“Better than I am,” Bradley mutters, running a hand over his jaw. “And that’s with putting up with my moods and now the insomnia. She’s a trooper, you know that.”
“She is. Putting up with you should be her full-time job.”
“Piss off.” He snorts, shaking his head before leaning back against the railing. We fall into easy small talk. Updates from the station. The latest on the drug surveillance op. A rookie nearly blowing weeks of work because he got too eager. Classic. I almost smile because I remember being that rookie once. Running on adrenaline and stubborn pride, convinced I was untouchable.
But I’m not that guy anymore. I still get the same rush—the unpredictability, the weight of split-second decisions—but now it comes with pressure. A heaviness in my chest that doesn’t let up. Because every move matters. Every choice could mean me or my colleagues not making it home.
We’ve all had our share of close calls. Fists to the jaw. Machetes swung within an inch. I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun held by a kid just barely out of school.
Then there was the night of the Westbridge Road fires. Bradley and I, shoulder to shoulder in smoke, chaos, and hell. People called us all heroes. But we’ve never talked about it. Some things you just don’t.
That’s why I’d been gunning so hard for the new role. A shiftoffthe front line. Intelligence work—pulling reports, coordinating ops, briefing units—it’s the kind of longevity I need. It’s strategy. Control. Less chance of Teddy growing up with old memorabilia or a photo frame. He deserves a father, not a legacy. And definitely not the fallout from my so-called love life.
The first time, I was young, reckless. A few nights with the wrong person and suddenly, everything changed. Teddy came from that. My greatest gift, born from a choice I hadn’t thought through. Not long after I met him, I made the choice of letting someone else in again, and it got messy. Of course, when it fell apart, Teddy was right there in the middle of it.Again.
That was the moment I promised myself: never again. Because he deserves better than that kind of confusion. Sometimes, I wonder if I even know how to love the way people are supposed to. Freely. Fully. Maybe I’m not built for falling headfirst without overthinking every step. My love’s always been cautious. Measured out in safe distances.
But Olivia? She doesn’t fit in that kind of space. She’s warmth. Light. Hope. And I’d only dim that. She deserves more than the version of me that’s still learning how to let someone in without conditions.
And I’m a bloody idiot for letting it get this far.
Bradley finishes his drink and claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll chat soon, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He heads back inside without another word, the screen door clicking behind him. I don’t move. I just stay there, hand curled around a full bottle, staring out at nothing. And for some reason, I can’t shake the feeling he didn’t believe a single word I said.
33
Olivia
Holding Out For A Hero - Elise Lieberth
Seeing the shock on Sebastian’s face tonight when Teddy shouted about the surprise party had been the highlight of my night. That rare smile, the way his eyes lit up, it did something to me.
That feeling doesn’t last long.
Now, the balcony light spills, soft and golden, through the cracked window as I hover in the hallway. I hadn’t meant to overhear. Not really. I’d gone in to grab my bag, and that’s when I heard their voices carrying from upstairs, drifting down through the open stairwell.
Sebastian’s first. Then my brother’s. Everything else faded. The laughter near the fence, the clinking of bottles, the scraping of chairs, Sandra muttering as she roped Xavier into helping clean up. All of it blurred into silence, with Bradley’s voice cutting through it all.
“You’d tell me, right? If something was going on?”
In an instant, my breathing had stopped. Because my name hadn’t been mentioned, but it didn’t need to be. I knew exactly what, or whom, they were talking about.
Temporary.
That word carves itself deep into my chest. I’d just managed to dodge Bradley as he slipped away. I should’ve kept walking. Should’ve grabbed my bag and left. But before my brain can catch up, my feet are already moving. The door creaks just enough beneath my fingers to make him turn. Sebastian’s head snaps toward me, eyes widening for a split second before they narrow.
Cautious. Calculating. I see it… the moment of realisation as he looks past me toward the cracked door. He’s always been good at reading a room. But lately, I’ve gotten better at reading him, too. His brows draw tight. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.” I pause, letting it settle before asking, “When were you going to tell me?”
I lean against the doorframe. The silence that stretches between us is taut and humming, like a live wire. Sebastian takes a careful step closer, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. With me. With this.
“I think we should have this conversation back at home.”
My brows pinch. “Why?”
