Chapter 1
Brooke
There wasa pile of dirty blankets heaped up against the bottom of the streetlight. All different shades of pink—a small child’s security blankets, maybe—thrown away thoughtlessly by a parent—tread over and pressed into the slush and snow. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. I wasn’t a parent—maybe I never would be—I had no way of knowing, or had any right to make judgment calls, but the small jumble of blankets angered me. Why would any parent take away a child’s security blanket and dump it in the trash? Why take the feeling of safety away from someone else? It just wasn’t right.
A car rounded the corner, tires splashing through the mud and snow. I jumped onto the curb as to not get wet, my heels wobbling a bit on the landing. I looked down at my feet as the headlights from the car reflected off the storefronts on the block. New shoes. They were already digging uncomfortably into my toes.Stupid girly shoes, I thought. Why did I even bother putting them on?I should have just discarded them on top of the abandoned blankets and walked back home barefoot. I could have spent the remainder of the night curled up on my bed watching Netflix, eating ice cream.
I used to love getting dressed up and going out.
Not anymore.
I definitely wasn’t the girl I used to be.
No longer did I feel feminine, or attractive; I didn’t even feel cute. It was nothing that anyone could pinpoint either, yet it was something that all my friends mentioned to me.I’ve changed somehow. I easily blamed it on my job and all the benefits I got from it, like, lack of sleep, poor eating habits, and tousling with people who resisted arrest. My closest friends and family knew it was probably all lies though. I was a good cop, I loved my job, but they saw whatever it was written all over my face like a stain. They just couldn’t figure it all out.
It was probably the way I walked now, head down, eyes averted. I most certainly felt it in my skin, as the bruises blossomed into the telltale neon sign that readvictim. I think I was still in shock about what happened with our so-calledrelationship. More like disappointed in myself for not seeing it coming. How, with the person I was—the job I had—how did I not see it before it happened? Maybe I was just blinded by wanting to be loved. I just wanted to be a part oflove.
Someone’s cell phone rang loudly behind me, jingling the iconic song of rings. He answered quickly, in a deep baritone voice that carried down the block. I hastened my pace, feeling that strange tingle at the nape of my neck.
My own cell phone vibrated in my purse. I ignored it, wanting just to get somewhere there was heat. The temperature was supposed to drop to below twenty degrees, and I was starting to feel the plunge.
The gathering I was to attend was on the corner, a few storefronts away. I saw it in my view, couldn’t have missed it, since there were hundreds of people spilling out of the front door, circled by a band of bagpipe players. The closer I walked, the more I heard the toot of a pipe and a prayer for the departed. It was a memorial service for a fellow officer, who we lost a few weeks ago, and that night we were going to celebrate his life.
I shivered from the cold and tucked my coat collar up to shield the wind. It was a relief when I got inside the bar, the warm air falling against my skin, and me smiling stupidly in the doorway. I must have looked like a cold-hearted idiot walking into a memorial party like that. It wasn’t that I really wanted to go to a memorial service, nobody wants to have to do that—especially at the rate we do on my job. In the political climate of today, funerals were almost a weekly occurrence. I was just glad I was out of the cold.
After checking my coat, I spun around, trying to find a familiar face.
All I found was the back of a familiar head, waiting at the bar, with a bottle of water in his hands. The head belonged to Detective Ryan Cage who worked in the same squad as my brother Dean.
I leaned against the wall for a bit, instead of saying hello to him. It wasn’t often you’d find Detective Cage quietly doing something. Most of the time he came off as an arrogant ass, but I’d give him this: he was really nice to look at.
Sharp, observant tawny brown eyes that contained a constant spark to them. His mouth always bowing up in a sexy smirk, some deep delicious smile was always on his face, like he was laughing at the world. His hair was dark, pitch black almost, and always cut to uniform standards. His body was thick and strong, tan skinned, and moved gracefully and smooth.
And absolutely everywhere he went, women would flock to him like love-struck idiots. Most of the time I thought he was a jerk. A painfully good looking one, but still a jerk. Maybe I was biased though, since all men seemed to be jerks to me lately. I felt bitter—bitter that I kept wasting my time on men who were still just stupid horny boys no matter what age they truly were.
My phone buzzed again. Whoever it was, was seriously impeding upon my stalking maneuvers. I glanced down quickly at my phone, thinking it might be my brother or his girlfriend, Liv.
Your legs look incredible.
Nope, it was just an asshole. I dropped my hand, phone clasped in it tightly, to my side, dismissing the text instantly.
I affixed my gaze back on Ryan, as people pushed past me, making their way toward the bar. Soon, I would have to make my own way there and swallow down at least one drink and pretend to be sociable. My feet didn’t move though, because I still just kind of wanted to stare a little more at him.
Then, as if he heard me say his name, he straightened up and looked over his shoulder, right into my eyes. And my breath sort of whooshed out of my body, and everything around me just stopped, except for the tugging of my lips into a smile—that for the life of me I could not control.
I’ve always been attracted to jerks. I was never getting married at this rate.
Light from the small candles set on the bar top flickered strangely in his eyes. He did a double take, spilling his bottle of water as he tried to set it on the counter, accidently dousing out the candle. He smiled at me, a heart stopping sort of smile that reached from ear to ear, poking dimples deep into his cheeks. I laughed and quickly lowered my eyes, suddenly embarrassed he’d caught me watching him. My eyes focused on a small pretzel crumb on the floor, until the tips of his shoes came into my view.
“You’re going to give one of these old guys a heart attack with that outfit.” I could hear the flirty smile in his voice, and feel the heat radiating from his body with how close he stood next to me.
“Look at you, all cleaned up and pretty,” I teased back, lifting my gaze to meet with his.
“Pretty?” He grimaced. “That’s a shitty thing to say to a man. Hot. Sexy. Fuckable. I’ll even take handsome. But never pretty.”
I tried for my most innocent smile—the sexy one, my best friend Liv had taught me—and blinked up at him. “I’ll give you handsome.”
“And I would give you,” he said smoothly, slowly dropping his gaze from my eyes to my lips, “absolutely anything you asked me for.” A devilish smile tugged at his lips.
