Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Washington blurts, “What?”

  I’m locked on Fiore. “I don’t want to make your job here any harder than it already is. But it seems my face, or my personality, really piss you off. I respect you so much that I’ll go somewhere else so you can relax and focus on making our precinct the best around. And I can keep being the best cop I can be.”

  Oxygen has left the room, distant voices from the station drifting in. She stands up and plants both sets of knuckles on the iron desk. Fiore is staring at me for what seems like forever, so I blink as she finally says, “Get out of here,” and it takes me a second to understand. In fact, I don’t.

  “Chief?” I ask.

  “Your shift is over. Clock out. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sitting down, she picks up her pen, a frown engraved in her forehead.

  Washington and I leave, but as I’m about to shut the door she calls, “I am guessing she wasn’t very hurt based on that photograph.”

  “She’s okay, Chief.”

  “File a report.”

  Washington says, “Yes, Chief.” He closes her door. Paperwork resumed, conversation over.

  In the locker room he asks me, “Do I get this right — you still have a job here?”

  I punch in my code, swing the metal door open. “You know what? I’m not sure. We’ll know tomorrow.”

  From where Eudy sits on the bench, tapping today’s events into encrypted software, he looks up. “You thought you were fired?”

  I frown as I tug on a comfortable T-shirt, “It was a possibility,” looking at my reflection. Green is my favorite color. Olive green. Military green. “Might’ve bridged the gap.”

  “It’s like two months you’ve been on the chopping block. How’d you fix it?”

  “Letting go of the fight.” I shut the locker and walk past Washington.

  He’s buttoning up a black Henley, mind processing our circumstance. “Where you headed?”

  “I’m off shift, Wash. And today I don’t feel like telling anybody where I am going anymore. Or what I’m doing. This is my free time. Emphasis on free.”

  Eudy calls after me, “I’d be bummed if you left, Cocker. Who would give me shit about being happily married if you were gone?”

  I walk backwards, smirking, “Somebody would. Haven’t you heard? Men don’t like being married.”

  He chuckles, “Yeah they do. They just don’t say it aloud because of guys like you.”

  I head out of the locker room, the corridor, then silently marching past desk-cops. It’s not until I’m outside, finally breathe fresh air that I climb into my military-green Jeep and growl, “Why does everybody think I’m an asshole?”

  CHAPTER 16

  BEFORE MY STUPID DATE

  DIANA

  M y stomach is a mess.

  These are not happy butterflies.

  Guilt.

  Resistance.

  Denial.

  Definitely not pretty winged creatures letting me know I’m up to something fantastic.

  I limp into the living room. “Thank you for putting our furniture back.”

  “I can’t believe you fell down.” Lita kicks her feet up, ready for binge watching her favorite show — how she winds down after work. Although I would argue that she is working while she watches, mental notes taken of advertising strategies the entire time.

  “Yeah, I’m a klutz.” And a liar.

  Glancing to me, she lifts her eyebrows, reaching for her glass of water. “Pretty dress. You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Pants hurt my leg more.”

  Her eyes widen on an idea. “You can tell Eddie that you got hurt! That’s how you get out of the date.”

  With all of my weight on my good leg I sigh, “Could’ve told me that two hours ago, Lita!”

  “I didn’t think of it then,” she admits on a shrug, setting the glass onto glass so clean they blend, the table now spotless thanks to my freak-out. “Too late now?”

  By the three raps on our front door, I know it’s Eddie. Funny what you forget about. He always used to do that. Never two. Never four.

  “No, it’s not too late. I’ll go tell him.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Oh.”

  I limp to see a face I never expected to again. It’s a cute face, the kind I used to lovingly touch when I was projecting onto him all of the things that we could be if he would only change about four different qualities that I couldn’t stand.

  When I was delusional he was perfect.

  “Hi Eddie.”

  He nods, “Diana,” as strange for him to see me as the other way around. Deep brown eyes drop to check out my coral dress, one he hasn’t seen before. I used to wear mostly skintight dresses. This one I bought for work — along with others like it — the hem flowing gracefully below my knee, a scoop-neck flattering my collarbone. “You look nice.”

  Nice.

  How exciting.

  Nice is our aim after an hour in the bathroom and thousands of dollars on products we use to look this good. My curling iron alone, I can’t even think about how much I paid for that thing without blanching. It’s obscene.

  “Thank you.” I scan his khakis and polo shirt, the preferred style of the majority of guys in our city. The safe route. Sometimes they get a little crazy with their tennis shoes. It’s too vanilla for me. Khakis don’t say I-want-to-rip-your-dress-off.

  There is somebody out there for Eddie, and she will be excited about khakis.

  But I’m the one who called. And he showed up. “Are you ready to go?” I ask.

  A half-smile flirts with his lips. “I’m picking you up, remember? I should be asking you that question. Are you ready to go, Diana?”

  “Right, sorry. Guess this is a little weird for me.”

  “Me too,” he chuckles, raking back medium length light-brown hair I used to tangle up with my fingers when he went down on me. I loved how soft it was and how much he let me guide him. That was one of his best qualities, he was willing to learn. And he did. He was good at it. Sex was never a problem. When we were doing it I always would think to myself, this is fun. Why don’t I look forward to this?

  Lita calls out, “Have fun you two!”

  He waves at her. “Hey Lita!”

  “Hi Eddie. Good to see you again. You look nice.”

  I hide my smile as we walk onto the porch, Eddie looking up at a warm, clear sky. “They said something about a storm today. I saw puddles, that’s it. Big deal. People get all crazy about the weather. Why are you limping?”

  “Uh…Little stiff from running.”

  That’s the problem with a lie.

  It has babies.

  He doesn’t open my door for me, which makes me remember that he never did. Except for once on our six-monthaversary. When he did it I melted as if he’d given me a diamond ring dipped in ice cream.

  In his car, he blurts, “I’m really surprised you contacted me, Diana. I haven’t heard from you in thirteen months. What was the inspiration?”

  I glance to his profile, surprised by such a specific number. “I thought it was a year.”

  “Thirteen months. Don’t remember the minutes or the seconds, but it was definitely more than a year.” His engine roars to life.

  “How about the hours?”

  He laughs, “I forgot you were funny,” and pulls out into my street, white flowers from rows of dogwood trees scattered on every lawn.

  “You forgot?” I tease, lightly hitting his arm. “How could you forget I’m hilarious. If there’s anything you should remember about me it’s that I’m very funny.”

  His eyes lose a bit of light. “What I remember most is how you taste.”

  Wow. That shut me up. My hands clasp in my lap. “So…where are we going for dinner?”

  A Jeep turns left onto my street in front of us. Wyatt and I lock eyes through our windshields. My heart leaps into my throat and I don’t hear Eddie’s answer. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know he’
s talking, but I can’t make out actual words.

  Why is Wyatt on my street?

  I pull my phone from my bag and check for a missed text. Nothing new.

  As Eddie drones on I look through the back window to see taillights become brake lights. My lips part as Wyatt does a U-turn. A five-point U-turn. This is a narrow street and I can see him swearing to himself while we wait for traffic to let us merge.

  Facing front, I frown into the riddle as Eddie asks, “Does that sound good to you?”

  With a start I ask, “Sorry?”

  “The Italian place I just told you about. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yes. And no. I mean I was sort of listening, but I didn’t really hear you.”

  “Then you weren’t listening.”

  “I’m sorry, I got a little distracted by my leg. It hurts.”

  His expression softens. “You want me to stop for painkillers? Aspirin?“

  The only painkillers that work for me are the blood thinning kind and since this is a bruise, I’ve been advised against them. But I don’t want to tell him that I actually went to a doctor who warned me.

  I really don’t need questions.

  Especially not from my ex who just told me he likes how I taste right before I saw the man of my dreams driving up to my house.

  I’ll take an olive green, off-roading vehicle over a white horse any day.

  I bet Wyatt’s not wearing khakis.

  “No, thank you. I can handle it.”

  Eddie smiles, “You always were a strong girl,” and turns the wheel, eyes scanning for traffic. “So, Italian?”

  That five-point turn reminds me of, “Let’s go to the Vortex.”

  “Your favorite place,” he chuckles. “I thought something fancier might be nice.”

  Pretending to smooth out my dress I lean to look through the side mirror. Why is Wyatt following us? I check my phone again even though it hasn’t vibrated. Nothing.

  Eddie notices. “You nervous?”

  “I feel a little strange,” I say with a forced smile.

  “Why did you call me? I’ve been meaning to ask. I almost did on the phone but decided not to jinx it.” He turns onto Euclid Avenue.

  “Somebody told me to call you.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone from where I work.”

  We’re both searching for parking as he mutters, “Maybe there’s some in the lot and we’ll get lucky. Where are you working now?”

  “Silver Linings.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows fly up. “Here’s one.”

  “Why are you so surprised?” I glance over to the spot he’s attempting to parallel park in. He’s got to turn around. And it’s not close to the restaurant. I’ll have to limp over. But with Wyatt on my mind I can’t think straight, don’t have the ability to ask him to drop me off.

  The people inside the parked car are still gathering themselves, their conversation seeming important.

  Eddie’s watching them as he shrugs, “No reason.”

  “You had a reaction.”

  “I’m just surprised you’re still there. Didn’t you get that job after we broke up? They’re leaving.” He pulls up a little.

  “A year isn’t that long. Are you implying that I don’t stick to things? What is it about me that has ever shown you I don’t stick to things. I am very reliable.”

  As he slides his four-door into place without any trouble, he chuckles “Don’t be so defensive, Diana. I never said you were unreliable. Of course you are. If there’s anyone I could always count on it was you.”

  My frown vanishes, shoulders relaxing. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

  Switching gears literally and figuratively he locks eyes with me, “French fries.”

  A grin spreads as I watch my seatbelt sliding away. “Best in town.”

  “Bookhouse Pub is a close second.”

  We merge into a busy night full of people who know Little Five Points is the hippest spot. Not the slightest bit swanky, but definitely hip. I love most of the neighborhoods in this section — Old Fourth Ward, Inman Park, Virginia Highlands where I live — but this one draws me in more than any other for going out. It’s a little gritty and a lot artistic. Neither of which personify me in any way. Opposites attract I guess.

  I’m thinking this as I watch Eddie scanning faces of locals, tourists, and artists selling their stuff on the street. The sight of merchandise carefully displayed on wrinkled tablecloths reminds me of who I almost forgot was following us.

  CHAPTER 17

  WYATT

  M y phone vibrates with a call from Nathan. “I’m starving, where you at?”

  “I’m in Little Five Points following that girl I hit with the car today. We hit. Then she kind of hit me.”

  “What do you mean you’re following her?”

  As I step aside for a group of teens carrying skateboards, I explain, “I drove by her house thinking I’d catch her before the date. But she was already driving off with the guy.”

  My brother pauses. “You realize that makes no sense.”

  “Want to go to the Vortex?” I smirk.

  “Be right there. Where should I meet you?”

  About twenty feet up ahead Diana and her hopeful companion disappear inside the white skull entrance of my favorite place to eat in the entire city. The exterior is probably the most photographed restaurant we have. But the food is why we keep coming back. “I’ll wait for you right out front. How long are you going to take?”

  “Three minutes, tops.”

  I hang up, pleased with his timing. Until three minutes passes and I’m still kicking my heels under a warm sky, surrounded by people out for some fun. A lot of them are women who might have been taking a photograph of me if I were still in uniform. Haven’t seen phones pointed this way so I’m less recognizable in these jeans, grey t-shirt, dad’s old Marine boots, and my leather jacket.

  I’ve gotten smiles from a couple girls but no snapping flashes.

  Leaning against a black wall I cross my arms and stare at the sidewalk, mind on Diana, the Chief, and what a weird day it’s been.

  My brother’s voice makes me look up as he smirks, “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “It'll cost you a lot more than that. You’re late.”

  Nathan looks at the watch Dad gave him for his eighteenth birthday, a real beauty with a wood face and thick leather band. In his other hand he’s flicking a lighter, a habit he acquired recently. “Five minutes.”

  Pushing off the wall I agree, “That’s right. Like I said. You’re late.”

  He grabs my arm, “Before we go in, can I get a little back story here?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” Lowering my voice I explain to the best of my ability, “I met this girl today. She let it slip that she was having a date with some guy tonight. I didn’t like that. So here I am.” I flip around and start to walk inside.

  “Whoa.” Nate grabs my arm again. “You have to do better than that.”

  I shrug, “What?”

  “You realize you’re stalking this girl.”

  “I am not stalking her. I’m not the stalker type.”

  My brothers eyes are lit with amusement. “Do you think stalkers know they’re stalkers?”

  “Yes. In their hearts, they absolutely know it.” I smack his chest with the back of my knuckles. “Do you think I’m a stalker?”

  “If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it’s a duck.”

  Heading for the entrance I mutter, “Don’t even get me started on ducks right now.” It’s even darker inside The Vortex than it is outside. As we make our way to the host stand, skipping the line since we know everyone that works here, I tell him, “The intent is different. It’s all about intent.”

  “What is yours?”

  I throw him a look, “To punch you in the face if you don’t fucking stop it.”

  He laughs and backs off as I greet Misty and Pietro. “You guys got a tab
le opening up?”

  Misty says, “Hey Wyatt. Yeah, in about five minutes? That work?”

  I’m scanning for Diana but can’t see her. Then her voice comes up behind me.

  “Still cutting to the front of the line I see.”

  A smile tugs at my lips, caught, and I turn around. “How do you know I’m cutting? Where’s your date?”

  I saw the peachy-pinky-whatever-color dress from afar, but now that I’m up close, it’s a greater impact. The color is perfect for Diana. No longer drowned by nature, she’s really beautiful. “You’re not on duty anymore, no more excuse. What is so important that you get your burger before everybody else does?” Her glance flicks to my brother.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Diana.”

  “Am I under oath?”

  I look around for her date since she won’t tell me, and see him returning from the bathroom. They haven’t even sat down yet, looks like. That’s how she knows I’m cutting the line. I meet her eyes, both of us knowing that I finally figured this out. A pretty grin spreads on her face and Nathan says, “This is interesting,” under his breath.

  Pietro pulls two menus from the shelf. “Wyatt, one just opened up. Why don’t you take it?”

  As Diana’s mediocre date passes me, I raise my voice. “Sure, I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  Nate chuckles and follows me as Diana makes a shocked sound.

  The restaurant is funky memorabilia, old license plates, motorcycle hanging from the ceiling — A real one, not plastic. There’s a shark whose origin I’m not so sure about. Never thought to ask if it was authentic.

  Nathan and I sit at one of the wood tables that haven’t been replaced since we were born. The tops are carved into by people who desired a degree of infamy in perpetuity. The napkins are paper. Condiments are in a tray, choices almost endless. Don’t have what you want here they have it in the back.