by Emilia Finn
William
Insurance
Dear William,
My favorite color is yellow: because it’s sunny and bright.
My favorite candy is sherbet: because, yummy. I’m not entirely sure if that is actually candy, but that’s my answer nonetheless.
My favorite thing to do to while away my time: watch classic movies in the dark, and eat popcorn until I literally can’t anymore.
My favorite sex position: I can’t answer that without blushing, so I’m pleading the fifth.
My favorite car: any that runs. I’m not a car person, and I honestly don’t care what I have “under the hood”.
My favorite qualities in a man: big hands and broad shoulders. Oh, you mean personality? Honesty and bravery. Those are really important to me. If you look me in the eye and make a promise, but I still don’t believe you because you’ve given me reason to doubt in the past, then we’re doomed. Honesty is non-negotiable for me.
My favorite time of the year: Spring. When it’s warm enough to swim at the lake, but not so hot that I want to peel my skin off.
How are you? How’s your sister? I hope you guys are well. If you wanted to give me your physical address, I would love to send you a care package. You know, sherbet, DVDs… myself.
It would be a fast visit; long enough to snuggle, a few movies. Perhaps we could try the kissing thing you keep mentioning… I mean, I don’t want to sound forward, but since I’m fairly certain you won’t reject me, I feel safe in mentioning such a thing in a letter (where you can’t see me blush.)
Is it crazy for me to miss you? We hardly know each other, we spent next to no time together when you were in town. But these letters make me miss you. It’s quite possibly stupid and pathetic, but it’s how I feel.
I wish you would come back. Fight for me. Tell me I’m not crazy.
I await your next letter.
Forever,
Olivia.
The fact Olivia and I have had this ongoing conversation for the last four or so years will surely come as a surprise to everyone who knows us. But knowing we had that connection, that pre-made link, made it easier for me to pursue her while being in town this year.
The innuendo, the crassness and pushiness. The kiss that she claimed she didn’t want at Rhino’s – but her letter absolutely gave me permission – and the long looks we’d share every single time we were in the same space. To everyone else around us, I was just the pushy pervert who enjoyed watching Olivia’s hips sway when she walked. Her mother called me out and said that my attraction ran only as deep as Olivia’s beauty, and had nothing to do with her mind… that’s because she had no clue of the letters we exchanged. No one knows, and so, everyone assumed I was just a guy looking to score.
In reality, I’m a guy looking to keep.
“Will!”
My gaze snaps up to a heavy thump-thump-thump at my front door. My phone remains in my hand, my calls going unanswered by Olivia while she runs away and worries about things she doesn’t have to worry about, but I move her aside for a moment and push off my recliner with a groan. My knee is getting more tender as the day goes on, my kneecap seizing up from disuse, my stitches feeling tighter every minute that they remain.
I move across my living room with my phone in hand, and stopping at my door, I peek through the peephole and find the face I knew belonged to the voice.
If it was Ronan or Ripley, I’d have ignored the knock. But I swing it open now and stand in place when Rush’s eyes meet mine.
“Motherfucker.” I glower and lift both brows. “You think you get to turn up here today after shoving me down a hundred-foot cliff and sending me to my death?”
He scoffs and pushes past me into my kitchen. “A hundred-foot fall? No.” He stops and waits for me to close and lock my door, then as I move toward him, his gaze goes down to my stride, and he shakes his head. “It was more like twenty feet,” he continues, “and the twenty feet were at, like, a thirty-degree angle. You were rolling, not falling, so stop being a dramatic little bitch. What’s happening?”
“Stitches and a broken heart. You?”
“Same,” he quips. “But no stitches, and no broken heart. I found Ronan passed out in his own urine a little ways into the forest.”
“You…” I frown and make my way to the coffeepot. “What?”
He laughs, then nods when I offer a mug. “I figure the little bitch ran into the woods when the po-po showed up. Ran around in circles for a while, got lost, laid down like a little baby, maybe he heard a bear… or, ya know, a squirrel, then wet his undies, and went to sleep. I went out looking this morning and found him curled up like a kid, and when I poked him to make sure he was breathing, he damn near cried when he realized he was saved.”
“All’s well that ends well. Where’s he now?”
“Back at his place. I dropped him off and told him to stay in until I gave him the all-clear.”
“And Ripley?”
“He’s coming out to see his cousin today. Word spread fast that the cops were closing in, and then when Ronan disappeared for a few hours, the family circled the wagons. Pryor called me, Ripley called me. The only motherfucker who didn’t call me was you.”
“And so here you are.”
He grins and accepts the mug of coffee I offer. “Here I am. And you have a broken heart?”
“Yeah.” I take my coffee to the living room. “How’d you know my girl was the cop’s daughter?” I turn at my recliner, and sit down with a groan that implies way more pain than I actually feel. But the whole time I’m moving, I watch him.
He’s deeper than he lets on, smarter than I was led to believe.
“I never told you who my girl is,” I continue, “and yet you knew, and you knew who her family is. Tell me, Rush. How the fuck did you know that?”
He sits on the couch with a grunt and adjusts his long legs to act as an armrest as he leans forward. Sipping his coffee, he glances across my living room and smiles to himself about things he doesn’t share with me.
“I know things, Quinn. I make it a point to know who I’m working with, because only a stupid motherfucker flies with idiots.” His dark eyes come to me. “I like you, Will. And when this is all over, I wouldn’t mind collaborating with you a little more. You’re not stupid, you’re not lazy, and I like the way your brain ticks, especially under pressure. When Ripley moves on, and we’re faced with the choice to either move with him or stay here and find a new normal, I hope to still see you around.”
“I plan to stick,” I tell him. “And I’m hopeful that at the end, I still have a shred of freedom and Olivia’s trust. I’ve lied to her, Rush. I’ve lied a lot, and to her, that’s basically the end of it all.”
“You’ll earn it back.” He seems so sure. Zero hesitation, zero question. “And when it’s done, she’ll come back to you.” He sits back after a moment and grins like someone told a filthy joke only he could hear. “The cop’s daughter. Hell if that ain’t ironic.”
“We’re nothing if not ironic. Even from the first day, I was the criminal running from the cops… only to run headfirst into the woman I wanted to keep forever. Do you think it’ll be weird if I ask him for permission to marry his daughter… while he’s trying to arrest me?”
Rush snorts, and kicks one leg up to rest on the other. “Maybe you should think about the timing and delivery. It’ll be…” he considers with a smile. “Delicate.”
“Fuckin A. Understatement of the century. What are you up to today, since you found Ronan?”
“Found you too,” he adds with a sly smirk. “I have some other stuff I have to do, then I’m going home to sleep and pretend you fuckers don’t exist for a few hours. Might grab me a girl on the way there, pound through my frustrations, then sleep on a pair of titties.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.” I look up at the ceiling to hide my rolling eyes. “What’s next?”
“I don’t know. I guess we wait for a call to tell us that. Un
less you have a better idea?” He sits forward, drops his leg, and stares deep into my eyes. “Do you have anything you’d like to add to this mess?”
Like Olivia running out of here knowing about my involvement with Ripley, which then ricochets down to guys like you and Ronan?
If I tell him that, Rush is gonna make it his business to silence the snitch. And hell, but my job is to protect Olivia from all harm – even if, in other circumstances, I kinda like the guy who would be hunting her down.
“Nope. I’ve got nothing.” I stand again and take my barely touched coffee back to the kitchen. “I’m working on only three hours’ sleep, so I’m gonna hit the sack and see what I can manage. But I’ll leave my phone on loud, so if you need anything, just call.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” He follows me to the kitchen and dumps his empty mug into the stainless-steel sink. Turning to me, he claps me on the shoulder with such force that I almost skip forward. “Take care, Quinn. I’ll call you tonight and let you know what’s happening. I might even swing by the courthouse today. I know our favorite boys in blue have something happening over there that maybe I don’t wanna miss.”
I narrow my eyes and take one more look at the seven-foot-tall, military-looking fucker who works for a small-time drug dealer. Maybe there’s a bigger picture here, and maybe Ripley is a merely cog in a larger machine, but still, Rush seems to be a little too smart, a little too capable to be caught up in something so minor.
It’s ridiculous that I should think of it that way; he’s too big for small-time, so if he’s gonna break the law, he should be bigger about it? But regardless, those are the thoughts that flicker through my brain as he walks through my door and waves at me from the hall. Heavy combat boots, pants with a dozen pockets to store his weapons, a military buzz cut through his hair, and a gleam in his eyes that says he’s got secrets I’ll never know.
Shaking my head, I step back into my apartment and close the door, and hitting dial on Olivia’s number again, I head into the hall and toward my bedroom. I need sleep, I need a plan, and I need a way to clean up this mess so that Olivia knows I’ve had her best interests and whatever potential future we had together at the forefront of my mind this whole time.
I’ve been playing the long game, the game that makes me worthy in the end.
But I’ve been less than honest about it all ever since that phone call I took on the side of the road more than a year ago.
Olivia
Judgment Day
“Brenten Pierce. It’s shit to see you.”
I stand beside my “boyfriend” in the tiled hall inside the town’s modest-sized courthouse, and though my arm is wrapped around his in an outward show of solidarity, I say nothing when Daddy insults him for the billionth time this month.
Usually, I would put on a show – a spoiled brat rendition that goes something like, “Daddy! You stop being mean!”
Brenten expects it, and really, so do Daddy and Uncle Alex. But when they glance my way, I say nothing, I do nothing. I merely remain in place and play my part as the trophy with no opinion about how this has all gone down over the last year or so.
“Officer Franks.” Alone and without my defense, Brenten sneers and looks at my family in a way that screams he’s ready to fuck them up in court.
Except, that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. A prosecutor is supposed to work with the police to create a team, to present a united front, and to…well… prosecute a criminal when any and all evidence has been collated. Sadly, what Brenten seems to want to do is make everyone around him look like a fool. Or worse yet, make them look inept at their jobs.
He’s a narcissistic sociopath with dreams of grandeur and some massive speech where he wins a case, and everyone applauds his genius. It’s all very Hollywood and unrealistic, and though it seems harmless enough on the surface, it becomes a crime when he messes with a case to get the result he wants.
Brenten offers his hand to my stepfather, but when Daddy looks to me, and I don’t make a big deal about being nice, it’s like he has permission to stop pretending – albeit, his acting in the first place was poor.
“I’m tired today, Pierce. I was out late cleaning up messes that you seem to excel at making, so today’s gonna go smooth as butter, ain’t it?”
“What were you doing last night?” Brenten asks, rather than answer. “I didn’t hear anything on the radio.”
“That’s because we didn’t wanna play with you,” Uncle Alex inserts. “You’re the annoying kid at the park, Pierce. And honestly, we don’t like to shake your hand because you’re a chronic nose-picker.”
I bring my hand up and mash it against my mouth to stifle my giggles.
I’m still the girlfriend, I’m still duty-bound to show my loyalty… for now.
“Uncle Alex?” I ask and pray no one can hear the quiver in my voice. “Um… where’s Aunt Jules?”
He shrugs and looks over his shoulder for a quick minute. “I actually don’t know. She said she’d be in soon, but first, she wanted to speak with Florence.”
“Florence?” Brenten jerks beside me. “You mean Judge Abram?”
“Yeah.” Alex grins. “You’ve heard of her, right? She’s overseeing today’s hearing.”
“Of course I’ve heard of her!” he explodes, although his explosion is quiet and unnoticeable by anyone outside of our small group. “Why is Juliette speaking with Judge Abram before we go in?”
“You speak of my wife like you think you’re on a first-name basis,” Alex growls, only to finish it with, “You’re not.”
“What’s going on?” Daddy murmurs and takes a step closer to me. He’s tired, and for today, perhaps for the first time ever, he’s the grumpy bear of the X and Oz pairing. “Why is everyone shitting on Pierce so openly? I thought that was against the rules.” He looks to me – the rule-maker – and scowls. “You put us all on notice to stop picking at him. Since when did the moratorium on Pierce end?”
I smile and give a dainty little shrug. “I didn’t say it did. Brenten is my boyfriend. My loyalties must be with him.”
“Right,” Brenten growls. “She’s with me, and since she’s a grown woman, she doesn’t have to do what Daddy tells her to.”
“No,” my stepfather retorts on a lethal whisper, “but I can break your fucking spine in seven places with one single hand, and before you fall to your knees and beg me for mercy, I’ll have removed her from your side and put her back where she fucking belongs. How about that, bitch? You wanna test me?”
“Daddy!” My reply is genuine, my shock, real. “Damn, Franks, calm yourself.”
“I won’t calm myself!” he barks. “And before you get any bright ideas, once I remove you from this relationship and bury his fucking body, you’re not free to jump into another with Quinn. Everyone here knows he wants your attention, and it’s no mystery where he was late last night.”
“What?”
My heart pounds, because this wasn’t part of the script. William isn’t supposed to be in this discussion at all. Not yet. I’m not ready to let him go.
“I don’t… Daddy, I didn’t…”
“You were with him last night?” screeches Brenten, misinterpreting Daddy’s words. “You were with another man last night?”
“What? No!” Well, technically yes, but, “No! That’s not what D—”
“You know I was on duty last night, Beauty. And you damn well know Quinn ended up at the ER with a busted knee.”
“Daddy, stop—”
“You were with him! And I collected fibers from my bumper after I hit someone who was evading police. Shall we have the testing for that denim fast-tracked, or will you take my word for it?”
“I want to be copied in on that testing,” Brenten demands. “And I want to know why I wasn’t made aware of it in the first place. The Ripley case is mine, and you’re running ops without involving me? That’s against policy.”
“Fuck it is,” Daddy growls. “Until we make an arrest, tha
t’s ours.” But then he turns to me, and smiles the smile of a cruel man. “Though I suspect there will be an arrest soon. The denim is already being tested, the blood on my bumper, the hair that was left in the truck our suspects fled from. I think I’m gonna find a match that’ll make me happy.”
“Daddy,” my voice quivers. “Please stop.”
“I want to be copied in on those reports!” Brenten blusters. He remains completely uninvested in the way my heart shatters, and instead focuses only on the potential to further his career. “Chief!” he tries to plead with my uncle. “You can’t just—”
“We can just,” Aunt Jules finally – finally – exits a side chamber and click-click-clicks her way over to us on thousand-dollar heels.
Just behind her, a robed judge who is about seventy years of age smiles like the Cheshire cat and turns back into the room she came from.
“Brenten Pierce,” Aunt Jules purrs. “I would love to have a chat with you, if you have a moment.”
“I don’t—” My boyfriend first tries to shrug her off, but then panic sets in. Realization. The door to the trap is squeaking closed. “What?”
“You worked in conjunction with our local police department on the Coombs case in January.”
“Yes, I—” he frowns. “Of course I did. We were both there.”
“The case fell through on a technicality.”
“Yeah, because the cops,” he points in Daddy’s face and elicits a menacing growl from the Latino giant, “screwed up a report and didn’t submit it the way it should have been, thus striking a crucial piece of evidence from court.”
“So you say,” Jules murmurs with a sneaky grin. “In June, you worked with the chief on the Digby case. Jeremiah Digby was arrested for the physical assault of his girlfriend, Ashley. She was the one who made the report that he was hurting her, and she made it directly to Deputy Franks during a routine shift at the station. He followed protocol, he investigated her accusations, and he followed it all the way down the line. One could even say he was extra thorough, considering his personal experience with battered women.”
