“It probably sounds lame, but I like helping people.”
Liam laughs. “Which is funny because he doesn’t reallylikepeople.”
I frown at him. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Liam seems to catch himself and his smile fades. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
Viv tops off my wine glass. “You don’t act like someone who hates people.” Her tone is warm. Conversational. “Why would Liam say that?”
It’s probably the wine loosening me up, but I decide I don’t mind sharing some stuff with Liam’s family. “It’s more I don’ttrustpeople.”
Marco grunts. “Your line of work won’t help with that.”
I meet his gaze. “That’s probably true. Cops don’t see the best of people. We tend to stumble on them when they’re having a bad day.”
“Was your dad a cop?” Viv asks.
“No.” I can’t help laughing at the idea of that. “He spent a lot of time with cops though.”
In the back of their squad cars.
“Did he?” Viv looks confused.
Liam smiles, meeting my eyes. “I think Jude is making a joke.”
“Were you?” Viv laughs. “Sorry. It went over my head.”
I grimace. “My dad had anger issues and a drinking problem.” I clear my throat. “He got arrested a lot.”
“Oh.” Viv’s gaze is empathetic. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I probably shouldn’t joke about it.”
Liam bumps my elbow with his. “Hey, if that’s how you handle it, that’s fine.”
I smile weakly. “Better than crying, right?”
Viv reaches across the table and squeezes my hand briefly. Her fingers are warm and comforting. The gesture is so simple, so maternal, it hurts my heart. What must have it been like growing up with a mother like her? I can’t remember a time when my own mom tried to comfort me. How sad is that?
“Well,” Viv says, going back to eating. “You’ve got people who care about you now.” She laughs gruffly. “Whether you like it or not.”
After dinner, she refuses to let anyone help clean up, which means Liam and I end up in the living room with Marco. The fire is low, casting warm shadows across the room. Marco settles into his recliner and Liam drops onto the couch next to me.
Marco asks me about the differences between policing in Atlanta versus Golden Peak. The question is genuine, and I find myself talking more than I usually would. When I describe some of the challenges of working in a big city, he nods in ways that tell me he understands, even if his career was spent on a mountain.
“Small-town policing has its own problems,” he says. “You know everybody. That makes it harder sometimes, not easier. Especially when we’re mostly all pack.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I say, meeting Liam’s gaze. I’ve seen Liam struggle with how to handle certain people in town. I know it’s because he knows them personally. He knows their history. Their situation. He doesn’t want to make their life worse than it might already be.
“Of course,” Liam says, “They also trust us more because they know us. The job is more personal in a small town.”
“Yes. I sometimes wished we could have done more community policing in Atlanta, but it just wasn’t how the department was run. Too many people to deal with.” If I’m honest, that’s why I went easy on Marcus Dougherty that fateful night. I wanted to handle him like a community cop might.
And David Kim ended up dead because of that decision.
Maybe Liam sees something in my expression because he frowns. I’ve never told him about what happened back in Atlanta. I’m too ashamed. Too afraid he might judge me for that decision. Part of me wants to tell him because it would be nice to hear his take on the situation. But I’m too scared to face his disappointment.
Liam’s mom joins us, carrying a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and coffee. Once she’s made sure we all have what we need, she sits on the arm of Marco’s recliner. He puts his hand on her knee without thinking about it. The gesture is automatic. Decades of love revealed with that one small touch.
