with tears in her eyes, grabbing my face and kissing my cheeks. She was speaking something in Italian, holding her hands up to the ceiling like I was giving her a gift from Jesus himself. They clinked their wine glasses and cheered as Cameron stood stiffly behind us, clutching the handle of his luggage, staring at the top of my head.

  All I could do was sit frozen in the middle of all the madness, seriously thinking, I’d rather be in the middle of armed bank robbery right now. That, I knew how to deal with.

  Taking care of someone with special needs, I was completely lost.

  Chapter 3

  Brooke

  There were more flowers on my porch when I left for work that next morning—wildflowers of every color and size—absolutely beautiful. I kicked them over the edge with my boot. Then, I stomped on them until they were just a pile of broken glass and crushed petals full of snowy mud and slush.

  The flowers looked as bruised as my arms and chest were from the bathroom incident. But, I made sure Captain Anderson had matching welts. I found myself hyperventilating over his ruined gift, in my front yard. I straightened quickly, and flattened down my coat and looked around. I just…I needed to get to work…I couldn’t think about any of that…I needed to just focus.

  When I arrived at the precinct, there were two more huge bouquets of deep, red roses sitting on my desk, taunting me. I choked back a scream and went right to stand muster at roll call. Those damn flowers could rot on my desk for everyone to witness. I knew he was sorry, but I also knew he wasn’t. I knew he was frantic and out of control possessive and jealous. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me, and I also knew something inside him did want to. And I could never forgive him. I would never forget what he did. Not for what he called a hook-up. I was so confused and twisted up inside I couldn’t even think straight.

  I just tried to focus on work.

  I was doing decently well too, for the last month.

  Lonely—but decent. Hey, th
at’s what vibrators are for anyway.

  Out on patrol, I focused on the dashboard of the radio car and tried not to lose my shit.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t you hear the sirens?” my partner Mark Gunner shouted behind the wheel of the sector car when a packed SUV full of idiots lingered in front of us. The siren squawked and whooped, reflecting a carousel of red and blue lights everywhere as we inched past the stopped vehicle. The first call of the day was a 10-21: Burglary. Dispatch said it was in a commercial storefront and reported the address: Three-Two-Eight, fifty-sixth Street. Dental office.

  “A dentist’s office?” Mark grumbled as he sped through a red light. He pressed harder on the gas pedal and outside the window everything blended into a colorful blur. “Hate dentists.”

  “If you didn’t have such a sweet tooth, the dentist wouldn’t be such an issue for you.”

  “Shut up,” Mark laughed. “Hey, want to tell me about all those flowers? Who are you banging?”

  “No one,” I huffed.

  “Riiiiiight,” he laughed, as he rolled up to the curb of the scene, and yanked open his door to jump out.

  My throat closed when I climbed out of the car, my heart tapping out a fast drumbeat, quickly increasing in speed. I was familiar with this office, more so with the dentist, who was standing in the middle of a trashed waiting room, chairs and tables overturned and red spray paint splattered across the walls and ceilings.

  “Does that say whore?” Mark asked, squinting at the graffiti that was tagged over every surface.

  I scanned the letters sprayed out recklessly, more than a hundred times, over paintings and frames, on the rug, the ceiling, even the television. “Yes, I believe that is the word ‘whore’.”

  “Brooke?” the man standing in the middle of all the chaos called to me. “This…this is what my secretary opened up to this morning.”

  “Hello, Gavin.” I took out my memo book and started to ask questions, trying to be as professional as I could. Gavin and I went out on a date, two weeks before. My mother played matchmaker, but honestly, it was one of the lamest dates I’d ever been on, and I hadn’t returned any of his calls since. He was sweet and safe and…and maybe that was my problem. I kept going for the wild guys, the ones that lived on the edge and didn’t want to take me to ice cream parlors to share a sundae. I liked the guys that did me from the behind in the bathroom stalls of those shitty little dates while pulling my hair in their fists.

  There was something seriously wrong with me.

  Even Mark said it after we had left to write up the reports back at base. “The dentist was a nice guy. You just don’t like nice guys.” He laughed, scanning the streets through the windshield. “Let me guess, you like that bondage shit, right?”

  “No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s not it. I just like something exciting and passionate. I don’t like getting tied up or anything, but I like when you feel that crazy need to be with someone, and it’s overwhelming.” The one date I had since breaking up with Harris, I got taken to an ice cream shop for burgers and dessert. All Gavin talked about was his five-year plan and how he made lists for everything and under the table I was scouring Facebook and taking those silly quizzes about how well I knew movies from the 1980s. “He lectured me the entire night about flossing, and he didn’t even try to kiss me goodnight. He just sort of waved.”

  “Maybe he was just being a gentleman?” Mark chuckled.

  “I don’t know, maybe.” I sighed, loudly. “It was just boring to me.” It wasn’t what I was used to, and I liked what I was used to. I liked it all, until the guy I was falling for turned into an abusive asshole. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to think about him. I just didn’t understand how everything was seemingly perfect for three months and then one day, a stranger takes the place of someone you loved. What happened to the Harris I was falling in love with? I wanted to ask Mark about stuff, but I was too scared he’d read into it and just know.

  I opened one eye and peeked at Mark, tilting my head to better examine him. He was thirty-something, could have passed for a football player with his build, wide smile, and light blue eyes. “Whatever. Let’s talk about more important business,” he said, seriously. “Where are we going for lunch? You want Nathan’s? I’m in the mood for some hotdogs.”

  Stunned, I looked down at my watch. “It’s only ten o’clock.”

  He shrugged, beeped the siren again, and crawled through another red light. “But, I’m hungry.”

  “Is Nathan’s even open for breakfast?”

  “Fine, but we’re going to eat lunch there.”

  “I brought my own sandwich,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What the hell is with you lately. You’re too mopey. Are you on the rag?”

  “Why? Do you want to borrow a tampon?” I snapped back, laughing.

  He pulled the car into a spot in front of the precinct and jumped out without another word. I took my time climbing out. I was in no rush to sit at a desk full of flowers and do reports.

  The waiting area of the station house smelled like piss. People sat quietly, shifting around in their chairs, watching us as we walked in. One older woman clutched her purse to her chest in a death grip as tears poured down her face and hiccups shook her small frame. Another woman, much younger, sat two seats down from her, with rings of mascara around her eyes that ran all the way down her cheeks. She stared up at me blankly. Her eyes seemed so empty that it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  I walked over to the front desk. “What’s up with raccoon eyes over there?” I wanted to go over and help her, ask if she was okay. But that wasn’t protocol, and we always had to stick to protocol.

  “She’s waiting. Just came in,” she sighed, and tilted her head up at me, giving me a once over. Next to me, Mark drummed his fingers on the countertop. “Captain was looking for you a few minutes ago.”

  “Both of us?” Mark asked, drumming his fingers faster.

  “Just Officer Fury,” she said, giving him a flirtatious smile. I rolled my eyes at her. I found myself wondering if she ever got out from behind that desk and did any sort of real police work.

  “I’ll just stay and talk with you then,” Mark smiled, winking at her.

  Ew. Get a room. They both made me sick. They’ve been screwing around for months, pretending that they weren’t. And her husband was a really nice guy. Somebody should slip him a note.

  I ignored their continued whispers and walked through the waiting area and into what we called the 124 room, where we all have our desks. My shoes squeaked loudly over the tiled floors and the smell of piss still lingered in the air.

  Inside, the first person I caught a glimpse of was Ryan Cage, perched on the edge of Officer Lydia Martinez’s desk. There were of course a ton of other officers around, searching through filing cabinets, drinking coffee, typing on keyboards, yet they were the only two I took notice of. They had their heads pressed together as if they were sharing a secret. His head lifted as I walked in. He had a smile on his face and a laugh on his lips from something she had just said. For a split second, my feet wouldn’t move, and a strange unwanted burning sensation spread across my chest.

  Ryan’s eyes flickered away quickly, continuing his conversation with Lydia. It was funny to me, just then, how I never noticed how beautiful Officer Martinez was until just that very moment. “Of course she is,” I mumbled to myself. The heat in my chest intensified, and I rushed past them and sat at my desk for the rest of my shift, writing reports. Mark never came to make sure I had my sandwich, and we never went back out on patrol.

  Five minutes before the end of my tour, I finally walked into the hallway to the Captain’s office.

  I took a deep breath, a few actually, before wrapping my knuckles hard against his office door.

  “Come in,” his deep voice called from the other side.

  “Sir,” I said, entering.

  “Close the door, Officer Fury.” He sat behind his desk, his white shirt c
risp and perfect—his gold brass glinting from the sunlight filtering in through the window.

  I didn’t close the door.

  In that moment, Captain Harris Anderson looked every bit his forty-five years. His lips pulled down, deep fissures in his brow; the rest of him was as hard and brittle as his twenty-year career. His icy, blue eyes pierced right through me. “Close. The. Door.”

  Again, I didn’t.

  He stood up, slowly, deliberately, leaning his hands down on his desk. Even from where he was, across the office, he towered over me. His massive presence filled up the room; it was suffocating.

  “Do you want a command discipline?” he growled, clenching his hands into fists.

  I took a slow, deep breath and closed the door.

  It clicked softly, making my eyes well with tears.

  “I miss your mouth on me.” His voice cracked with each word. “You need—”

  “Please stop,” I whispered, looking up at him. His eyes darted back and forth between mine, and I knew he saw the tears there that I was desperately holding back.

  “I don’t want to,” he said, softly. He rushed around the desk and gently clasped his hands over mine. “I don’t want you with anyone else. I—”

  “Harris, please stop,” I said, stepping away. The tears came then, streaming down my cheeks, unstoppable, uncontrollable. “I can’t be with you like that any longer. I can’t wait for you all the time and pretend we aren’t together. For what? For when we are together, and you don’t like what I say so you put your hands on me?”

  “I told you. It will never happen again. I drank too much. I saw you and I lost it. I promise you. You have to trust me.”

  “Stop telling me to trust you!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m still covering up the bruises from the last time you told me to!”

  He cringed and changed the subject, “You put in for a transfer. Why?”

  “How can you stand there and pretend not to know?”

  “Well, it’s denied.”

  “Harris—”