Resisting Love: Behind Blue Lines Series Read online

  Through the office windows, I got a glimpse of Brooke flying up the stairs from the precinct into the squad room, jaw tight and eyes on fire. I nudged my chin at the door to get Ryan to open it, but he was too busy continuing his stupid conversation about blowjobs gone wrong. I mean, come on. A blowjob is a blowjob. If someone is willing to take a dick in the mouth, be grateful.

  “Then,” he said, cracking up. “Then I hear Oh ew ike at? Ew ike at ig oy? And I realize this girl is trying to talk to me all cocked up.”

  That would be the exact time my sister, my beautiful baby sister, walked into the squad room.

  My pulse sped up when she turned toward me with a dark purple welt circling around her eye. “Did someone resist arrest? What happened?” I asked, jumping to my feet rushing at her.

  “With what?” Brooke asked, fumbling away from me with a startled look.

  “Looks like you got a nice shiner there, sweetheart,” Ryan answered. Immediately, I didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

  She pressed a hand to her face, and her skin blanched with realization. “No, I…I think I might have hit into something on an arrest. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Ryan asked, rising to stand.

  “Who are you?” she snapped, narrowing her eyes in his direction. That’s my badass sister.

  I shifted myself between them, “Brooke, this is Detective Ryan Cage. He’s the new guy.” My eyes locked with Ryan’s, and my jaw tightened with my words. “Ryan, this is my sister, officer Brooke Fury.”

  Ryan looked from me to her and offered a quick understanding nod. My shoulders loosened when he backed away.

  “So,” I said, directing my attention to Brooke. “What really happened to your face?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips into a tight white slash. “I said I didn’t know. We just got a few bodies. One woman decided it was a brilliant idea to use her vagina as a hiding place for ten ounces of heroin.” She shook her head.

  “That’s normal,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. It was normal. That’s what criminals did. They hid their drugs wherever they could to avoid getting in trouble.

  “Yeah, well, she was eight months pregnant,” Brooke bit back.

  I took a slow deep breath. There wasn’t much to say to that—on our job that was normal too, unfortunately. We all just said a prayer that the drugs were wrapped up well enough that they didn’t affect the innocent, unborn baby. Majority of the time, our prayers went unanswered.

  “We just called for a bus. Looks like I’ll be at the hospital all night with the prisoner,” Brooke said, rocking back on her heels. She shook her head and tilted it, “Listen, that’s not why I’m up here though. I just got a call from Vinny Tatum’s mom. She hasn’t seen him since last night, and she’s starting to get worried.”

  I tried to place the familiar name. “Vinny Tatum?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he’s one of the cadets that works with us downstairs. Remember, I told you I had lunch with him a few days ago?” she explained, quickly.

  “Okay, right, so what’s going on with him?” Ryan cut in. What the hell, I thought he backed off. My hands tightened into fists.

  Brooke’s head snapped in Ryan’s direction. “I’m not sure. His mother said she was worried, because it wasn’t like him to not come home all night.” She turned back to me and sighed. “He’s a good kid. Not the kind to stay out all night and worry his mom. I thought maybe you could ask around since I’m stuck with this hospitalized prisoner.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I said, lightly squeezing her arm. “The kid is around eighteen, right? He’s probably out with a girlfriend and lost track of time,” I lied. She knew it too. “And do me a favor, put something on that eye, okay?”

  She nodded and rushed back to the door. “I have to get back downstairs. Thanks for looking into it for me.” She jogged to the stairs and offered us a half-assed wave before disappearing out of sight.

  “That was your sister?” Ryan asked, with a smirk. “Wow.”

  “Off limits. She’s totally off limits. I’m sure she doesn’t even know what a blowjob is.”

  “Right…sure,” Ryan said, winking at me.

  Jack and Callie laughed behind us.

  It was mid-laugh when Sargent Max Kannon opened his office door and stuck his head out. “Dean,” he called out. Exhaustion hung heavy on his face, red raw eyes and a growth of salt and pepper stubble across his jaw. He smelled of stale beer from the night before. I wasn’t sure if he’d been home since Thomas’ body was found.

  “Yeah, boss?” I asked.

  He was eyeing me carefully, thoughtfully, weighing his words against my demeanor. “I need Thomas’ locker cleaned out.” He said the words slow and quietly, so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear them. Or maybe that was just my take on it. Maybe I just didn’t want to hear them.

  Around us, the room stilled and became void of sound, like the world when it first snows. A muted version of reality to help you not feel so much—not hurt so much.

  I nodded my head once, the ache in my chest robbing me of my words. Jack, Ryan, and Callie had the decency to leave then, maybe they thought I was going to blow and lose my temper, but honestly I didn’t have the energy. Ryan left, mumbling about finding out about my sister’s friend. I was only vaguely aware of wanting to punch him.

  “I’m also going to need to know if you find anything, Dean,” Max said, quietly.

  I felt the color drain from my face. “Anything like what?”

  “Like maybe Thomas was in trouble…or—”

  “That’s what everyone thinks?” I growled, spit flying out around my lips. “Thomas was a good guy, Max. You know it, and I know it. We aren’t going to find any—”

  “Dean,” he said low. “I know, okay. He was my friend too. But you need to face the facts. Something was terribly wrong.”

  All I could do was nod.

  And then, I cleaned out a dead man’s locker.

  Because Max was right, whether I wanted to believe it or not, something had been terribly wrong.

  The locker was full of work gear. Pictures of his family. Even a few of me and him. A few cigars and a challenge coin. Nothing that said, “Hey! I’m in trouble and I don’t want to be here anymore.” Nothing.

  Nothing but a pile of shit that meant nothing to me, which left me with even more questions.

  I cut out early. After I shoved everything into a garbage bag, Max and I stared at each other through blurry eyes. “Why don’t you just get out of here for today, Dean. Go home. Have a few beers. Forget.”

  “Some things you never get to forget,” I said under my breath, but I went home anyway. Hoping at least for some sort of solace.

  Around the corner from my house, I pulled over and cried.

  Sobbed, really.

  I cried for my friend, who had to have been in so much pain to do what he did. I cried for failing him and for not knowing how to help him when he needed it the most. It took thirty minutes and a few bloody knuckles against my dashboard to calm myself down enough to get to my house.

  Backing into my driveway, I saw the neighbor’s daughter fighting with a giant mattress on her front lawn. The scene was absolutely absurd, and on a better day, I would have snapped a few photos of the ridiculous feat and memed the crap out of it. “Hey,” I called out to her as I climbed out of the car. “You need a hand with that?”

  Liv bolted straight up, and the mattress flopped flat on the ground. It was good that the damn thing was completely covered with plastic. Her front yard was full of mud and slush.

  She held a hand over her eyes to block out the bright sun, another jammed up high on her hip. “Thanks, but I’m doing fine,” she answered.

  “If by ‘fine’ you mean losing a street fight with a mattress…” I said.

  “Go away, Dean,” she huffed, angrily.

  What the shit? Immediately, I racked my brain for anything I did to offend her in the last two days I’d seen
her here. Nothing came to mind. “You’re mad at me for something?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “Last time I saw you, I think I pretty much saved your mother’s life. Or am I mistaken?”

  She glared at me, and I suddenly remembered her eating a slice of pizza.

  I cocked my head, trying to bring the memory into focus. “Why do I have a blurry image of you, me, pizza, and porn?”

  “Because that was our night last night,” she said with a small smile tugging at her lips.

  “Oh damn,” I sighed. “I hope I didn’t say anything inappropriate. Did I? Or did I do something?” Suddenly, the way she was looking at me made me feel all kinds of messed up.

  “No,” she sighed, letting her shoulders drop. She brushed a strand of flyaway hair from her face and waved her hand at me. “You were fine. It was just a really good slice of pizza.”

  What the hell could that possibly mean in girl language?

  “I feel like I’m missing something here…”

  Her smile widened mischievously, and my chest tightened. She was beautiful. And shit, if I thought that now, what could I have said to her drunk last night? The possibilities made my already tight chest harden into knots. “Honestly. What happened last night?” I asked seriously.

  “We ate pizza, and you had a temper tantrum,” she said with a teasing snicker.

  “So, I didn’t sleep with you?” I asked, quietly.

  “What? Definitely not!” she yelped, and smacked my arm. “Where would you get that idea from?”

  My shoulders instantly relaxed, and air raced back into my lungs. For a split second, the tension I felt coming from her made me think I had done something stupid and out of character. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, I’m standing here hoping that didn’t happen, because that would be something horrible to forget, you know? I’d want to remember that, I think,” I said, trying to lighten the strain between us.

  Her cheeks darkened, and she looked away. “You were always a big flirt.”

  “Yeah, not so much any more,” I whispered. There wasn’t much time to flirt or meet new people. Not for me, I had a hard time trusting new people or just dealing with them in general.

  Even before Thomas’ suicide.

  She rubbed nervously at the back of her neck and looked down at the mattress. The world kind of fell away behind her, drained of all color, but her rosy red cheeks, and the burning color that traveled down her neck.

  I found myself liking the idea of making her blush. Then, I cut the thought dead. I cleared my throat and politely smiled at her. “So what’s going on with your mother? Did you touch any of her stuff?” Being the wise-ass seemed a safe place to stay.

  Her smile got wider and for a moment, a brief one, I forgot about being so angry, so full of grief.

  “She was still yelling about it at the hospital today. ‘Don’t touch my goddamn letters.’ Who knows? Maybe they’re love letters from twenty-five years ago from my father who loved her so damn much that he abandoned us,” she said dryly, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this, Liv,” I said, meeting her gaze as it shyly lifted back up to mine.

  “Kind of used to it,” she whispered. Then, she gave a little gasp. “I’m sorry about what you’re going through, never mind my mother’s stupid choices in life.”

  “Rather not discuss it,” I said, grinding my teeth.

  Her gaze once again dropped to her feet, and she nodded her head, “Yeah, I understand.”

  No, she didn’t. Nobody did.

  “I wouldn’t even know what to say if you did want to talk about it,” she sighed, and looked back into my eyes. So innocent and wide, unblinking. “I really think that there are just some situations where the right words just haven’t been invented yet. Grief is too small a word for what you’re going through.”

  Quickly, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m so sorry that he’s gone.”

  Her words, her warmth, her actions grabbed at my windpipe and squeezed. Her body melted around me. Instantly, my eyes closed. Soft, gentle, her body embraced me—the thunderous drumming of her heart—pounding fast against mine.

  I needed to step back, step back—untangle from her body—and change the subject before I embarrassed myself.

  But I held on for one small eternity longer, breathing her in.

  She slowly let go first, pulling away with a sad smile.

  “So, your mom?” I asked, voice cracking

  “My mother is my mother,” she said, raising her shoulders.

  “I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen that woman act like a mother to you.” My words make her look away quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…it’s not right. I’m not in a good frame of mind to—”

  “No worries,” she smiled. “I completely agree with you. There’s just nothing I can do about it.”

  “Here, let me help you drag this thing in,” I offered, pointing to the mattress. Before she could refuse my help, I hauled up a corner and tried to actually smile at her. “Come on, it’ll be quicker than you wrestling the damn thing all day.”

  Together, we easily pushed it through the front door and dragged it up the steps to the second floor. The house smelled sterile—bleach on top of bleach, stinging my eyes.

  By the time we were done, both of us were full of sweat and gulping back icy bottled water in the kitchen with bright, red, teary eyes. “You need to open all the windows in here,” I said, lifting the kitchen window and watching the screen bust open in my hand, “Oh damn.”

  “Yeah, this house seems to be held together with tape and despair. It’s okay,” she said, her voice sharp.

  I breathed in the cold breeze and eyed a stack of crumpled papers on the countertop. “Hey, are those the papers you’re not supposed to touch?” They didn’t look like anything important. Maybe they were coupons for more booze.

  She glanced over at the counter and rolled her eyes. “Probably, I’ve been too busy trying to rid the house of the smell of piss and whiskey. I haven’t even looked.” She sat down on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. Its fake leather cushion was ripped along all the sides, and when her weight pressed down, white stuffing fell out of it. Another flush of color spread from her collar to her cheeks when she noticed. She recovered quickly with a deep breath and a polite smile.

  “So, where’d did you run off to after college? Or before college? I don’t even remember when you left,” I asked, trying to change the subject to something more general.

  “Wow, great impression I made on you,” she chuckled as the color in her cheeks deepened again. My God her skin told all her secrets.

  “You were five years younger than me. When I went to college you were, what thirteen? It would have been illegal for me to be impressed by you,” I said, casually. I knew where she went though. I always asked my sister about her. She’d been part of my family, and I cared for her.

  “Yeah, I know,” she murmured, looking down at her hands before clearing her throat. I went away to the University of Vermont and then, I just stayed there.” She stood up again and dumped her empty water bottle in a clear bag in the corner. My eyes followed her to find at least a dozen of those recycling bags filled with empty liquor bottles

  “Wow,” I said, pointing to the bags.

  “I had to empty a lot of them. She didn’t drink all that,” she said quickly. She was still trying to make the situation not as bad as it seemed.

  “You know if she did, Liv, that’s not your fault. It was her choice.”

  “Yeah, I keep telling myself that,” she said softly, folding her arms across her chest. She tilted her head and sighed, “Look at us, both stuck in a horrible place, because of other people’s shitty choices.” She glanced at me without an ounce of pity in her eyes, just a strange understanding. “I did keep a few unopened bottles of wine though, want to have a glass?”

  “Yeah
sure,” I said, leaning against the sharp edge of the counter. She wasn’t trying to comfort me, or let me comfort her, we were just two people going through something and commiserating side by side. That was cool.

  “So, how long are you going to stay with my sister?” I asked, as she held up a bottle of red and a bottle of white. I pointed to the red and took my Leatherman out of my pants pocket, “Here, let me,” I said, pulling out the corkscrew part of the multi-tool.

  “Just until the smell of this place is breathable. Wow, look at you with your fancy Batman survival tool,” she smiled, “What other kinds of interesting tools do you carry with you?”

  “An asp. My firearm. Windshield breaker. Paracord. Handcuffs…”

  Her eyes widened as she unwrapped two plastic cups from an unopened package. “Seriously? All I ever have in my pockets is loose change and old receipts. I guess I never think of things going so wrong that I would need any of that stuff.”

  “You don’t have to, because there are people like me and Brooke who get called to think about that stuff. We do it, so the rest of the people don’t have to.”

  “That sounds incredibly shallow of the rest of us,” she said, thoughtfully. “What’s that saying? The sheep pretend the wolf never comes, but the sheepdogs live for the day…”

  “Something like that,” I said thickly, swallowing the wine she had offered me.

  “Sorry about the plastic cups. You know the Rhys house, white trash all the way.”

  “You’re not white trash, Liv.” My voice whispered.

  “Yeah, well, it did feel like that growing up here,” she laughed, bitterly.

  “You were mostly with Brooke,” I smiled. “The two of you were the most annoying brats in the world.”

  “Well then,” she said sipping her wine, “Then, our work here is done. Our childhood goals have been achieved.”

  I tried to smile at her joke. I wanted to, but I gulped down the wine, and the warmth of it spread across my chest, reminding me I had a heart, and how heavy it felt. I looked down and rubbed at my chest to help loosen the knot. This feeling…this is something I’d only be able to talk to Thomas about. But he’s gone. And I’d never be able to talk to him again.