“Not a chance,” Erin said, but there was more warmth than bite in it. She tipped her beer toward Jamie in a mock toast. “To unfiltered honesty.”
Jamie groaned but clinked her bottle against Erin’s anyway. “You’re the worst.”
“Probably,” Erin admitted. Then she sat back, giving Jamie room to breathe. The jukebox kicked into something upbeat, and for a while they just let the noise of the bar fill in the silence.
When Jamie finally set her bottle down, her shoulders looked looser, like the tension had drained out with her embarrassment. “Okay,” she said, almost daring Erin to challenge her. “Your turn. Tell me something dumb about you, so I don’t feel like the only disaster at this table.”
Erin raised a brow. “Define dumb.”
“Something you don’t usually admit,” Jamie pressed, pointing her bottle cap at her. “C’mon. Fair’s fair.”
Erin hesitated, thumb brushing condensation off her glass. She wasn’t in the habit of giving things away, but Jamie’s grin, still a little self-conscious, made it harder to dodge.
“I talk to Leo more than I talk to most people,” she admitted finally, her voice quieter than before. “Some nights he’s the only one who hears me out.”
Jamie tilted her head. “Leo?”
“My dog,” Erin said, and instantly wished she hadn’t. It sounded too soft, too much like a confession. She took a long sip of beer to cover it.
But Jamie’s mouth curved, slow and warm. “Of course it’s your dog. I should’ve guessed.”
“Why?” Erin asked, defensive without meaning to.
Jamie shrugged, eyes glinting. “You just don’t strike me as the houseplant type. A dog makes more sense. Loyal, stubborn, probably keeps you on your toes.”
Erin raised a brow, fighting the twitch of a smile. “Careful. You’re notwrong, but he doesn’t need an ego boost.”
Jamie leaned in a little, chin propped on her hand. “Now I kinda want to meet him. See if he’s as bossy as you say.”
The words hit Erin harder than they should have, not just the interest in Leo, but the casual way Jamie saidmeet him, like being part of Erin’s world was an option. Erin cleared her throat, setting her glass down with deliberate care. “We’ll see if you earn the privilege.”
Jamie laughed, but there was a flicker of pink at her ears, and Erin knew she’d landed that one.
Jamie twirled the shredded label between her fingers, hesitated, then blurted, “So… what’s the deal with you and Tilly?”
Erin froze for half a beat, the question hitting harder than she expected. She leaned back, buying herself time with a sip of beer. “That obvious, huh?”
Jamie winced. “Kind of. They go stiff every time you’re around. And you… well, you don’t exactly light up either.”
Erin let out a quiet breath, eyes fixed on the glass in her hand. “We have a… let’s say complicated history.” She hesitated, then added, softer, “It was personal. And messy.”
Jamie blinked, startled by the honesty. “Oh.”
“That’s all you’re getting tonight,” Erin said quickly, forcing a faint smile.
Jamie studied her, careful not to press, and Erin should have been relieved. Instead, she caught herself wishing Jamie would ask again, just to keep her talking.
She curled her hand around her bottle, letting the condensation seep into her skin, and forced herself to look away. The last thing she needed was to open doors that should stay shut. Still, the thought lingered, stubborn and unwelcome: it had been a long time since anyone made her want to share anything at all.
Across the table, Jamie plucked at the shredded label and gave her a small, lopsided smile, like she was trying to ease the silence. Erin felt it hit low in her chest, warm and dangerous, and she took another drink before she said something she couldn’t take back.
Fourteen
Blue lights washed over wet brick and aluminum siding, turning the block on Dorchester Avenue into a stuttering pulse. Jamie stood just outside the tape, rain seeping into the cuffs of her jeans, the smell of coolant and burned rubber sharp enough to taste. One sedan had come to rest half on the center line, hood crumpled in on itself. The other was nose-down against a hydrant, airbags spent and ghost-white in the glare.
Tilly set the tripod legs with quick, precise snaps. “Framing on the northbound side,” they said without looking up. “Less glare.”
“Got it.” Jamie checked her mic, eyes drifting to the chalk marks that had started to appear on the soaked asphalt, thin white slashes mapping angles and distances. The Reconstruction Unit moved like surgeons, quiet and methodical. She forced her attention back to the job, to the script she could do in her sleep. Two vehicles. Two fatalities. Names withheld pending notification. Avoid the area.
