“London and I?—”
Cap holds up a hand. “That’s all I need to know.”
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
“Sir.” I step forward. “This is no reflection on London. If someone takes the fall for this, make it me. I pursued her. Not the other way around.”
Cap studies my face for a beat before returning his focus to Schmidt. “Out. And I want your belongings out of this damn station by the end of shift.”
Schmidt grabs up the file, like he can destroy the evidence if he takes off with it. He slams the door on his way out. Cap drops into his chair with a heavy sigh. “We will need to contact Officer Davies’s family. He will have a formal funeral on the department’s expense.”
He leans back in the chair.
I wait for the blow I know is coming. I’ve worked with this man for over a decade. He’s not done. He’s simply processing.
I brace myself.
“I don’t want you anywhere near Tennison. Swap with Howard on 43 for the remainder of her probation. If you so much as talk to her in passing in the hallway, I will demote you to janitor. Do you understand?”
I swallow hard. “Yes sir.”
“Get out of my office, Miles.”
I’m out the door and taking the stairs in twos a heartbeat later, heading for my quarters. I pull up short of London’s door when I hear her speaking to the shrink. Her words tumble out between sobs.
My forehead meets the wall by her door.
A man has never felt so helpless, so damn useless in his entire life.
Our first set of days off since the Third Avenue fire, London sits on my sofa, repeating herself.
“I think it’s best if we take a break.”
She said that already.
So many times, staring at the wall opposite, her bag in her hands, the strap twisted in her fingers.
“London,” I start. “I’ll stay out of your space. Cap isn’t going to fire you over this. It was my fault, and I told him that. Something like what happened on Third Avenue won’t happen again. Schmidt’s out. Howard is your new CO.” I try to catch her gaze and fail. “This is my fault, not yours, beautiful.”
“No, it wasmine,” she grinds out. Standing, she walks for the door. Hesitating, she places the spare key I gave her for visiting Petal on the front table. She looks like she’s out of it. I reach for her, moving closer as worry claws at my insides, and she bats me away and slips out the door.
Wait, is she talking about the fire?
Or us?
Most likely both. My pleas for her to stop blaming herself are falling on deaf ears. Space is what she needs.
So space is what I’ll give her.
Even tomorrow. At Davies’s funeral.
My gut gnaws at my spine over the thought. It’s not a day I ever wanted to arrive. And I feel all levels of guilt over the fact I thank my lucky stars it wasn’t London.
It wasn’t London.
I’ve had to remind myself of that factover and over.
