Same old promise. She sagged against the tree, letting him go in more ways than one. “No.” He held her as she lowered her legs to the ground. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the look on his face. “I don’t want to re-hash that argument. I’m sorry.”
She pushed past him and walked out of the woods. The pulsing pain in her chest wasn’t enough to make her turn around and take one last look. What she wanted—truly, deeply wanted—wasn’t on the table. Entertaining the lingering attraction between them would just cloud that reality.
— —
Rafe should have seen that coming. Foresight had always been his downfall with Liv. She wanted him to be perfect, and he was so far from that it wasn’t funny.
She wasn’t wrong about him prioritizing work over their relationship. He just didn’t see any other way to be a cop and a soldier. Duty called, all the fucking time.
He loped after her, slowing to a walk when he caught up. He kept a safe three feet between them and waited for her to speak.
“Here’s your sweatshirt,” she said quietly, handing it over. Still not looking at him. “We should talk. Really talk. No more of…” she pointed to the woods behind them. “Whatever that was.”
“I’m free on Sunday.” Two long days away. He wanted to promise tomorrow, but knew he couldn’t. Who knew how long the raid and all the associated statements, evidence collection and paperwork would take?
“Are you going to your mom’s for dinner?”
“Nah.” That stopped being fun the day he’d left Olivia. He showed up for command performances but the weekly thing was too painful.
“You want me to feed you?” Her words were…not quite reluctant, but definitely not loaded with suggestion. He looked at her in surprise and she shrugged. “A peace offering.”
“You don’t have anything to make up to me, Liv.”
Her lips twisted into a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We can talk on Sunday. I have to get back to work.”
He rolled those words over and over in his head as he drove to the small, three-story apartment building that he now called home. Thought about them as he took some melatonin, darkened his room and forced himself to sleep. They were the first thing on his mind when his alarm told him it was time to get up and, fifteen hours later when he dropped back into the exact same spot, he still hadn’t made any more sense of them.
In between he hadn’t thought of Liv much, or her words, because that was how he pretended the dangers he faced every day at work couldn’t touch her. That the long stretch of wild lake shore on the peninsula wasn’t prime drug-trafficking territory and he hadn’t spent the last handful of hours waiting for a transfer bus to take some grower peons to the county jail. It was a drop in the bucket. Last night’s bust hadn’t netted any of the bosses—their goal in moving it up three days.
It was possible that all three grow-ops that had been hit at once in a coordinated sting just happened to only have recent hires on site. More likely was the extraordinarily unsettling possibility that they’d been tipped off. And with only twelve hours’ notice, that narrowed the pool of potential turncoats to the officers involved and a limited number of support staff. All trusted.
When they’d returned to the detachment office, Dean Foster had thrown a chair across the room. Rafe couldn’t blame him—and while Dean had been letting loose in a rare tantrum of epic proportions, Rafe had quietly been watching the room.
It wasn’t necessarily in their house. Three busts, three detachments. And a lot of tactical unit officers brought in from across the province. But he didn’t let out a sigh of relief when he only saw matching anger on the faces around him. That meant nothing.
Cops made epic liars.
On his way out, Dean had quietly stopped by Rafe’s desk and suggested he come over later in the afternoon for a beer, an offer he was definitely going to take his friend up on.
The Fosters and the Minellis had grown up together. Dean and Zander had been in the same grade. Three years junior, Jake and Rafe had idolized their older brothers. Funny how that handful of years faded into nothing in adulthood. Even the younger siblings were all grown up now. Matt and Tom, both twenty-eight. And then the babies, Sean and Dani—the only girl between two families. It was like she had seven older brothers—and resented the shit out of it.
Heaven help the asshole who’s stupid enough to fall in love with her.
Dean and Rafe were the only two cops in the family. Matt and Dani worked together at Bruce EMS. Zander was full-time army out west. Jake owned his own construction business. Tom was a park ranger in the provincial park system that dotted Bruce Peninsula. And Sean…he liked to tell people he was an adventure racer. Rafe knew that the younger man grabbed more short-term Army contracts than anyone else in their reserve unit, went on every available course, and he’d jump at the next opportunity to go overseas. That worried Rafe, but Sean was a good kid. And not much of a kid anymore, but that was part of the problem. All of his brothers had tours in Afghanistan under their belts. Sean’s bad luck was being too young. By the time he’d graduated university and finished his officer training, the Canadian Forces were packing up in the sandbox.
And Rafe, who was currently serving as Sean’s second-in-command—2IC—in their section…his only overseas experience had been a training tour in Dubai. It hardly qualified him to offer counsel. Maybe it was time to loop Dean in on the situation.
And just like that, Rafe realized he’d spent half an hour thinking about everyone he knew except Liv. His Olivia, whom he’d lost for precisely this reason. He shoved the Foster brothers out of his head and thought about what Liv might want to tell him—feel compelled to tell him—that would make her sad.
Another thirty-three hours and she’d tell him herself, but he wanted to get this on his own. Wanted to show up at her house the next day with a bottle of wine and newfound husband wisdom.
— —
They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk about work before Jake and Matt showed up. That led to a re-cap of Thursday night’s trip to Lion’s Head. Matt’s version of events cast Rafe in the weeniest of lights, of course.
“This dude had a hot chick crawling all over him, and he couldn’t even get it up.”
“Fuck you, asshole, see if I’m ever willing to be your wingman again.” Rafe flipped his friend the bird before grabbing another handful of chips. They were on Dean’s deck, in his backyard, which overlooked Rafe’s old backyard. Now just Liv’s.
