Page 22 of What Hurts Us

This wasn’t going as smoothly as I’d expected. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t expect Layla to say yes outright. I planned on a little Q and A. Some discussion on logistics. But I didn’t anticipate the hysterics.

Then again, I guess I kind of deserved the shrieking when I ambushed her right after her life had been turned upside down.

I held up the white takeout bag that sported the red stamped logo for The Copper Mule. “I, uh… Brought you breakfast. Heard you were staying here. I figured you’d want something more than a vending machine honey bun that expired ten years ago.”

She looked skeptical, but snatched the bag out of my hand and plucked the breakfast sandwich out of the bottom.

There had been a shift in the weather overnight, crisp autumn air blowing in. The change in barometric pressure had my leg aching more than usual. I eased down onto the edge of the bed and sat while she unwrapped the wax paper surrounding the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Layla pulled the two strips of extra crispy should-be-Muriel off and set it on the wax paper before taking a ravenous bite.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like bacon?”

“Didn’t eat it growing up,” she mumbled with a shrug. “Not big on it now. Did you know it’s considered a carcinogen?”

So, she was a smart-ass, too.I pointed to the strips. “May I?”

She handed the bacon over, and I took a bite. “Why didn’t you eat bacon growing up?”

“My family is Muslim,” she said with a mouthful of biscuit.

“That’s cool. Are you?” I asked as I swallowed down the rest of one strip. It was Cop 101. Establish rapport before going for the information you really wanted.

Layla shrugged. “I’m not very religious anymore. Working in emergency medicine…”

“I get it.” I ran my hand over my hair. “Seeing the worst of humanity all the time… It makes you question things. Makes you lose faith.”

“Just because I don’t believe in the same things or practice my faith the same way they do doesn’t mean I don’t love or respect them and the way they raised me.” She took another bite. “And don’t think you’re getting away with not following up about the wholefiancéthing by changing the subject. I’ve had patients get attached to me before. I need to know whether I need to file a restraining order or if I can just tell you to leave me alone.”

“Fakefiancé,” I clarified as I held my palms out, a half strip of bacon in one. “If I promise to stay at least five feet away from you while we have this conversation, can I say my piece?”

“Get on with it, Officer.”

“Cal,” I said. “Or Callum. Or Fletch.” Grimacing, I added, “Just notOfficer.”

Layla raised her eyebrows, silently daring me to stall again.

With a sigh, I began the explanation of my insanity. “Have you heard of the Ladies Auxiliary here in town?”

“I know they exist. Not really sure what they do.”

“They raise money for the town’s emergency departments, do a lot of fundraising for local charities—coat drives, food drives, that sort of thing. Once a year, they raise money for the Widows and Orphans fund by auctioning off dates with first responders.”

“AB didn’t say anything about it at the base.”

“AirCare is a private company. Y’all don’t have to participate.”

She motioned for me to continue.At least she wasn’t throwing me out on my ass.

“It’s an inconvenience, but it’s usually not bad. Just a bunch of little old ladies bidding on us. Harmless fun.”

“I’m sensing abut?”

“Last year,Brandie Jean Palmer bid on a date with me. I know you don’t know her, but trust me—one look and it would make sense. That date was hell. I’ve never been so scared for my life.”

“I’ve seen her around town,” Layla said as she exploded into a fit of giggles, as if she couldn’t imagine a grizzled police officer being terrified of a hundred pounds of augmented breasts and velour tracksuits. “But go on.”

I told her all of it. The nightmare of a date. The borderline stalking over the year. The pop-ins after my accident. Trying to unintentionally poison me with a casserole that was both burnt and raw.

Maybe that’s what finally sent Old Man McCuller to his grave—BJ’s attempt at cooking.

---