Searching for Love

by Christine Zolendz

  His body went rigid, his eyes moving back and forth between mine. Then, he looked down quickly at the floor.

  “We don’t love each other any more. I was in the process of…”

  “Being married. You are married. Married.” I barked out a laugh. “No wonder you wanted to keep me hidden.”

  He breathed in deeply, hovering tall over me.

  “What about you?” he whispered, though clenched teeth. “You going to tell me you cared? You going to sit there and say you didn’t bounce on my cock, because you wanted to make detective, like the rest of them? You’re different, right?” He stepped back, snarling. “You’re nothing more than a fucking, lying whore.”

  I bolted up, looking him dead in the eyes. “And this is your payback? Everyone is going to find out this was you. Those pictures are all of me and you, because I am not a whore. The only guy I’ve been with for the last six months is you!”

  His face blanched, and his hands clasped hard over my arms. His fingers dug so forcefully into my skin that I felt it bruise instantly.

  Then Ryan was there, in between us, wrapping his strong arms around my trembling shoulders. “You’re staying with me,” he said, louder than he needed to. His eyes grazed down over my arms, fingers grazed over my red flesh, and he froze. I watched how his neck corded tightly, how his fists clenched and whitened, and his slow deep breath pulled in and out through a flaring nose. “Anderson,” he grit out. “You ever lay a hand on her again. I’ll kill you.”

  “Is that a threat, Cage?”

  “Yeah, Captain. It most definitely is.”

  Chapter 10

  Ryan

  “So, uh,” Brooke whispered hoarsely, “How long…how long has Anderson been…married?” The pallor of her skin was frightfully white, a bit greenish around the eyes and mouth if I was being totally honest.

  “A long time. His kids are in high school,” I said, taking her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. Cameron took off his coat on the other side of me and placed his coat next to hers. He was focused on his sketchpad for the last few hours, filling up every page with some sort of doodle of Brooke wearing an agonizing expression. He plopped down on the couch and continued without so much as a peep.

  “He has…he has kids?” she sputtered, collapsing onto one of the kitchen chairs.

  I leaned heavily against the counter and folded my arms across my chest, “You really had no idea?” How could she not know?

  She blinked rapidly, and folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m so stupid,” she said, fighting the tears in her eyes.

  I walked over to the table and pulled out the chair next to her. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?” I asked, sitting down.

  In the next room, Cameron turned on the television. The theme to Spongebob Squarepants filled the room.

  “You think Anderson could have broken into my house and did all that?” she asked, cautiously.

  I shrugged, “Your arms? The black eye last month? How long were you sleeping with him?” It killed me to ask her that; it burned deep in my lungs and made my breathing coarser, faster. I swallowed loudly, “And why?”

  Her eyes shot up to mine, cold and flat. “It wasn’t to get promoted.” She folded in on herself, wiping at her eyes. “Christ, Ryan…I thought he loved me. We were together for a little over three months. I thought it was the beginning of something serious.”

  “How did it start?” I asked, needing to hear everything. I wanted every little detail. It wasn’t just to figure out a crime—I needed to hear it all—hurt myself with it to get rid of these feelings I had for her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. “We had a Halloween fundraiser. Middle of October, sometime. We had to drive the cadets home, because the party ended so late, you know?” She rubbed her hand over her throat, then tapped her fingers nervously over her lips. “He kissed me. Told me how beautiful I was, said he wanted to get to know me for months, but was too scared of the age difference.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Say? I was…I was enamored by him. There wasn’t time to think, Cage. He just swept me off my feet.” She ran her hands through her hair, wildly. “It was so intense. He called all the time. Texted me constantly. Couldn’t keep his hands…off me. We snuck around like teenagers; he didn’t want anyone to think anything bad about me.”

  Fire tore up my chest. I slammed by fist down on the table, crazed, “And you didn’t think anything about him keeping you a secret? Disrespect yourself much?”

  She flinched back, slapping her own hands against the table. “All I thought about was how good it felt to be wanted! All I thought about was how easy it was to talk to him and be with him.” She stood up, shoving the chair back hard, “All I thought about was maybe this was the guy, the one I could have a future with. So I wouldn’t have to be so fucking alone all the fucking time!”

  Her chest was heaving, hair wild, face red and angry.

  “And then what?” I growled, standing up and moving closer to her.

  “And then,” she laughed darkly. “Then, one night last month, I made him this romantic dinner—steak, candles, lingerie, the works, you know? I wanted to ask if we could tell people, at least my family. I wanted my parents to meet the person I was falling in love with, and he…” a sob broke out of her chest, and her hands balled into fists at her side.

  She couldn’t even say it.

  She was telling me the truth. She had no idea that asshole was playing her, like he’d probably done to every other pretty rookie. “He hit you?”

  She covered her mouth with her hands and cried silent, shoulder-wracking tears.

  “Did. He. Hit. You?”

  She nodded, hands still over her mouth, tears streaming over her fingers.

  “And what did you do?” I said, taking another step closer.

  Her hands dropped limply to her sides and she straightened up, looking me dead in the eyes. “Fought back, and got away. But then after he begged and begged— I forgave him—he said he’d drank too much that night. Then it happened again. And again. I tried to stay away from him but he’d corner me in places.” She shook her head and tears streamed down her cheeks. “He used his rank every time. I tried to transfer, but he wouldn’t let me.” She sniffled once and looked away, “He didn’t deserve all the feelings I had for him.”

  I lifted her chin with my knuckle, gently. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “Who would I tell? Who would believe that I wasn’t just a spurned little slut? Look at how you’re looking at me right now.” She hiccupped, and choked out a raspy cough. “He told me he would hurt everyone and everything I cared about. My job. He was giving me command disciplines for no good reason. Said he would hurt Dean. You.” The last word pulled at my chest, dislodging something unfamiliar.

  “You care about me?” I laughed, knowing the truth. You don’t shove people away who you care about. I backed away.

  She looked down and shook her head, “Why do you think I pushed you away when you kissed me?” She hesitated for a brief moment and sighed. “You think I didn’t want to kiss you? All I’ve thought about was that kiss. All I think about is this loud-mouth, flirty cop who looks at Martinez, and my chest catches fire. And all I think about is how stupid I was to think what I felt for Anderson was anywhere near real, because sometimes when I’m near you, it feels fifty times more intense than it ever was with him.”

  “Lydia Martinez?” I asked, grabbing an empty glass from the cabinet and reaching up higher for an old bottle of brandy I kept around for shitty occasions.

  “Yeah. I know I don’t have the right to feel jealous or anything,” she whispered, as I poured her a small taste. Her shoulders were still shivering, and her finger still trembled; she needed a hard drink to shake it all off.

  “You’re right. You don’t. You told me you and I wouldn’t happen. You told me you weren’t interested in being with me,” I said, handing her the glass.

  “I know.
I just—”

  “Martinez and I have a date this weekend.”

  “Wow. That’s…great,” she said with a tight smile. “Well, then. You can just scratch the silly thing I said before about…things,” she said, looking blankly at the glass in her hands.

  “Trust me. It’s already forgotten.”

  She swallowed the brandy in one huge gulp, “Okay,” she said, inhaling deeply and coughing. “Good. That’s great.” She slid the glass over the table toward me. “I’m going to need a few more of those to catch up to the all the humiliation I keep getting slammed with today.” She brushed her hair out of her face and swallowed hard, “So, just keep ‘em coming.”

  Chapter 11

  Brooke

  Ryan had given me gasoline to drink, I swear. It was the worst tasting stuff I had ever put in my mouth, and unfortunately over the years, I have put a lot of horrible things in my mouth, that’s how bad it was.

  I drank three anyway.

  The fourth drink sat steady in my grasp. There was no way in hell I’d be able to swallow anymore of it down, so I just stared stupidly into its amber liquid.

  Maybe it wasn’t the drink I couldn’t take.

  Maybe it was the truth.

  I looked up, my gaze slowly sweeping around his kitchen. It wasn’t any different than it was ten minutes ago, yet everything had changed, hadn’t it? For some stupid pathetic Brooke Fury reason, I thought maybe there was some sort of future between Ryan and me. Like I’d be able to just pretend I didn’t screw up my job and jump to the very next guy who looked my way.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. I was starving for love. I always had been, and probably always will be. All I ever wanted was someone to come home to—something my parents had—still have. Something honest and pure, something passionate and breathtaking, something real. I didn’t need a man for money or gifts, I wanted a man who would give me his time and his love, sweep me off my feet, and make me feel like I was part of this big beautiful thing. I wanted to fall in love with someone who didn’t make falling in love so damn messy.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Ryan said, pulling the drink out of my hands and placing it on the table.

  I was so deep in my own head that I’d almost forgotten where I was.

  I swept my fingertips across my wet cheeks, cursing myself for letting him see any vulnerable side of me.

  “Go ahead, take my room. You’ll have some privacy. Tomorrow, we’ll go talk to Sergeant Kannon.”

  “What? No,” I said, standing up and backing away. It would be easier to just get a transfer, rather than deal with the repercussions of telling anyone about Harris and me.

  Ryan looked at me like I was crazy. “Harris Anderson took advantage of you.”

  “But, he didn’t really, did he?” I stepped closer to him, trying to show him reason. “I was a very willing participant in that relationship, and the only person that is going to look bad is me.”

  He stared back, angrily.

  “Come on, Cage. He’s a Captain. So what if he’s married? He could spin a story about how cold his wife was, how they’re separated, whatever the heck he wants to say. But me? No matter what, I look like some stupid rookie who uses a mattress to climb my way up the ranks.”

  “We’re going to Kannon tomorrow and telling him Anderson hit you. That he threatened you. That he’s been harassing you for weeks.”

  With a wave of nausea, I realized my career was going to take one hell of a hit. I shook my head back and forth, trying to gather the words, the strength, anything. “They are going to think he’s the one who broke into my house. They are going to fire me!” My whole body felt numb, painfully numb.

  “They are going to investigate everything. This isn’t some joke, Brooke. This is really serious, and you need help,” he said, like he really meant it.

  “Why would you want to help me, anyway?” I sobbed. God, I was desperate. Fishing for anything this man could give me that was worth something. Any words that could make me feel better.

  “Bad choice on redirecting the conversation. It only makes you look more desperate and self-centered,” he said, angrily.

  “What?” I wanted the question to sound full of anger and venom, but it came out weak and pathetic. “I’m not desperate—” But I was, wasn’t I?

  “This isn’t about me wanting to help you or not. It’s you fighting for your own self-worth and respect and standing up for yourself,” he interrupted.

  “Self-worth? Self-respect?” I shouted, furiously. I didn’t even know where the thoughts were going or how to finish the conversation. The words just exploded past my lips—and somehow even though I was screaming them—they sounded like weak half-assed pleas.

  He took a deep breath, and crossed his hands over his chest. “Someone hurt you Brooke. He doesn’t have the right to do what he did to you, just because you loved him or whatever really was going on between you.” His mouth twisted into a tight line, and the skin around his eyes tightened. “What if you’re not the only woman he does this to? What if there’s some innocent girl out there that sees him like you did, and he takes advantage of that? Just like he did to you. But what if, next time, he does worse damage.”

  I repeated the words over in my head until it stuck. “Right,” I mumbled through tears I did not want to shed. “Because there were probably a lot of women before me, and they’ll be a ton more after. No way, I could have been special at all.”

  “Special girls aren’t kept hidden.” He spoke the words slowly and deliberately, his icy stare never leaving my face, until the cruel realization settled into my broken heart.

  “And I should have known that. I should have known better, right?” My voice was just a whisper, just ghosts of the words, their emotions dead on my lips.

  “Yeah, you should have,” he said, staring into my eyes without apology.

  “But we—”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “Let me just take a wild guess, okay? Humor me.” He pushed off the counter with his foot and moved closer to me, so that he was only a few inches away. “He never took you out. He never showed you his apartment; he just fucked you in his car or his office.”

  I opened my mouth to scream at him, to say something back, to refute his disgusting words. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because he was right. So, I just snapped my mouth closed and cried.

  My body somehow became even more numb as pins and needles sliced over every inch of my skin. My heart shattered into pieces, and I was so angry with Ryan for calling me out on all of this. Yet, all I could do was nod helplessly.

  “You are so much better than that, Brooke. And you deserve more than what he gave you.” His eyes melted, looking at me with an intensity that I could only dream about. “The question you need to answer is why didn’t you see that?”

  “Oh, that’s pretty easy, Cage. All you men suck the confidence right out of us. Every time you choose the sexier, younger models of us. Or catcall us while we walk down the street.” I shifted closer to him, and tightened my hands into fists, jabbing them on my hips. “It’s from all those times you men said you’d call and didn’t. All the secret texts you all send to other girls. It’s working in an office where the majority of the men talk about what you might look like naked. It’s the thousands of magazines and television shows telling us we are not good enough how we were born. Or the boys that promise they’ll give you the world and ask out the prettier girl in the office, because she flirted with you. All that great stuff and more. Mix that with the sheer terror that you might one day die, alone, still looking for a hand to hold yours.”

  Chapter 12

  Ryan

  It was a rough night. A lot more complicated than I thought it would be. Cameron was fine, which was good. He seemed to be comfortable when Brooke was around. She was natural at turning his episodes into creative projects or at least experiences where I didn’t have to clean spaghetti off the ceiling with a windshield scraper.

>   The rough part was when we all went to sleep—when the house was quiet and everyone was settled into bed—knowing Brooke was between my sheets as I laid alone on the couch. I stared out the window, trying to focus on anything other than the tears I had watched fall from her eyes. The sky outside was clear, dotted with stars, beautiful—yet—my thoughts kept turning back to Brooke. I heard her sniffle a few times behind my bedroom door, and I knew she was still crying.

  It bothered me more than it should have to know the tears were for another man. A man who hurt her. She should have known better. She was a cop for God’s sake; she should have seen the red flags of a liar right away. Maybe she was blinded. Maybe she was lonely, like she said. But I didn’t take her for desperate.

  The next day, I rushed into work and stormed through the offices. Lydia sat drinking coffee at her desk, her eyes melting when they saw me. “Ryan,” she gasped, smoothing down her shirt. “You’re in earlier than usual,” she smiled, fluttering her eyelashes.

  I nodded at her and smiled, “Morning, gorgeous.”

  She squirmed in her seat and shifted her body in my direction.

  “Do you know if Sargeant Kannon is here yet?” I asked, quickly.

  “Yeah, sure. I saw him earlier.” She leaned back in her chair and twisted her finger through her hair. “Hey, what are you doing after work tonight? You want to get a drink with me?”

  “I have my brother, remember?” I said, slowly.

  “Yeah, but isn’t Fury watching him? I thought she got suspended, and you’re letting her watch him?”

  “She didn’t get suspended,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, “Everyone is talking about it. The way I hear it; she’s sleeping her way through the entire detective squad.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

  “That’s a lie, so don’t repeat it,” I said in an even tone.