“Luke, so sorry to keep you waiting,” the nasally voice interrupted his thoughts.
He would never get lost in them on a job usually. But this wasn’t normal circumstances. And this job was a fucking circus.
“I just had to finish some important tasks,” she finished, setting her phone down.
Luke barely restrained a snort. This woman wouldn’t know important—or hard work, for that matter—if it bit her on her bony ass.
“No problem, ma’am,” he replied, crossing his arms and watching her approach blankly.
She clearly thought she was sashaying, the bottom of her robe trailing behind her, purposefully untied just enough to show her chest. Though there wasn’t much to show but bones rising up from the skin.
“Must you call me ma’am?” she whined. “It makes me feel positively ancient.” She stopped in front of him. Too close. Luke’s jaw hardened as her perfume choked him. “Plus, it’s so formal. I like to be informal with employees. Treat them like friends.” She eyed him with a clear intention in her eyes.
One that made Luke feel vaguely sick. Beyond the fact that what she’d said was a flat lie. She treated her staff like slaves, screaming at them routinely and firing at least one person a week.
“I prefer to keep friends and business separate, ma’am,” Luke said firmly. “Now what is it you called me here to talk about? I need to get back to work.”
She flinched a little at his tone, and he didn’t give a shit. Normally he gave women respect and actively tried not to hurt them. This was an exception.
She straightened her shoulders and tightened her robe sash. Luke’s eyes stayed upward, uninterested.
“I have an event tonight. Black tie,” she said. “I need you to come with me.”
No question. Luke bristled.
“And you only just ask this now?” he gritted out.
She regarded her nails. “I only just decided I wanted to go. And of course, it will be full of overzealous fans. I need you there. It’s your job, after all, no?”
Luke clenched his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We can’t fire a client, Luke,” Keltan said, the fucker grinning at him from behind the desk. “Especially not one who pays as much as that empty-headed Barbie doll.”
Luke clenched the beer in his hands. “She wants me to go to a gala with her tonight,” he gritted out.
Keltan choked out a chuckle, swallowing it with his own beer when he caught Luke’s glare. “No shit?”
“I look like I’m joking?” Luke didn’t joke these days. Or smile much.
Now that Rosie was back, he had even fewer reasons to smile. Having her in the same city as him with that empty and haunted look behind her eyes was almost worse than not knowing where the fuck she was.
No.
Nothing was worth than that.
Keltan’s smile disappeared, and despite his current predicament, Luke kicked himself for being responsible for that. Keltan hadn’t had many reasons to smile for the last few days.
In fact, the last few days had given him reason not to smile for the rest of his life.
Luke shuddered inwardly at the memory of his friend’s face when he’d been at the hospital after watching the love of his life almost bleed out in his arms. Watched the life seep out of him as he entertained the possibility of existing in the world without her.
Existing. Not living.
Luke knew, at least in part, what that was like.
He’d been existing for a year.
Without her.
Fuck, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he’d been existing for thirty-five fucking years.
Without her.
He’d been lying to himself for that long. Then when he was prepared for the truth, no matter how ugly it was—because even ugly would turn beautiful with her where she belonged, with him—when he finally got that, it was just in time to lose her.
Not that he’d ever really had her.
There wasn’t much worse than only half living your life and not realizing what you were missing out on, but barely living at all and realizing why was way fucking worse.
Which was why he’d handed in his badge.
He’d expected a lot from his father. Disappointment. Anger.
What he didn’t expect was pride.
“Well, it’s about time.”
Luke almost choked on the whisky he’d poured himself upon entering his father’s den.
“What?”
“You’ve lived life on the straight and narrow, son. Enforced the law to the letter. By the book. Saw it all in black and white like a good cop does.” He paused, clipping the end of his cigar. It tumbled away onto the carpet, making its escape. His father’s nimble hands snatched at it with a deft speed that betrayed his almost seventy years. As did the sharp look he gave his son. “You tell your mother about this, I’ll take my badge back just to send you to lockup,” he promised.
Luke smiled. He wanted to chuckle, but he didn’t feel like it right at that moment. Hadn’t wanted to in a long time. He wondered if he’d remember how.
His father leaned back in his weathered and peeling La-Z-Boy, sucking at the end of the unlit cigar.
“All those things,” he continued on his tangent, picking up right where he’d left off like nothing had happened. “Yeah, they make the perfect cop. Problem is you can be a perfect cop, but in order to be that, you’ve got to be an imperfect man. You can’t be a perfect man. It’s in our nature. We’re all works in progress.” He took the cigar from his mouth, twirling it in his fingers, regarding it. “Heck, maybe one day I’ll learn to stop enjoying the things that may one day kill me.”
He shrugged, reaching for the gold Zippo Luke had gotten him for his sixtieth, lighting the cigar and taking a long inhale.
“Maybe I won’t.” He blew out a plume of smoke that smelled like nostalgia to Luke. “Got to die somehow. I’d much rather it be because of something that gave me small amounts of joy for most of my life.” His eyes went to Luke. “What I’m trying to say, son, is life ain’t meant to be lived on the straight and narrow, by the book. I’m proud as hell of the man I’ve raised. The cop I’ve trained. Thing is the perfect cop isn’t what I want my son to be. ’Cause he ain’t gonna be the man who finds joy where he can, even though he knows exactly where to find it. Exactly where to find her. That man won’t do that because that cop won’t let him. ’Cause that joy is lying in a place that ain’t black or white. Nor is the life that comes with it.”
Instead of feeling better with his father’s sage wisdom and perception floating in his mind, Luke felt like he’d chewed barbed wire.
How fucking stupid had he been?
He didn’t hesitate.
As soon as he’d left his father’s house, he’d left.
Left Amber, and the life that had seemed so fucking important for his entire life. The purpose he’d clung to, ruining the gang that he thought were evil. Maybe he’d been so intent on destroying them not because of their crimes, not even because of their responsibility in Laurie’s death.
But because of Rosie.
Because of that little five-year-old girl with wild hair and combat boots. The one who he believed didn’t have a chance to be innocent when she was surrounded by guilt. That little girl who’d turned into a wonderful woman, the woman he wished had more.