My brain started replaying every conversation from the week—every facial expression, every tone shift, every moment he seemed a little…distant. I keep trying to figure out if I did something wrong, if I said something wrong, if I missed something.
I can’t find the answer. But the not knowing is eating at me. A dull anxiety that keeps tightening and tightening.
Now, here I am, standing in the office doorway, praying he lets me in.
“Mason.”
“Yeah?”
I cross the threshold. “What’s wrong?”
He sits up straighter, shakes his head. “Nothing. I wanna talk to you though.”
My stomach knots with an unfamiliar feeling; he’s never said that before.
“Here. Sit.” He reaches for the other chair in the corner and pulls it over to the desk beside him. I hesitate but sit down.
His blue eyes look at me, full of something I don’t recognize. I wish I did, but I don’t. His jaw ticks once.
He takes a deep breath, and then he looks at me…reallylooks at me. “I need to go over with you…what to do if I don’t come home one day.”
My body goes still. Numb.
“Don’t talk like that,” I whisper.
“I have to.” His voice breaks slightly, and that’s what undoes me. “Because this job isn’t just writing parking tickets and breaking up bar fights. Sometimes, unfortunately, it’s really bad.”
I nod and wipe the corners of my eyes. The last thing I want to be doing is sitting here, looking at my husband of less than three months, discussingthis.
“I’ve got a letter. It’s in the bottom drawer, taped under the file folders, in a white envelope. Your name’s on the front.” He pulls open the desk drawer and points. “There’s a list of passwords in there, bank info. Anything and everything you’d need.”
I can’t stop my tears from falling. “Stop. Please.”
“I know. It sucks. But, babe—” He chokes on his words. “I was almostdustlast night.”
“What?” My heart sinks. He said nothing last night. He got in late, went back in early this morning. I didn’t see him until this evening.
“There was a call last night. Guy barricaded himself in a house. Said he had his girlfriend and their kid in there. We heard screaming. It was dark. No lights, place was a wreck. And when I turned the corner—”
He swallows.
“He had a gun. I saw it too late. He pulled the trigger and it…it jammed. That’s the only reason I’m still here.”
I can’t breathe. My heart is racing and the air feels too thick.
“What?!” I gasp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to relive it.” He shakes his head. “But you deserve to know, and this is why we’re talking about this now.” He gestures to the desk drawer.
“But are you okay?” My hand rests on his shoulder, firm, and I can feel how tense he is.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Travis got him fast. I don’t even remember what happened after that. My heart didn’t stop pounding until I got back to the station.”
“And I was just…here,” I choke out, wiping at tears that won’t stop falling. “Having a glass of wine, talking to Sierra on the phone while I made dinner. Just…living. And you’re out there nearly getting shot.”
My voice cracks hard on the last word, everything inside me splintering at once.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, gentle but firm. “I want that for you.” He shifts closer, eyes soft in a way that somehow hurts more. “This ismyjob. Not yours. I want you having fun and talking with friends. I don’t want you sitting here alone, worrying about me every time I walk out the door.”
