I sigh and relax. Thank God for Brody. He’s funny, gets my sarcasm, and is completely dependable. I know he has my back in the same way I have his. It’s a relationship that is essential between partners. Aside from Nicole, Kristin, and Danielle, Brody is my best friend. We’ve been riding together for the last seven years, and there’s no one in this world I trust more.
“Yup. I need lots of coffee today.”
“Do you need me to sing to you?” he asks with a smirk. “Heard that does it for you. Or do I have to be rich and famous?”
My heart freezes, and I squeeze my eyes closed, mortified. I completely forgot about the concert. It all comes back like a freight train. The singing, the dancing, the sex with Eli Walsh. How the hell could I forget that there are probably videos and . . . oh God.
I look around the break room and there, on the bulletin board, is a photo of me sitting on the stage with Eli singing to me.
Damn it.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I walk over and rip it down, trying to pretend as if I don’t care. “Real funny guys.”
“But,” Whitman, one of the idiots on my squad jumps in, “you’re my once in a lifetime girl.”
“Shut up,” I crumple the paper and toss it in the garbage. “You’re all tools.”
“We all know what you like, Covey. Maybe we should just pretend to be cops on television, then you’ll think we’re sexy.”
“You need to lay off the greasy food and lose some weight. Then maybe the half blind lady down the street will think you’re sexy.”
A few guys laugh, and jab his side.
“Yeah? Tell your boyfriend that we don’t all eat donuts! I work hard for this physique. Besides, we need to be in a boy band to get you tossing your panties at us.”
This is never going to end. The more I feed into them, the worse this will be. I grab the keys from Brody’s hand and walk off. They start to sing and yell at me, but I keep moving. Idiots. I work with idiots.
Brody climbs in the passenger seat and chuckles. “Oh, come on, Heather. We’re just having fun.”
“Clearly. It’s not that, though.” I toss my hat on the dash. “Stephanie had an episode, which is why I didn’t come in yesterday.”
Brody’s eyes soften, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. I figured you were recovering from your night of singing and drinking. Is she better?”
“She’s okay now, well, as okay as it gets for her.”
Brody was the one who helped me move Stephanie in to Breezy Beaches. He’s been more of a husband than Matt ever was. His wife Rachel has been great. I’m glad she and I have become as close as we are. There’s a very strange bond between partners, which can lead to a lot of questions, and I’ve seen more than one wife accuse her husband of cheating. I’ve also seen more than one occasion where she wasn’t wrong.
As much as I love Brody, it’s a brother-sister kind of love. I would take a bullet for him, but his “gun” isn’t going anywhere but in his holster.
“You should’ve called me, Rachel and I would’ve come to the hospital.”
“No.” I shake my head. “That would’ve been totally unnecessary.”
“Let me guess, you had it?” His tone is laced with sarcasm.
I turn the key in the ignition and start to drive. I’m not going to let him goad me. He’s way too good at it.
We drive toward the section we’re patrolling. Even with Matt being the asshole he is, he always puts me in the section near Tampa General Hospital, which is something that I should probably thank him for. At least I’m close if something changes with her condition.
Brody tells me about Rachel’s new kick with some crazy diet. She’s so pretty and already skinny, I don’t know what she’s thinking.
“Well, when you finally have kids, she won’t care.”
He gives me side eyes and grunts. “I’m not sure we’ll have kids.”
“Brody,” I touch his arm. “You need to let go of the past.”
Two years ago, Brody was in a horrific wreck. He was doing code and a driver plowed through the red light, T-boning his cruiser. It was a miracle he survived. It was one of the nights we were shorthanded and weren’t riding doubles. I’ve never been so scared in my life, and neither had Rachel. She was so terrified that the stress caused her to miscarry. Brody never recovered from that.
“Says the girl who refuses to date because she married an idiot. Hell, when’s the last time you even had sex?”
My cheeks burn, and I hope he isn’t looking at me.
“I know that look, Heather.” Brody shifts in his seat and laughs. “Who did you have sex with?”
“None of your business.”
Shit. He’s going to keep prying until I have to tell him just so he’ll shut up.
I focus on the road and want to throw my hands up hallelujah style when the radio cuts in.
“We have a report of a domestic in Hyde Park.”
Brody’s grin is gone, and he grabs the radio. “Car 186 is on it.”
“Central copies, dispatching the address now.” The dispatcher cuts out, and I flick the lights on.
I focus on the road as Brody gives directions. We head into the small upper-class suburb and pull in front of the house.
Both of us cautiously approach the door, we knock twice, and a woman opens the door with a smile.
“Hello, officers.”
“Good morning, ma’am. We got a call about a disturbance. Is everything all right here?” I ask.
She smiles warmly and opens the door. “Yes, my son is autistic, and well, sometimes he gets really loud. My neighbor behind us keeps calling. No matter how many times we explain that there’s nothing we can do but let him work it out, she continues to call the cops.”
“Do you mind if we come in?” Brody asks.
We’ve seen too many instances of a wife covering for her husband because she’s terrified of him.
“Of course,” she steps back, giving us room to pass. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. . . . ” I leave it open.
“Harmon. I’m Delia Harmon”
We step forward, and a boy around fourteen comes to the door, and I smile. “Hi.”
He stares off to the side and grunts.
“Sloane doesn’t speak, but he loves lights,” Mrs. Harmon explains. “It’s been a rough few months. His father took off a while ago, so it’s just us, but we’re doing fine. Aren’t we Sloane?” She looks adoringly at her son.
I smile, thinking of how lucky this boy is to have a mother like her. The way she stares at him reminds me of how my mother looked at me, and my mother was always brimming with love. Stephanie and I were her life.
“Hi, Sloane,” I kneel in front of him and his eyes dart outside.
“Can you say hello to the police officers?” Delia encourages.
Sloane doesn’t say anything. Instead, he points to the cruiser outside. The look of wonder in his eyes is shining bright. He starts to pull on her arm while she tries to pull him back.
“Would he like to see the police lights?” Brody asks, breaking his silence.
“Oh, he’d love that.”
Brody and I spend the next few minutes with Mrs. Harmon and Sloane. We show him the lights and watch as the joy spreads across his face. He seems much calmer, and I wish there were more we could do for him. Inevitably, another call comes in and we have to leave. Sloane starts fussing, and I know it’s only going to get worse. He wants us to stay, and I hate that we are leaving Mrs. Harmon to calm him down.