Page 4 of Beyond the Badge: Nox

Nox’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”

“You were getting to that point,” Rez agreed. “Until we found Sadie. Something triggered you when we did.”

A switch flipped inside him when he saw Sloane’s sister was nothing but a cold, defiled corpse on that bed. Even though he knew the woman had been dead long before her last breath.

She had given up. She had let her addiction rule her life.

No differently than Nox giving up and letting grief rule his. It smothered him like a weighted blanket he couldn’t shake free.

“We can guess what,” Decker added, “so we don’t need to discuss those details, but we do need to discuss you.”

He definitely didn’t want to relive the moment when he stared into that motel room in Ohio.

“I’m fine,” Nox repeated, trying to stay focused on the blank screen of the TV, instead.

“I wish that was true.”

When he heard Crew’s agonized whisper behind him, Nox yanked his baseball cap even lower to hide any reaction.

Cross spoke next. “We’re here for you. No matter how bad it gets. But none of us have the skill or experience needed to truly help you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Christ almighty!” Crew barked, making Nox jolt in his seat. “You’re not. Did you forget we knew you before…” The man blew out a breath and continued, “We knew you when youwerefine. You are far from that now, brother. You can keep saying that, but it’s all bullshit.”

The view of the TV disappeared when someone stepped in front of him and a hand appeared before his face. In Jamison’s hand were a business card and a pamphlet. “Take them.”

Nox wouldn’t take them because he wanted the info, he would take them simply to get this shit over with.

He quickly scanned them both.

One was a business card to a cognitive behavioral therapist, the other for a grief support group. Not the same group he had attended right after Jackie’s death.

Thank fuck.He had hated that group, and he was never going back.

The group leader had constantly urged Nox to “get in touch with his feelings.” That was impossible because, at the time, Nox didn’t have any. He’d been nothing but a hollow shell.

This pamphlet was for a group specifically meant for spouses and loved ones of law enforcement and military, whether lost in the line of duty or not.

Nox asked, “I get to pick?”

“No,” Jamison answered. “You’re going to do both.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to argue. They weren’t doing this to hurt him. They were doing this to help.

As he stared at the back of his closed eyelids, he relived something that had stuck with him.

A conversation that took place on the day of Sadie Parrish’s funeral.

Right after the graveside service, Nox had picked up Val, Decker’s four-year-old, and set her on his hip to carry her back to the line-up of parked vehicles.

Valee Girl had wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and pressed her forehead against the side of his head. “Uncle Nox?”

Her soft, cautious whisper got him right in the chest. “Yeah, baby?”

“Why are you so sad?”

“Today’s a sad day.”

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