Page 60 of Fallen Hearts

His pen hovered. “Do I write it down?”

“Yeah,” Parker said, as if we were asking these questions about him. “Uncertainty is a negative. Mason’s not great with that.”

Jesus fucking Christ. The pair of them.

“What else?” Beck asked.

“None of it matters,” I said, having thought of this laundry list before. “It comes down to choosing between carrying on my father’s legacy or honoring my mother’s.”

That shut both of them up.

I didn’t need to explain. It was no secret that helping people had been a dream of mine since my mother died. It wasn’t a pipe dream either. That, or the army. I’d done both. The former was rewarding as hell, even if some of the second- and third-order effects were shitty. And the latter? I still missed it.

“Not to be glib,” Beck said finally, as if that wasn’t his middle name, “but I think those cancel each other out.”

I glared at him.

“I’m serious. Neither are about you. I’m pretty sure Papa Bennett would be proud of whatever you decided to do as long as it made you happy.”

“Damn.” Parker shook his head. “Sometimes you surprise me, Beckham.”

He didn’t comment on the use of his full name. “I can be deep,” Beck responded. “I just hide it well.”

“Really fucking well,” I agreed.

Just like that, the heavy tone lifted and the guys started ribbing me again. Probably sensing there wasn’t much more to pull from me, they let the matter of my future drop. Even so, I wasn’t done thinking about it. What the guys had said. And beyond that, the things I hadn’t added to the list.

Like Pia.

On one hand, not having her around would be a negative of going back to the city. Despite the fact that I’d sent her away last night, I was also counting the minutes until she came back tomorrow. But she was a negative in the HH column too, because being here, and knowing I should stay away from her, was fucking torture.

Which brought me full circle. Except…

The left side of Beck’s paper was looking mighty empty. Could I really see myself not being a cop? If I left the NYPD, that would be the end of the road. It was all or nothing.

Kind of like the Pia situation.

I either said “fuck it” and had that adult talk with her about us. Or I toed the line, tried like hell to ignore her as anything but my employee. And the more I thought about it, that second idea seemed absurd.

“We need to talk,” I said, only realizing I did so out loud when the guys looked at me.

“Huh?” Beck asked.

“Me and Pia. We need to talk. To have that adult conversation.”

“Oh yeah,” Beck said in a “frat boy” tone. He made a “quote, unquote” gesture with his hands. “Talk. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

More maturely, Parker caught my eye. “I think that’s a good idea.”

So did I.

“Nothing like talking myself out of my own moral code,” I said, half-disgusted, but also excited about the possibilities.

“Trust your instincts, Mace,” Parker said. “They got you to Ranger School. Kept you alive overseas. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Use it.”

Though he didn’t say it, Parker’s words somehow felt like an argument for being with Pia.

“You just want to sweeten the pact pot,” I teased him.

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