“That takes a lot of strength. Most people wouldn’t have the discipline to turn pain into something constructive.”
“Yeah, well, murder is a hell of a motivator.”
Part of me wanted to defend police procedure, but as a Black man, I knew what it felt like to be seen as a threat just for existing. I knew not to offer empty reassurances.
“You’re awfully quiet. No defense of your brothers in blue?”
I blew out air. “Would it make a difference if I offered one?”
“Probably not.”
“Then why ask for it?”
Nia tilted her head. “Good point.”
I swiped a hand down my face. “I could tell you I personally fought for every reform, but it won’t bring your brother back.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I won’t insult you by pretending I understand what it’s like to lose someone that way. What I understand is the system failed your brother and your family.”
Nia blinked at my admission, her eyes glossy. “That’s not what most cops would say.”
“I’m not most cops. You’re not the only one questioning the system. You just do it from the outside. I do it from within.”
She gestured to the room we were in. “How’s that working out for you?”
I laughed. “Today? Not so great.”
That pulled a reluctant smile from her. “Yeah, getting arrested in your own jurisdiction probably counts as a bad day, even for Chief Pretty Boy.”
The nickname should’ve annoyed me, but coming from Nia, it felt like affection.
“For what it’s worth, I believe you about your brother. If I’d been chief back, then . . .” I stopped, not wanting to make promises about a past I couldn’t change.
“You’d have done what? Gone against your officers? Pushed for charges?” Her voice was curious, not accusing, like she wanted to know how far I’d go.
“I’d have made sure there was a real investigation, not a cover-up. I can’t promise what would have happened, but it would have been open.”
“I want to believe there are good cops. I just haven’t seen any evidence.”
I didn’t have an answer for Nia. I nodded, accepting her truth without trying to rewrite it. Instead, we sat in the aftermath of her confession. Nia’s story hit different, maybe because I’d witnessed her strength all day. Or it could be because I’d already crossed a line with her, tasting her lips in the darkness, waking up my loins that had been sleeping too damn long.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m in no-man’s-land, bullets coming from both directions. Like I’m speaking a language nobody wants to understand. I push for accountability. They resent me. I enforce procedure, and the community sees me as a sellout. I can’t be Black enough for some, or blue enough for others,” I added with a bitter laugh.
Nia studied me. “Sounds lonely.”
Her observation caught me off guard. “Yeah, it is.”
Our hands rested on the bench between us. I noticed how easy it would be to close the gap. So I did. I moved my pinky and linked it with hers. The touch was light, her skin warm against mine. That small connection meant more than the kiss we’d shared earlier.
The kiss was an impulse, a rush of adrenaline, but this touch was a choice. I stared at the ceiling, not wanting her to see how much I cared about what Dr. Nia Price thought of me.
After what felt like forever, though it was only a few minutes, we slowly moved our hands apart. It felt like another wall between us had come down.
“My brother used to say there were two kinds of fighters. Those on the front lines and those behind enemy lines, changing things from within.”
Her words echoed my own thoughts. “Which did he think worked better?”
