by Marie Meyer
Cap walks around his desk and sits on the corner, folding his arms across his chest. “SWAT members are usually chosen from a pool of candidates with more time under their belt.”
Keep your shit together, Sinclair. Bile rises in my throat and the urge to plant my fist into my locker hits me like enemy fire.
“I’ve reviewed your application. You scored well on your written exam, physical training, and psych eval. Plus, your time in the Corps works in your favor, but I can’t overlook the two-year rule the department has in place. I’m sorry, Sinclair, but I cannot pass your name onto Sergeant Duchesne at this time.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. My blood runs hot, boiling with anger. I’ve worked so fucking hard for this opportunity only to be denied on fucking department protocol, motherfucking red tape?
“I understand, sir.” I stand and hold out my hand to him, keeping my cool. If the Corps taught me one thing, it was to keep my shit together when things go south, and right now, my career just took the express lane to fucking hell. “I appreciate the fact that you considered my application.”
“It’s just not the right time, Sinclair.” He takes my hand, shaking it firmly. “If you’re still interested in SWAT in six months, resubmit your application and well take another look. You’ll have more time on the force at that point.”
Interested? Resubmit? What the hell am I going to learn in six months that I don’t know today? “Absolutely, sir. You will see my application again in six months.”
Dropping my hand, he says, “I hope so. You’re an asset to the force, Sinclair, you’ll make a fine member of SWAT one day.” Cap heads to the door and pulls it open. I’m officially dismissed. “See you, Monday, Sinclair.”
Stepping out of Captain Fuller’s office, I turn back to my commanding officer and kiss his ass again, “Thank you, Captain.”
Cap nods and shuts the door.
Holding onto the rage a little longer, I walk back to the locker room, ready to pound the fucking shit out of my locker door.
* * *
Before my knuckles hit Ren’s door, she pulls it open, and is in my arms. “So, any news?” she asks.
I close my eyes and my arms go around her faster than a round from an M40. Her coconut-scented shampoo conjures mental images of the two of us lounging on a deserted tropical island, waves crashing over our tanned, oiled bodies. After my shit day, the fact that my daydream is just in fact a dream, only adds to the dung heap. I can’t tell her I didn’t get the job. I can’t let her know what a fuckup I am. She needs a strong man, someone that can provide for her, take care of her. Not a man that is passed over for a promotion on a technicality. My military résumé and exemplary department record should speak for its self, but none of that mattered.
Suck it up, Cayden. Six more months. Six more fucking months.
I shake my head. “Nothing yet.” It kills me to lie to her, but I can’t stomach seeing my failure reflected in her dark eyes.
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, and my breath hitches. I get my first glimpse of her all dressed up and my sour mood disappears. She looks like the most decadent serving of strawberries and cream. The tops of her ivory breasts swell over the dipping neckline of her vibrant red dress, giving way to the short flare of her skirt and her long legs, which seem to go on for miles.
I brush the sides of her hair back, stealing the chance to run my fingers through her silky black waves. “I am so glad I pulled you over that day.” Knowing I’d get to hold her at the end of this shit day quelled my anger.
“There are better ways to meet women, you know,” she says, smiling reproachfully. “And technically, you didn’t make a move until the next day.”
“You have no idea what was going through my mind when I pulled you over.” I lean in and kiss her, long and slow.
“Mmm,” she hums against my mouth before drawing back. “I have a pretty good idea.” She shimmies her hips against my crotch, seizing the attention of my dick. Damn, the things I want to do to her.
I sneak one more kiss, then glance at my watch. “You ready? We have dinner reservations at the Sidney Street Cafe.”
“Oh, yeah. I just need to grab my purse.” She runs back into her apartment and returns in a flash. As she locks the door, she says, “You do realize they don’t serve barbecue and cornbread at Sidney Street, right?”
Spinning on her heel, she wheels around and grabs my hand, giving it a playful swing. “I’ve been known to eat food that wasn’t prepared on a pit or served at a Memorial Day picnic from time to time. But thanks for the heads-up.”
Ren’s heels click on the title floor as we make our way down the corridor. “Just looking out for you, big guy.”
“Then I consider myself a lucky man if I’ve got you looking out for me.”
“Not that superheroes need someone looking out for them, but I’m up for the job,” she says with a wink.
“Superhero?” I scoff. Definitely not that, sweetheart. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, let’s see; you served our country as a Marine, you went to war,” she says, holding up a finger for each point. “You’re a cop and well on your way to the SWAT team. You’re willing to put yourself in harm’s way to keep others safe. Sounds like the definition of a superhero to me.”
Well on my way? Am I? Doubt gorges on my ambition like an algae-sucking catfish. Thoughts of Dad hit me hard. He might be gone, yet I can’t stand the fact that each time I fail, I let him down, just like I always seem to do. I run my hand over my head, feeling the scar on my temple. “You know, when I chose the Marines over college, I thought my dad would blow a gasket. He was an academic; education was his life. Teaching psychology at the collegiate level, it kind of had to be.” I laugh humorlessly. Ren squeezes our intertwined hands and sets them swinging again—something she does each time we hold hands, a pendulum keeping our own time. “But, he didn’t get upset,” I continue. “He clapped a hand on my back, drew me into a hug and said, ‘Son, I feel safer already, knowing you’ll be out there protecting your mother and me.’”
Stopping at the elevator, Ren hits the button, and turns to me. “See, even your dad knew. He sounds like a great man.”
I nod. “The best. I miss the hell out of him.”
Bing. The elevator announces it’s arrival and the doors open. I put my hand on the small of Ren’s back and usher her into the elevator.
As the doors close, Ren sidles up against me and my arms have nowhere to go but around her. I hold her close, drawing on her strength. Our bodies complement each other perfectly. Her round curves fit neatly into the contour of my frame, like we were made for one another—two parts of a whole.
“I think it’s safe to say, Cayden, your dad would have been extremely proud of the man you are,” Ren says, her arms tight around my middle. “A superhero.”
“There’s nothing super in wanting to keep the people you love safe. It’s what a man does.” What my dad did for Mom…what I want to do for Ren. “But I’ll take the hero part, as long as I get to be yours.” I crush her to my side.
The elevator stops and we wait for the doors to open. Ren looks up at me, smiling. “We have got to work on your lines, Sinclair. Cheese city.” She scrunches her nose up and shakes her head.
“Nah, I think they’re working for me just fine.” I run my hand down her hip and kiss her just as the doors open. I may not have gotten the job I wanted, but things can’t be too bad when I get to end my day in the arms of a beautiful woman.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ren
Cayden unlocks his truck, opening the door for me. I climb inside and watch as he rounds the front of the car, unable to keep my eyes off him. In my excitement upstairs, I hadn’t noticed how delicious he looks in a dress shirt and tie. His massive arms pull against the confines of his shirt and my mouth goes dry. I’m suddenly very jealous of that shirt. The urge to rip it from his body, free those gorgeous arms, and run my hands (and my tongue) over the contours of his
biceps hits me low in the belly, a radiant heat spreading through my veins.
I’m pulled from my lustful daydream when I hear the door open. Cayden slides in, his right arm, so close to my face, taunting me. He flexes, leans forward, and slips the key into the ignition. God, you’re torturing me. Why?
The truck rumbles to life. “I forgot to tell you,” he says, pulling onto the street. “You look stunning. That dress is…” He pauses, sneaking a glance in my direction. “It should be illegal for anyone to look that hot.”
Oh, let’s not talk about criminal, mister. Have you seen your arms lately? “Really? You didn’t get any dates in high school, did you?” I sneer with laughter.
“The ladies couldn’t resist,” he says full of pride, puffing out his chest.
No doubt. I reach over and run my hand over his shoulder and slowly down his biceps, feeling the hard, sinewy muscles flex beneath my touch. Shameless, I know, but it had to be done! “I bet.”
Cayden turns his head. “Sure you want to go to dinner?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I can turn this truck right around.”
The butterflies in my stomach wake up all at the same time and start in on a Zumba routine. It’s gotten damn hard to put on the brakes these last couple weeks, but I know the second I sleep with him, things will change. I may not remember what happened on the night of my birthday, but the fear and anxiety that accompany intimacy are real and tangible, and as much as I want to forget, leave them behind, I can’t. I ache for Cayden’s touch like my lungs beg for air, but I’m so fucking scared to taint “us” with my past.
I touch the silver charm at my neck. The day I found it, on our first date, I strung it onto a chain and haven’t taken it off since. With Cayden, I feel more alive and free than I’ve ever felt with anyone. Things have changed. I can see a future with him, and it terrifies me that he may not want one with me when he finds out what secrets I keep.
The phone rings through the speakers of Cayden’s radio: Call from Mom flashes on the dash.
“Sorry, Ren”—he pats his hand against my thigh—“I’ve got to take this.” Cayden pushes a button on his steering wheel and the call is connected. “Mom? Everything all right?” he asks.
“Cayden, are you busy tonight?” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice is scratchy and weak.
Cayden looks to me, conflicted. I know he wants to please us both. I shake my head and mouth, Dinner can wait. See what she needs.
All the fine lines of tension disappear from his face. “Uh, no, Mom. You need something?”
“It’s not a good night and Lacey can’t come over.”
My heart breaks for her, she sounds so weak.
“I’ll be right there, Mom. I’m on my way. I’ve got Ren with me.” He looks at me, a warm smile at his lips.
“I’m afraid I won’t be very good compan—” Mrs. Sinclair breathes heavily through the speakers and starts coughing.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Concern drips from his voice and his foot presses down on the accelerator.
Yep, just like a superhero, flying in to save the day. My heart smiles at this.
Mrs. Sinclair’s coughs fill the cab, distorted through the radio speakers.
“Mom?” Cayden says, louder.
“Sorry”—she coughs again—“I won’t be good company. But I very much want to meet Ren. I’m glad she’s coming.”
“We’ll be there in a few.”
“Thanks, hon’,” she says and disconnects the call.
Cayden puts his hand on my leg. “Sorry about dinner.”
I wave away his apology. “This is important.”
“Ren Daniels, you are a special, special lady,” Cayden says, shaking his head. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. I like this change of plans. I’m excited to meet the other woman in your life.” Excited to meet the woman who raised someone as special as you, Cayden Sinclair.
* * *
“And then,” Katy says, huffing out a breathy laugh, “he cuts the cord of my curling iron, while it’s on and plugged in, just so he could see what the wires looked like on the inside.”
I look at Cayden, my eyes wide with amazement. “It is a wonder you’re still alive.”
He shrugs. “I was an inquisitive child.” Bringing his chopsticks to his mouth, he powers down a mouthful of chow mein.
“Jumping off of roofs, dismantling toasters, cutting live wires? That’s more than an intellectual curiosity, that’s reckless.”
“Oh, and when you got that scar.” Katy points to Cayden’s head.
I look at Cayden. “I’ve always wondered about that.”
His jaw is clamped shut, a small tic visible low in his cheek. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he says through clenched teeth.
Whoa. Found a Cayden Sinclair hot button. My curiosity spikes through the roof, not to mention my anxiety. What is he hiding? My mind touches on a dozen worst-case scenarios.
Katy nods, backing off. “Well, at least having Blake around made you a little more levelheaded.”
Cayden shakes his head, like he’s flinging off the weight of a bad memory, and he rolls his eyes. All conversation about his scar, dropped. Am I okay with this? I want to know what happened, what his secret is.
He has secrets, you have secrets. Get over it, Ren, the voice in my head reminds me.
“Blake,” he mumbles.
I glance at Cayden just in time to see him rolling his eyes. The note of derision in his voice throws me. “What? I thought you two were close.”
“We are, he’s practically my brother. But, Blake and I were so different growing up. I was the ‘reckless’ one”—he air-quotes, giving me the side-eye—“and Blake was the cautious one.”
“Yes,” his mother adds, pointing at him.
Having known Blake for several years, I can attest to his prudent nature. Dylen is the wild one in that relationship, for sure. They balance each other out.
“I was glad to have Blake around, but it still wasn’t the same. Sometimes, being an only child got lonely, which in turn fostered my inquisitiveness.”
Katy smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes, sadness lurks in the shadow of happiness. I know this look. A lie to yourself, a way to trick your mind into believing everything’s okay. “Cayden always wanted a sibling,” she says. “But after two miscarriages, Frank and I couldn’t risk losing another child. Each loss was so difficult. The Thompsons helped us through those dark times, and over the years, Blake became like another son.”
I can’t begin to imagine the suffering Katy and Frank endured, suffering the loss of two babies. Between my job—having witnessed heart-wrenching sorrow when a couple loses a little one—and my own story, where my ability to have kids is questionable, I fight back tears. I don’t cry often, but when it’s the loss of a baby, I can’t keep them at bay.
“Oh, honey,” Katy says soothingly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her worried gaze shifts from Cayden to me.
Cayden stands, swipes a tissue from the box on his mother’s dresser, and comes to kneel in front of my chair. Putting his hand on my leg, he hands me the Kleenex. “Sweetheart?”
I wipe my cheeks. “I’m fine,” I say, my voice thick with the tears I manage to hold back. “I have a hard time when babies don’t make it.”
“Ren’s a maternity nurse, Mom.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. My heart thumps in my ears, memories resurfacing. Now is not the time to have a breakdown, Ren, pull it together. I slap the lock back on my heart, trying to forget the pain and sadness of that night.
“Ren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Cayden mentioned that you were a nurse, but I didn’t know what kind. ”
“You don’t need to apologize.” I laugh weakly and run the tissue under my eyes, fearing I resemble a raccoon. The one night I decide to put on a little makeup. Geez, Ren. “I’m a hot mess.” I force a laugh to lighten the mood.
Cayden rubs his hand soothingly over my thigh, a gentle smile on his face. “A
beautiful mess,” he teases.
“Thanks,” I say, with a playful glare.
“Hold it right there, you two,” Katy directs. “I need to get a picture.”
I wave my hands. “Oh, Mrs. Sinclair, that’s not a good idea. I look terrible.”
With shaky hands, she holds up her phone. “Nonsense.” She focuses her attention on her screen, centering Cayden and I. “Say cheese,” she instructs, not taking “no” for an answer.
Cayden rests his arm on my leg, leaning his head against the side of mine. “Cheese!” we say in unison.
Katy taps her screen and admires the photo. “What do you think, Cayd? Do I still got it?” Flipping her phone around, Cayden scrutinizes the snapshot.
“Cancer can’t take away your mad photography skills. One day, Mom, you’ll have a house full of grandchildren to take pictures of,” he says proudly, patting my leg and handing Katy’s phone back.
Uhh…what? Is this something he hopes will happen with me? I should tell him that’s not going to happen…at least not the old-fashioned way. I mean, there’s always adoption, but what if he doesn’t want that? Dammit. Pull it together, Ren, now is so not the right time to freak out about that.
Turning his attention back to me, his grin morphs from tender to joyful.
I give him a halfhearted smile in return; it’s all I can do. If he wants a big traditional family, I’m not the woman for him.
“Ren—” Katy says, dissolving into a fit of coughing.
“Mom?” Cayden stands and is across the room in a flash. “You okay?” he asks, smoothing back her hair.
Patting his arm, she says, “Will you get—” She coughs some more, unable to finish her sentence. “Water,” she finally croaks out.
I jump from my chair, wrapping a tight fist around the tissue. “I’ll get it.” I need to be alone for a minute, clear my head.
“Thank you,” Cayden says, lines of worry creasing his face.
I head out of the room, thankful for the silence. Making my way down the spiral staircase, I notice at least fifty pictures lining the right side wall—the Cayden Sinclair Photo Gallery. Some are large photographs, others are small, but each placed with care and deliberation. I hadn’t noticed them when we arrived having helped Katy to bed, but now, the hall light from upstairs shines on them like a spotlight.
