Staring over at what my future could be creates an overwhelming eagerness to walk down the hall and tell—not ask—Deacon that the pact is over with, that I’m in love with his sister, and he needs to suck it up and come to terms with it. But I don’t.
Instead, I sit here, eyeing the space between Britney and the backrest of the couch. It would be so easy to slide in behind her, pull her into my arms, and fall asleep with her body pressed against mine. But I fight off the urge and switch over to a documentary that I’ve been watching. It caught my attention because it’s about a prostitution pyramid scheme. The fact that Deacon and I saved two underage girls from being sold off by Morales, the man behind one of the most feared Mexican cartels in South America, to the highest bidder, made me curious to see it.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mentally beat myself up for what went down—reflecting on every wrong decision we made. We acted on impulse. Neither Deacon nor I wanted to see two young girls disappear, never to be found. Could we have called it in and tailed the suspects? Yes. And that right there is why I fear Deacon and I will be asked to turn in our badges and resign.
Closing my eyes, I run the scenario through my head over and over. I know it’s too late. We can’t change the outcome. We can only plead our case and hope for the best.
“What the fuck?” Deacon’s voice echoes through the open space, startling me, Britney, and Dexter awake. When my eyes focus, I realize Britney is lying on her back with my head resting on her stomach, and my left arm draped over her body. It doesn’t take long before Dexter starts whining, so I unwrap myself from Britney and take him outside.
“D, it’s not what you think. We…” Britney begins to explain, but struggles to find the words since she knows she can’t explain.
“Bro, nothing happened. Britney was asleep before you went to bed. I must have fallen asleep watching a documentary. That’s the truth, believe it or not.” I stand and take the few short steps to the sliding door to let Dexter outside, but I don’t follow. I stay, waiting for Deacon’s backlash.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, man,” Deacon growls back through clenched teeth. I get it. He’s pissed, but for no reason, and it’s not worth fighting over. He’s going to believe what he wants to. “I’m going home today, and neither of you is changing my mind. And no, I don’t want either of you staying with me. I need space—my space,” he affirms.
“Are you sure?” Britney asks while standing and stretching, her arms reaching above her head. The movement lifts her shirt just enough to show some skin, which makes my dick twitch.
“Yes.” Deacon’s gruff answer has both Britney and me nodding our understanding. He disappears down the hall only to return with his duffle bag. “Can you drop me off at home?” His question directed at Britney.
“Of course.”
“No, wait,” I tell them as I leave them in the living room. I can hear them whispering, but I can’t make out what they are saying. I’m sure Deacon is laying into his sister for us falling asleep next to each other.
Returning to the living room, I hand Deacon the key fob to my Aston Martin. I remind him his truck is still in evidence, and he will need a vehicle to get to and from his therapy appointments, and anything else he needs to do. He takes the key fob without argument or a thank you. Instead, he stalks off toward the garage, slamming shut the door separating the house from the garage, and takes off.
“What the hell was that about?” Britney questions. “Why didn’t you wake me to go home last night?”
“Brit, you were tired and sleeping peacefully. Believe me, I didn’t intend to fall asleep. I just did.”
Scratching on the slider glass brings our attention to Dexter, who is still outside and wants back in, so I slide open the door, and he comes trotting in and straight to Britney, sitting at her feet.
“Hey, buddy,” she says, bending to pet him. “I gotta go. I need to get home and get ready for work. Do you want me to come by later?” She stands to her full height and waits for my answer. I want to tell her to come over every day, or beg her never to leave, but that’s not what I say. Instead, I tell her I’ll be fine, and if I need anything, I’ll text her or my mother. Britney nods, grabs her belongings, and takes off.
Like every other day before Deacon was here, my routine is the same. I take my morning medication with my daily supplements, make an egg white and vegetable omelet with avocado toast, work out in my home gym, catch up on the news, and watch television.
Although today, after lifting weights, I decide to go for a jog with Dexter instead of hitting the treadmill. The fresh morning air will do us both some good. Half a mile down the road, his little legs got tired, so I picked him up and carried him back to the house. I have to remind myself that he’s just a puppy, but as he gets older, he’ll be able to run longer.
I shower, grab some homemade jerky and a water, flop down on my couch, and begin channel surfing for something to watch. The throw pillow wedged between me and the arm of the sofa still smells like Britney’s hair. The scent reminds me of a warm spring afternoon, with notes of lavender and vanilla.
“One more week,” I tell my dick as it begins to chub up thinking about Britney. No one is around, and I feel one-hundred percent healthy, but it would be my fucked-up luck, even though I’ve been jogging, that a jerk-off marathon would cause my heart to go haywire, requiring me to call for medical assistance because my heart explodes or some shit. I want the all-clear from my doctor before taking that kind of risk.
Grabbing my phone, I take a picture of Dexter sprawled out on his back on the living room rug. Just as I was going to send the picture to Britney, a text from Deacon pops up.
Deacon: At the shrink’s office about to go in. Sorry for this morning. Thx for loaning me your car.
Me: Least I can do.
Deacon: I meet with our IA liaison tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.
Me: Copy that. If you want to grab a coffee later, let me know.
Deacon: I’m good. Just need some space.
Me: Understood.
I send a quick text to Britney with Dexter’s picture attached, filling her in on Deacon in case he hasn’t. She loves the picture and states she already knew about her brother. Something tells me that she went to his house before returning to hers. There was no way she was going to let go of how he left this morning.
All I can do now is sit back and be bored out of my skull.
25
Deacon
Four months have slipped by in a cloud of fog since that fucked-up day. With the assistance of the FBI, Kade and I were cleared by the police department’s internal investigation. Once we got medically cleared by our doctors, we were able to return to work.
Kade received a clean bill of health a week before I was deemed in the right state of mind to continue doing my job. Thanks to my sister’s words back when I was in the psych ward, I’ve done what I’ve had to do to keep up the appearance of being my old self. It hasn’t been easy, but I have mastered camouflaging my PTSD and manic depression, keeping it at bay while I’m at work or around my parents and friends. For a while, I was able to mask it so well; even I almost believed I was myself once again.