I’ve spent years compartmentalizing—learning how to turn off the personal when the badge goes on. It’s supposed to be second nature. But tonight, that line feels paper-thin.
I stand and cross to the window. From here, I can see the main street—dim, quiet, a few cars passing under flickering lamplight. Somewhere out there, she’s walking home, maybe thinking about the same thing I am. Or maybe she’s not thinking about me at all. Maybe she’s smart enough to have already buried the whole damn night.
I wish I could.
The chair creaks as I sit again, forcing myself back to the files. Tomorrow: interviews. Assess patrol coverage. Request vehicle repairs. All the boring, necessary things that keep me from unraveling.
“Everything’s running smooth tonight,” Jasmine says after a while, taking off her headset. “You sure you don’t want to call it? We’re good here.”
I shake my head. “I’ll stay a bit longer. Just want to get a handle on the system.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’m making more coffee if you want some.”
“Thanks.”
When she leaves for the break room, I let my head fall into my hands. My pulse still hasn’t settled. It’s absurd—the sheriff of Driftwood sitting in his own office like a man hiding from his mistakes.
I can’t afford another one. Not here. Not now.
Driftwood’s small. Secrets don’t stay buried long. If anyone connects me and Millie, it won’t just be gossip—it’ll be my job, my reputation, everything I built from scratch.
I came here to start clean. To get out of the stress, the noise, the burnout that came with city policing. I thought a quiet town would mean fewer messes to fix. And then I walked straight into one I made myself.
In a place like Driftwood Cove, sheriff isn’t just a job title; it’s a standard. If word got out that I’d picked up a local girl and spent the night losing my mind with her before I’d even taken my oath, my professional reputation would be dead on arrival.
They’d see me as just another out-of-town Alpha who couldn’t keep his instincts in check, and I can’t give them that ammunition.
Beyond the gossip, there’s the legal reality. As the head of law enforcement here, getting caught in an act of public indecency is a quick way to end up in handcuffs myself. I’m not just protecting my pride; I’m protecting the integrity of this office.
The town is still healing from the fires, and the last thing they need is a scandal involving the man supposed to be keepingthem safe. I have to stay distant. I have to stay the sheriff. For both our sakes, that night has to stay in the dark.
It’s the only way I don’t destroy the community’s trust when I’m already an outsider from the NYPD.
The scanner buzzes again—nothing urgent. Jasmine answers, her voice steady, efficient. I listen to the rhythm of her conversation, the calm way she handles it. That’s how it should be. Routine. Predictable. Safe.
The word feels foreign in my head now.
Safe.
I glance at the clock again. Eleven-thirty. If I leave now, I’ll just lie awake. If I stay, at least I can pretend I’m working.
I pick up another file, start reading, force myself to focus on words that don’t matter—training schedules, arrest records, maintenance logs.
Anything but her.
But the longer I sit there, the clearer she becomes in my mind. The sound of her laugh at the meeting when they clapped for her, the way she tried not to look at me, the faint pink on her cheeks from recognition, the same shock I felt.
I press my thumb against the bridge of my nose. “Get your head straight,” I mutter to myself.
Tomorrow I’ll do better. Tomorrow I’ll be the sheriff they expect. The one who doesn’t screw up his first week on the job because of one night of weakness.
When Jasmine comes back with coffee, she sets a mug beside me. “You look like you’re carrying the stress of the whole town already,” she says lightly.
I manage a small smile. “Maybe just the night shift.”
She laughs. “Good answer.”
She goes back to her desk, and I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. I stare at the wall of pinned notices—missing pets, upcoming fundraisers, a fadedflyer for the volunteer fire brigade—and let the caffeine sting my tongue.
