Page 18 of What Hurts Us

A new piece of clothing fell off me with every labored step toward the bed. My cotton shorts didn’t make it past the entryway. The tank top I wore under my flight suit landed on the stained loveseat I’d tried to dress up with a fresh slipcover. My sports bra caught on the particle board kitchen table. I made it to my bed before changing out of my underwear and grabbing the last clean pair out of the tattered dresser.

I really needed to invest in some new furniture.

The thought that I would be in Falls Creek for the long run didn’t sit well with me. I enjoyed moving every few months and thrived on constant change. It simplified things.

I made great money as a flight nurse. Maybe the hesitancy to put down roots was the reason I’d taken a crappy apartment on the outskirts of town rather than a nicer place. The crappy space came furnished, so I could pack up in less than an hour if I wanted to skip town.

Although my landlord and I didn’t exactly agree on the definition of “furnished.” But that was a problem for a well-rested Layla to think about.

I wanted to sleep like the dead.

I grabbed the bottle of melatonin from my bedside table and dry swallowed a capsule because walking back to the kitchen for water was obviously out of the question. My head hit the pillow, and I waited for sleep to take me into the peaceful abyss.

It never came.

Instead, I tossed and turned for hours, haunted by eyes the color of storm clouds.Dark hair pushed away from his face. Latent scars from being nicked by shattered glass. The intensity when he asked if I wanted to meet for a drink.

No wonder Callum Fletcher was a man of few words. When he spoke, the sound of his voice set the air on fire like a spark exposed to pure oxygen.

He was the type of man that women made bad decisions for.

His brooding eyes and full lips. The way his uniform wrapped around bulging muscles. Tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves, making me want to see where else the ink traveled across his body.

All those sayings about knowing better drifted through my half-awake mind.

Once bitten, twice as shy…

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…

Maybe it was stupid to refuse to date an entire subset of the male species because of their career choice.

But I wasn’t going to be a fixer anymore.

I had no desire to be on the receiving end of the issues caused by the “protector gene” in men that should’ve been seeing a damn therapist.

Tires screeched to a halt outside my window, yanking me back from the edge of REM sleep that I so desperately needed. Doors slammed, dogs barked, and voices roared in a cacophony of chaos.

I huffed and glared at the headlights and shadows dancing across the window. Like any good neighbor, the commotion tempted me to creep through the blinds at whatever the heck was going on. But sleep appealed to me more than my desire to snoop. I shoved in a pair of headphones and let a meditation app lull me to sleep.

* * *

“Police! Open up!”

I groaned and curled deeper into my comforter.I should have paid for the premium, ad-free version of the app.What developer or marketing person thought that an ad for a police procedural drama was a good idea in the middle of meditation?

Fists pounded on my door. “Falls Creek PD! Open up!”

Fuck. Not a commercial.

I kicked back the covers and blindly felt around for a pair of pajama pants or a robe to throw on.

My hand landed on the red and white floral robe that I’d left crumpled on the floor. “Coming!” I shouted as I yanked it on and tied the sash around my waist. “Damn perky nipples,” I muttered when I looked down to see my nips poking at the thin fabric.

The cop on the other side of the door rapped their knuckles impatiently.

Ah, fuck it.They were just nipples. Everyone had them. Who even cares anymore?

I hurried like a drunken zombie through the lunchbox-sized apartment and yanked open the door.

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