Page 74 of Playing With Danger

“Hear me out. She’s always been strict. A single mother who was raising a child on her own with no help while working full time to keep us fed and housed. When I was young, she used to tell me it was important to be self-sufficient. She wanted me educated with a good job so I’d never have to rely on a man. That was nonnegotiable. She’d struggled when my dad bailed. I get that. She wanted me settled and in a career. It wasn’t until I hit thirty she started harping on me needing to find a man and get married. But before that, it was all about me and financial security. Which now has me thinking how sad it is that it was never about happiness. She never talked about finding what would make me happy.”

“You need money to live, baby, but nothing’s more important than finding your happy.”

Was my mother happy now?

Nathan adored her. He worshiped her. I knew he cared deeply for me, he didn’t hide it, and more often than not when my mother started in on me, he’d have a gentle, quiet word with her and she’d let it go. That was, until she felt like bringing it up again.

“She’s married now. My stepfather Nathan is mellow. Nice guy, treats her like gold. I joke that it’s a crime against the universe those two being together. I was happy for her when she introduced me to him. I was thrilled when she told me they were getting married. She seemed happy, but is it weird I never asked her?”

“Asked her what?”

“If she was happy.”

Valentine didn’t say anything, which I took as his confirmation it wasn’t only weird, it made me a horrible daughter.

“I know when you met her she was behaving like a shrew. But she’s my mother and I want her happy,” I admitted.

His arm went impossibly tight around me.

“Of course you do, Soph, she’s your mom.”

I had a mom to complain about.

He didn’t have a mom.

Damn.

“So a cop, not a truck driver.” I moved us back to safer territory.

“Know what you’re doing, baby, and you don’t have to.”

It was a long time ago.

His voice tight with grief.

Not only did I have to, I wanted to. He left work, rushed to my side, brought me home, tucked me into bed, then proceeded to crawl in next to me and hold me. Now was not the time for his mind to wander to anything that would cause him pain.

“I want to know about you.”

He gave it a second, loosened his arm around me, and started skimming my hip with his fingers.

“I didn’t stop wanting to be a truck driver until I was thirteen. That’s when I met Officer Manning. My dad was so lost in shock he didn’t notice I’d slipped out the front door. Officer Manning did. He sat next me on the porch. Neither of us said anything. He didn’t offer me bullshit platitudes. He didn’t treat me like a little kid and tell me to go back inside. He just sat there silently giving me strength on the worst day of my life.

“That’s when I knew I wanted to be a cop. That’s when I understood what it meant to be of service. Being a cop isn’t about writing tickets, it’s not about locking up criminals, it’s not about kicking in doors or serving warrants. It’s about that thirteen-year-old whose life has been irrevocably changed for the worse and sitting next to him in case he needs you. It’s about humanity and decency. Knowing there is nothing you can do to bring a mother and sister back to life but still sitting with a grieving kid.”

Mother and sister.

Grieving.

My broken heart started bleeding.

No, it hemorrhaged.

“Valentine,” I whispered.

“Long time ago, baby.”

Broken. Sorrow-filled. Distant.

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