Page 38 of Love On and Off Set

Shit. Shit. Shit. Of all days…why today…? As much as I would’ve loved to ignore the email, whatever information it contained might be on the news tonight, so I needed to read it. Holding my breath, I clicked to open it.

I scanned quickly, picking out specific words—well, specific names—and then went back to the beginning and read. Sweat trickled down my back as the words coalesced in my mind.

The crown prosecutor, Remy Stevens, was letting me know that Darryl Klopen had pled guilty. Instead of a trial, he was going to spend five years in prison and two years on probation.

For trying to kill me.

Involuntarily, my thigh tightened painfully. A flash of the agony shot through me. Memories seared my consciousness. All the shit I repeatedly pushed down came gurgling to the surface.

Remy’s words sank in. This is the best we can do. And no certainty a trial would get any more. Finally, You won’t have to testify.

I snickered. Like that was the issue. I would’ve happily testified. Told a jury how that punk kid nearly ended my life. How he’d ended my career. Perhaps not how much I despised him, but definitely—

“Are you okay?” Myles voice penetrated the fog of memory and pain.

I turned my phone over and dropped it to the table, knowing it would go dark after a moment—if it hadn’t already. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”

He put a sandwich before me, gently unwrapping it. “You seemed like a roast beef kind of guy. But I got an egg salad in case you’re a vegetarian. If you’re vegan, then I can go back, they’ve got some great salads—”

“This is fine.” Finally, I met his gaze.

Concerned light-brown eyes met mine. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sweating. You’re flushed. I’d make a joke about you missing me, but that feels inappropriate.”

I managed a laugh. Forced, but there. “Yeah, I didn’t miss you that much.” And just the absurdity of the image of me masturbating deserved a chuckle. “I’m good about sticking to my house for that.”

He uncapped my water and handed me the bottle. “Ah, see, I’m not that picky. I don’t do such things publicly, but at another guy’s house…”

Now or never. “Yeah, another guy’s house.” Where I expected triumph, though, I just got a small smile.

“I won’t tell.”

I shrugged. “I don’t hide who I am. In my old job…” My stomach clenched at the memory of opening Remy’s email.

“Care to tell me what your old job was?”

To my surprise, Myles hopped onto his work table, unwrapped his egg salad sandwich, and dug in.

“Uh…” If he googled me then he’d know. “I used to be an RCMP corporal.”

His eyebrows shot up. “No shit.” He covered his mouth. “Sorry, shouldn’t talk with food in mouth.”

I managed a smile. “Yes, shit. What, I don’t look like a cop?”

“In that suit? You look yummy. But you definitely need more color.” He tugged a piece of crust off and held it aloft. “Yeah, you’ve got a law enforcement vibe. You’re not that old, though, so clearly you didn’t retire.”

“Well, I did sort of retire. On disability.”

I waited.

He popped the crust in his mouth and chewed. “Huh.” He swallowed. “So, either physical or psychological.”

“Something like that.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I pulled over a car for weaving. Clearly there was something wrong with the driver. They pulled over, I went to the driver’s side. As he was passing me the paperwork, he hit the gas. My windbreaker caught in the mirror and I got dragged about a hundred meters before I was able to break free.”

“God.”