THE NOT-SO-TRIUMPHANT RETURN
ELYXANDRE
“Areyou sure this job is what you want, E? I mean, our alma mater doesn’t hold the best of memories for you, let alone San Antonio. Of all of us, I was certain you’d never come back here.”
Elyxandre Hookstead walked the arcade of Elysium, wide-eyed and mouth agape, marveling at all her friends, Tripoli, Cosmos, and Triumph, had accomplished. She wasn’t sure where to look at any given moment, and she was so busy staring at the trapeze act above her, she felt herself walk up on the heels of her friend.
“Sorry.” Despite the collision, her eyes and words were still glued to the trio above her. “What did you say?”
Tripoli chuckled. “I’ll take your distraction as a compliment. I asked if you were sure about taking this job. It’s not exactly the streets of New Orleans.”
She could lie to her friend, but he would sniff that out in a second, so she didn’t bother to try.
Sighing, her eyes lowered to stare into the distance of the arcade. “Knox.”
He stopped short, one hand brushing through his dark-blond hair. “Knox,” he growled. “What did the fucker do now?”
“Trip—”
“Don’t ‘Trip’ me. I disliked that piece of fuck from the moment you started dating him. What did he do?” He delivered his question in staccato.
“Same shit, different day. He made me feel like a woman had no place being a police officer. In HR, dispatch, or reception? Sure. Even better if I were stuck away in some filing room. After working a year or two, I should have wanted to pop out kids and be a stay-at-home mom, not seeking a promotion to detective. I didn’t, so he began his campaign of war on my reputation.”
“Definitely a piece of fuck,” Tripoli murmured.
She smiled at the creative swear. “That he was.”
He started walking along the promenade of games, food trucks, and attractions, an arm slung casually over her shoulders. “You finally going to tell me what happened? You haven’t said a word to any of us in two decades.”
“We weren’t exactly talking during those two decades,” she reminded him.
Exasperated, he squeezed her tightly to his side for a moment. “I’m sorry. When you didn’t return my calls, I figured you’d put San Antonio in the past. We knew you were in pain, and we didn’t want to dredge up more bad memories, so we let it go. I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. I should have hunted you down and made sure.” He gave a short laugh. “Still don’t know how we avoided crossing paths, what with our club in New Orleans.”
Shaking her head, her smile got a little bigger. Still the same old Tripoli, frowning and growling like a dog guarding a bone he’d buried, dug up, and buried again, on endless repeat. There were more lines on his face now after twenty-two years, butit was basically the same scowl he’d worn back in high school whenever he was pursuing something.
“We were like two ships passing in the night. You started there about the time I was leaving, and before that, you were a little busy with the military. Coming to my rescue once was enough.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed his hip. “Even if you’d come, I probably wouldn’t have listened. My head was already so far up my ass, if he’d come with a warning label, I likely would have just shrugged my shoulders and thrown it away.”
“Well, I’m glad you called now. We all are. So… what’s the story?”
She really didn’t want to go into it, but she also knew he wasn’t going to let it go. “Long version or short version?”
“The long version is probably going to piss me off and require some expensive bourbon and some target practice. Gimme the short version so that I don’t abandon my fiancée and go hunting down the sonofabitch.”
“What everyone always worries about working with a significant other will do, I guess.” She flashed her VIP card at a passing skimpily dressed waitress in a sequined top hat, matching rainbow jacket over a black leotard, fishnets, and sky-high laced boots. Even her face shone with glittery makeup and rhinestone appliques. Elyxandre ran the card through the reader that charged her purchase to Tripoli’s personal account and selected a cone of raspberry pucker cotton candy. “Conflicts of interest. Trash-talking me to our colleagues. Undercutting me to our chief. Flashing resentment my way when I ‘showed him up.’” She pulled a hunk of the candy floss off the stick and waved it in Tripoli’s direction. “His words, not mine.” Popping the sugary treat into her mouth, she moaned in delight as the sour taste hit her tongue. “So good,” she mumbled, refusing to allow her taste buds to let go of the dissolving strands.
When Tripoli reached for a chunk of her cotton candy, she smacked his hand. “Hey! Get your own.” Watching him smile, all teeth and loud laughter, she knew her chastisement was useless, and her smile matched his own.
“But a school resource officer? I’m not sure being surrounded by all those uncontrolled hormones is better than dealing with the good-ole-boy network.”
“I started applying for positions at other stations, even if it meant taking backward steps, but again, no job offers came. Turns out, rumors spread to other stations that I was bad news. Always complaining about work assignments. Sloppy work ethic. Constantly harped about being expected to do the same work as the men. Claimed I was toxic to the culture of the office. Result—no new job. So, either I moved away or tried something different. I chose both. Hours are just as shitty, pay is worse, but I’m the only officer in the building, and I work for a private police department that is headed by the superintendent. And that’s why I moved back to San Antonio.”
They walked a few steps in silence.
When he spoke again, she heard the scowl return without having to see it. “Have you talked to your father since coming back?”
“No reason to. That part of my life is long gone. He has no reason to be at the school grounds for anything, and San Antonio is a big place. Top that with when I dumped my married name, I took my grandmother’s maiden name instead of my sperm donor’s. Even if he heard my name, people mispronounce it constantly, so between that and his perpetual foggy state from drugs and alcohol, he probably wouldn’t even register it was me.”
“Another piece of fuck,” Tripoli said.
