Page 27 of Shield
“You do that, and make sure you grovel nicely. Klinger is a stiff bastard on a good day. As for the workload, I know it’s rough. The switch from eight-hour shifts to ten has broiled all of our brains, but the good news is that we have some new blood coming over from various localities. One from Sacramento, and one from La Mesa, so the caseload will lessen in a few weeks.”
“That’s good. They being paired together?”
“Unlikely.” I thought to push to see if these new men would be teamed up with one of our four, but given Franks was apoplectic, I just bobbed my head. “Go make your apologies. And, Winwood, if you are feeling the strain, speak up. We can’t afford to lose a good detective over caseload burnout.”
I had to wonder how he would feel about the fact I had played tonsil hockey with one of the LA Storm. His blood pressure would rocket. His head would blow off. And his wife would de-nut me with her incredibly long porcelain fingernails.
“I’m good. Just jittery, drank too much last night. I’ll call Klinger now and kiss his ass.”
“You do that.”
Seemed I was dismissed. I slunk out of Franks’ office and met the worried glance of my partner and the two elder detectives who had suddenly fallen silent.
“Anyone know the best way to suck a straight guy’s dick without actually applying your lips to said dick?” I asked aloud.
The replies I got were varied. None were helpful.
I commenced with the inevitable apologizing aka dick-sucking. Klinger did not give an inch. The call was short, nasty, and filled with simmering ire at my stupidity.
After I hung up, I lifted my thermos to my lips, only to remember that it was empty. Great. No coffee, no smokes, and it was barely noon.
This day could only go upward from here, right?
ChapterEleven
Oliver
Standing by the ice,waiting to get out for warmups for this home game against Carolina, my mind wasn’t on the game. Instead, I found myself scanning the stands, searching for a particular face. I had left two tickets at will call for Jackson, seats right on the ice near the goal, and the question whether he’d picked them up gnawed at me. Would he be there? And worse, all I could think was—would he bring a sign?
I had it bad.
We’d texted, had a couple of dates, talked so long into the night I was crabby at early morning practice, and slowly but surely he was stealing tiny bits of my heart.
As my teammates and I started our warmup routine, I subtly maneuvered so I could get a better view of the section I’d left the tickets for. My heart skipped when I spotted him. Jackson was there, and he wasn’t alone. Beside him was a young boy, chattering excitedly. Recognition dawned on me; the kid was from one of the youth hockey groups I volunteered with. Michael Zhang's boyfriend, Bryce, was his dad, and yeah, Jackson was his uncle. The kid was fast, loved his hockey, and was always smiling. Jackson, without a sign, was entirely focused on the boy as the kid was explaining something in great detail to his uncle, but his presence in the stands sent a jolt of warmth through me. His lack of a sign didn’t matter; his being there was enough.
Ash glided over, following my gaze. “Looking for someone?” he teased, nudging me with his elbow.
“Just seeing if someone took some tickets I left,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Ash followed my gaze and then smirked. “Ah, the cop and his nephew? You left them for the kid?” he asked, even though the smirk was still there.
I couldn’t help but smile, feeling Ash’s good-natured ribbing. “Not exactly,” I said, though I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Jackson and Leo.
As warmups continued, I made sure to perform my stretches right in front of where Jackson was seated. It wasn’t until I skated close enough to tap the glass with my stick that Jackson looked up, locking eyes with me. He didn’t hold a sign, but the wink he sent me spoke louder than any words or playful banners could. It was a silent message, one that echoed in the grin spreading across my face.
Ash caught the exchange and let out a low whistle. “Well, well, if it isn’t you making friends with Detective Heartbreaker.”
“Just keeping the community engaged,” I quipped back, not wanting to delve into the complexities of whatever was developing between Jackson and me.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of warmups. As I skated off the ice, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at Jackson. The excitement on his nephew’s face, mirrored by Jackson’s own smile, filled me with an unexpected sense of happiness.
He’d come.
During the game, every stride I took on the ice felt amplified, every play charged with an intensity that wasn’t solely about the competition. Knowing Jackson was watching from the stands transformed the rink into a stage. I wasn’t playing for the win; I was playing for an audience of one, just the same as I used to do with Melissa every time she watched.
That meant something, right?
It wasn’t the easiest of games either and, as it progressed, the tension was as thick as the ice beneath our skates. We were tied 2–2, the clock ticking down mercilessly.
