Page 93 of Fallen Hearts

I liked this, being with him, and my own friends. I liked this a lot, actually.

Never fall in love.

Seemed like a pretty good rule if you wanted to guard your heart. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure it was too late for me to take that particular brand of advice.

31

MASON

“Morning, Captain,” I said to my boss. “What can I do for you?”

I was on the back deck, feet up, cold beer open, marveling at how much we’d gotten done this week, when my phone rang. Aside from the weekend before, when Pia had gone out with her friends, I’d spent every waking moment either renovating or with her. It was a rare moment I was doing neither. She’d stayed over since last Friday night, and a few times I’d wanted to press her on it, to ask why she didn’t want to stay this weekend, but I’d held back.

“You sound… chipper.”

“It’s the clean air. I can breathe up here.”

“That makes one of us. How are you doing?”

A former Army guy himself, the captain had taken me under his wing almost from the start.

“I’m alright,” I said, fully aware a certain blue-eyed vixen had at least partially soothed the grief that, in my moments alone, sat inside my chest. Lying in bed last night, I’d done something I hadn’t, even at my father’s funeral.

Crying for maybe the second, or third, time in my life, alone with thoughts of the man I was robbed of a chance to say goodbye to, the tears formed. And then fell. I hadn’t known what to do with them except let them come, refusing to feel foolish. It was a natural consequence of being sad, even if foreign to me. Although when Pia asked if I was okay this morning, I hadn’t told her.

“Glad to hear it. How’s the innkeeping stint?”

How to answer that?Better than expected. Going well. If we’re talking about the inn’s manager, fucking great.

“Also alright,” I said, knowing where we were headed. “Before you ask, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Silence.

Only my partner and the captain knew there was a possibility that my temporary leave might turn into a permanent one.

“Clock is ticking, Mace. You don’t have much time until you’re due back.”

As if the fact wasn’t seared onto my brain.

“I’m well aware.”

“You have no idea what you’re gonna do?” he asked in his thick Long Island accent.

“Honest answer?”

“The only kind.”

“No.”

More silence.

“Listen,” he said finally. “I’m obviously biased. Clearly you’ve got to do what’s best for you, but I do think you’re more NYPD than innkeeper. You’d be bored out of your mind in weeks. I know you, kid. You were made for this job.”

Was he right?

It had always seemed like the right path for me, and I did like helping people. I liked the job itself, if not all the bullshit that went along with it.

But bored?

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