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Riley let out a long sigh. “It’s kind of a long story, but we were engaged. And he was drinking. More and more. We worked together at the station—CPD. I was a social worker, he was an officer.” Her mouth twisted and another tear leaked out. “I’d only gotten the on-call position right out of school under the agreement that me being there didn’t interfere with an ‘officer’s duties.’”

It was backwards and patriarchal, but it had been her dream to work there. To help the people who needed it most.

Saint’s hand ran up and down her spine, following each little bump and dip.

“In a burst of clarity, or sobriety, I guess, he decided that I needed to be free of him. But he did it at work. On shift. Everyone heard.” She hid her face. “The noise brought the station chief out of his office, and there was one look, and I knew I was done. I quit on the spot, moved out the next day. Three months before the wedding. I wanted to save everyone the hassle of having to fire me.”

“And his job was fine.”

“Yup.”

He sighed. “That… was not well handled. I’m sorry.”

She snorted a wet laugh. Not well handled by anyone. She’d bailed on her life; Andrew had gone to rehab. It was a shitshow. But Andrew hadn’t been framed as too emotional to do what he was trained to.

Riley wiped her face dry. “I’m not sorry.” It would have happened, eventually. “We’d been together for so long that I didn’t know who I was or what I was doing. We started dating at the beginning of high school. Kristi hated him.”

He chuckled, a vibration more than a sound. “I’ll bet.”

“And then everything just kept happening. One step after another. Moving in, engagement. I was just along for the ride. Our families are very close, and it was just more pressure.”

His arms tightened, again. “You were trying to keep everyone together.”

Tears stung her throat. She sipped the water and set it back down on the bedside table. “Yeah.”

“I get that.”

She nodded, breathing in heat and him, and let that sink in. She had been doing it for everyone else. Especially near the end. And Saint saw it. Named it. No one else had, herself included.

There was something hot and tight around the comfort he offered. Like it could be ripped away at any time.

She rubbed her arms. She’d enjoy it while she could. What’s the alternative? Bail? Again?

Saint dropped a kiss onto her hair and reached past her to flick off the light. He laid her down, fitting his body around hers, one arm around her waist.

He held her the rest of the night.

In the morning, Riley awoke to a dry mouth as Saint put on a pot of coffee in her kitchen like he did it every day. She watched him move around her small apartment as embarrassment coursed through her, worse than the hangover. She’d invited him over for a supposed booty call, didn’t deliver, interrogated him and then woke him up with nightmares—and there he was, pouring her a cup of coffee.

It was too good to be true.

She had the excuse of being late for work, quietly got ready, and took the bus downtown, refusing his offer to drive her.

She left the coffee behind too.

Chapter 11

Riley

“Attivia Industries.”

Riley glared at the phone on her desk. At least Andrew hadn’t called her again, but some other cop had called earlier in the week, and they were calling again today.

“This is Detective Nia Sanchez. Is Nico Ricci available?”

“Jesus Christ, do you people not talk to each other?” she muttered and rubbed her eyes. She scowled at her shitty take-out coffee. It tasted like decaf.

Saint didn’t make decaf yesterday morning, which you could have stayed for but didn’t.