Kaden follows me into the locker room where I empty out my locker into my bag. I’m not going to bother changing here. I’ll just take off my uniform shirt and wear the tank I have underneath when I go. No one could possibly think I look like a cop while I’m wearing a tank top with Wonder Woman on the front.
“She’s only bothering you, Kaden. Everyone else thinks it’s hilarious. You probably just need to drop it. It’s a lost cause.”
“Gah!” He says, while shaking his fist to the sky melodramatically. “I know. It’s just so damn irritating. I need to figure out a way to get back at her. That might make me feel better. At least for a little while, anyway.”
“Alright, you keep me posted on that.” I give him a little wave with my keys. “I’m going to head out. You should probably go see the captain now. He may need to assign you a new partner. Or maybe he’ll make you ride a desk until I’m back, because you just made him wait so long.”
“Oh, shit.” He jumps and starts jogging away. “I’ll call you later to check on you.”
I shake my head as I walk out of the precinct. All those years I spent dreaming of being a cop, I never pictured my partner being someone like Kaden. He’s got the muscular body I imagined a male cop should have, but that’s where any resemblance to my imaginary partner ends. I always thought my partner would be incredibly smart and serious, and Kaden is… well, Kaden is smart enough, but he’s rarely serious. But we’ve been partners since the beginning and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the brother I never had.
Really, he’s the brother I do have. When he found out that I grew up in the foster system and that I don’t have any real family, he made me a member of his. His sister is one of my best friends. I get invited to every holiday dinner and every birthday. His parents fill a stocking for me on Christmas, for crying out loud.
And that’s how I know, no matter what happens with this suspension and adjudication, I will be fine. Even if I’m not Kaden’s partner, I will still be part of his family. And family takes care of family.
Stepping out into the sunlight to get to my car leaves me blinded for a moment and before I have a chance to get acclimated to the brightness, someone has walked up beside me and started talking.
“Diana Prince, just the person I was hoping to see,” he says to me, using the name of Wonder Woman’s secret identity. Maybe wearing this tank wasn’t such a good idea after all. “I wanted to ask you something the other day after you arrested my friend’s ex-boyfriend over at Peaceful Pines, but I didn’t get the chance. And I haven’t been able to get in touch with you since then, either.”
It’s the hippie-looking, long-haired guy who was with Devon the day I arrested some idiot who managed to get himself tied up by two old ladies while attempting to take them hostage. As if today wasn’t bad enough, now I have to deal with this random guy who keeps trying to ask me out. He was trying to talk to me that first day, and he’s been around the precinct a few times since. What’s it going to take for him to get the hint that I don’t want to go out with him? I mean, he has a nice looking butt, but get a clue man. I don’t have time for this.
“Oh hey… you,” I say, already walking away. I don’t even know the guy’s name, I’ve just been referring to him as ‘Man-bun’ in my head, because of the way he always wears his long hair in a high bun. “Can’t talk now. So many things to do. Catch you later.” I speed walk to my car, arms and hips swinging, unlocking the door with the fob before I’m even close to it. Without a single look back at Man-bun, I throw my bags in, jump in the driver’s seat, and start it up, already speeding out of the parking lot before I’ve got my seat belt on.
“Not today, Man-bun. Not today.” I whoop, turning my car toward home, leaving him standing in the parking lot with his mouth hanging open. “You and your exceptionally nice ass are just going to have to find someone else to date.”
Chapter 2
Aiden - Back to my Roots
Three Months Later
Sometimes I find it hard to believe that this garage is where it all started. When we were just starting out with Sleeping Dogs, the guys and I would jam here pretty much every day. We all had other jobs to work around, or school, but we made it work. The neighbours can attest to how much we rehearsed, I’m sure. They probably appreciated it when I ramped up the soundproofing, because this is still where I come when I just need to blast music and practice my craft.
I started playing drums shortly after I moved out of my parents’ house the day I turned eighteen. Some guy I knew through a friend of a friend needed a roommate, and I needed to get away from my abusive asshole dad. It was a match made in heaven. Or at least a match made in mutual housing needs.
My new roommate had a drum kit and I had a lot of pent up energy and rage. One day he’d had enough of my stomping around the apartment and yelling, so he showed me a few things on the drums to keep my mind off things, and that was it for me. I found an outlet and I never looked back.
Some people don’t realize how extremely physical playing the drums is. There’s a reason the drummer is usually the sweatiest guy in the band at the end of the show. At least in our band, that’s the case, anyway. In drumming, I found a way to get all that rage out and use it to make something good. I took all the anger I was feeling at the world and put it into practicing drum techniques. And it had the added bonus of wiping me out so thoroughly that I could sleep for more than a few hours at a time for the first time in my life. Living with an abusive father has led to a lifelong battle with insomnia, but drumming lets me rest a little more than I would otherwise.
Six months after I moved out, I found out that I no longer needed to live with my roommate; my parents and my little sister had died in a car crash and according to the will, the house was left to me. In addition, I was also the sole beneficiary of a small life insurance policy of my mom’s. So I moved back into what is now my house, and the first thing I bought with the money from Mom’s insurance was a new drum kit.
Since then I’ve practiced for at least two hours a day, regardless of circumstances, whenever I’m not touring with Sleeping Dogs. Even after all these years, I still need the physical and emotional release I get from playing to get a mediocre night’s sleep. Wearing myself out drumming, and delighting in the fact that my asshole dad is long dead, has me sleeping okay most nights.
Last night was a worse night’s sleep than most, so I’ve set out to exhaust myself completely today. I’m just getting into hour four of today’s practice when Johnny shows up, waving to get my attention from where he’s standing at the door to the house.
Leaning over to shut the backing music off, I grab a towel and start mopping up the sweat that’s dripping down my body. When we play shows, I wear jeans and t-shirts but when I’m at home, I stick to just shorts. The other guys all take more time with their appearance, but I’m happy to blend into the background, both literally, given my position at the back of the stage during shows, and figuratively, given how I dress in a way that draws the least attention to me. I’m not interested in hooking up and I don’t care if I impress anyone and my clothes definitely tell that story. The only thing that might draw attention to me is the fact that I have long hair. And even then, I wear it up in a high bun when I’m not playing, so I look like every other man-bun wearing asshole walking around.
Speaking of assholes. Where did Johnny get to?
“What’s up, man? What are you doing here?”
I find Johnny standing in my kitchen, looking through the fridge.
“Well, it’s nice to see you too, sweetheart.” Johnny says while blowing me a kiss. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I spent the entire night baking. I figured I’d deliver some for you to bring to the shelter when you go later.” He closes the fridge and points to the stack of bakery boxes on the counter.
I volunteer at a local domestic violence shelter and I go in nearly every day. Whenever Johnny feels stressed and has one of his marathon baking sessions, he loads me up with treats to bring the women and kids taking advantage of the safety and support of the shelter. A lot of them have been barely surviving, living in fear, and the gift of home-baked goods is a small indulgence that they’ve been missing in their lives.
“Hey thanks, man.” I pull on a t-shirt that’s hanging inside the door to the house. “The director messaged me earlier to let me know we had a few new intakes overnight. I’m sure some of Johnny’s famous cookies will bring a smile to some kids’ faces.”
