The wine had done its job, and I was shitfaced. I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could, alternating between reprimanding myself in the mirror to peeking through his medicine cabinets. I was a little too overjoyed I didn’t spy any bizarre medications. I was positive at the time it called for a silent cheer routine that I still had memorized from middle school cheer squad.
I must admit that trying to get back up from the split was a touch terrifying.
By the time I walked back into the kitchen, Dean Fury had made homemade garlic bread.
Dean Fury. Homemade garlic bread.
My clit was actually tingling, that was how close he had me to coming—all with his fucking back to me and a goddamn hand full of garlic bread.
“Go ahead, try one,” he urged. Like I’d say no—or any other clearly pronounceable words at the moment.
I was speechless and so aroused I didn’t want to sit back down. But once I hungrily grabbed a piece and tasted the buttery garlic-filled doughy orgasm that exploded in my mouth, my ass landed on the seat, and I was groaning my praise.
“Yeah, I know. It’s that good,” he smiled, dumping out a steaming pot of spaghetti into a strainer.
He quietly went about his dinner creation and set down a heaping plate of the most delicious pasta dish I’d ever seen. “Wow,” I said, looking down at the plate.
“Don’t say wow until you’ve tasted it,” he said, setting down a plate across from me and pulling out a chair to sit. “It might just look good and taste like—”
My mouth was full already—moaning for him to shut up—and wanting to punch myself in the face for not letting it cool down a little. I acted like I didn’t just singe a layer of my tongue off. “This is absolutely amazing, Dean. Thank you,” I mumbled in between chews.
He looked down quietly and slowly twirled his fork around the pasta. He suddenly looked like he once again had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It sobered me. A little.
My racing thoughts slowed to a crawl.
I took another forkful and blew on it softly, carefully picking through my thoughts. He was obviously suffering. Grieving alone.
“How’re you really feeling over there?” I asked, low.
He raised his wine glass and took a long, deep pull, looking at me as he did so. He lifted the glass from his lips and sighed. “My head is just going wild, and I’m trying not to feel anything at all.”
“Have you been wondering how to find out what was going on with Thomas?” I asked.
His movements stilled, and his knuckles whitened, sinking my heart. The room definitely stopped spinning, and my stone cold sobriety was pretty much reached. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. But I can see you’re suffering. Just know if you want to talk right now, I’m here.”
He actually laughed.
And it wasn’t a nice laugh; it was a mean, bitter one. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t have time towonderandthink. I don’t even have the time or energy to be grieving.” His eyes looked fierce and angry, making me wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. I sucked my lip back in between my teeth and bit down, so I wouldn’t say more. “I’m a cop. We don’t have time to suffer. We’re the one’s that have to take care of everyone else.”
“What?” I said, angrily—okay so I was still really buzzed. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”
“And that’s what separates people like me and people like you. You get to take time andfeel badandheal.” He said the words like they disgusted him. “You all get tocomplainandwhineabout all the shit thathappens to you. A cop? A cop has to deal with it. Look at it. Take care of it. I had to clean out a dead man’s locker, so his wife wouldn’t have to. I had to work in eighteen-hour shifts to make sure his family and friends were taken take of while they grieved. With no one ever considering that I might have been his closest family or his closest friend.”
He leaned forward, laying his palms flat on the table. His words slurred with the wine we’d drank, and he was angry as hell. “We don’tgetto be human. We aren’t allowed to feel things. Do you know what happened the day after I found his body? Some stupid punk he arrested once for dealing drugs posted on social media that he was happy Thomas was dead. He invited every one he knew to a funeral party.” He sat back and shook his head, “Do you know what it’s like to be spit on, because you’re just trying to do your job? When you’re just trying to keep everyone safe?”
“No,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak.
“Death is part of who I am. We lose a lot of people on this job. We see a lot of death. We see the worst things people can do to each other, and we have to try to stop it before it happens. But, we usually get there after it does and at the same time, not be effected by it.”
“That’s a lot to take on for one person,” I said, putting my fork down softly. “You aren’t alone though. Don’t you have friends to—?”
“Yeah, his name was Thomas. And now, he’s gone.” He pushed his chair back and folded his arms across his chest. “Liv, don’t try to be one of those girls who tries to save me from myself and my job. I’m a cop. Cops don’t matter, and we definitely aren’t worth much. Ask anyone. Go watch the news.” He rubbed at his chest and looked me dead in the eyes. “There’s nothing here for you. You were right before; this wasn’t a good idea.” He stood up and grabbed his plate off the table and clanked it into the sink.
His words tightened around my throat; his actions squeezed hard.
“I wasn’t trying to change anything,” my words spurted out, stumbling over each other. How did I completely lose control of this discussion so quickly?How long had I actually been in the bathroom?
Somewhere downstairs a door slammed shut.
