Page 31 of What Hurts Us

Slow and quiet were words we didn’t dare utter. Yeah, I had started it with the “quiet” text, but damn. I didn’t expect her to retaliate like that. It was kind of fun fucking with her.

“Thought I’d see you smilin’ this morning, Fletcher,” Chief Farnby clipped as she sided up to me. Willa Farnby was sugar and spice and pearls and lipstick.

…And piss, vinegar, and bullets.

It was a statement posed as a leading question. The kind that would make the average bear feel the need to explain whatever the asker had presumed. But, since the Chief hadn’t asked me anactualquestion, I kept my mouth shut between sips of burnt coffee.

“Rumor has it, you’re shackin’ up with Sepideh Nazari’s niece. Sweet lady. Bet her niece is the same.”

Again, not a question. I took another sip.

Chief picked a strawberry iced doughnut covered in rainbow sprinkles and nearly swallowed it whole. “‘Bout time you settled down.”

If her plan was to make me crack by asking non-questions, it wasn’t working.

I liked serving under Chief Farby. She was tough as nails, but fair and level-headed. She didn’t put up with an ounce of bullshit and focused more on community outreach than meeting a quota of tickets written.

All of that was fine and dandy, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of making me squirm under the discomfort of her inquisition. Instead, I nodded, grabbed a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut covered in powdered sugar, and said, “I agree.”

“Morning, Fletch,” Lauren sing-songed. The department’s newest rookie had the temperament of an animated princess paired with the shooting skills of a battle-tested sniper. She held a clear cup that sported a cardboard sleeve with the logo of a hipster Chapel Hill cafe. It was all whipped cream and caramel drizzle.Looked more like a milkshake than coffee.In the other, she held a drive-through breakfast sandwich dripping in grease. At twenty-one, she still had the metabolism of a hummingbird.

I mourned the loss of my consequence-free years of eating.

The best part of my job was that I got to be in town nearly every day, checking up on people and keeping the peace. Being a desk jockey was never in my plan after the police academy. But plans changed after a punk decided to text and drive, clip a cow, and pin me in my cruiser with a snapped tibia.

Two weeks of being bedridden pushed me fast and far outside of my diet and workout regimen. Physical therapy—also known as Satan’s red room—sucked hot, sweaty balls. But my personal sadist did get me back up and moving. Baby steps with the PT team helped me get back in the gym for core and upper body before I got my cast off.

It helped stave off the repercussions of southern women packing my house with every form of carbohydrate known to man.

Lauren took a noisy slurp of her coffee concoction. “Ilovethat you and Layla are together,” she cooed. “I can’t believe she kept it all to herself. How did it happen?” Her eyes were bright. She was fresh-faced and ready to seize the day. I wanted to sling my arm around her neck and give her a noogie like she was my little sister.

I leaned against the table chock full of coffee fixings and crossed one ankle over the other, discreetly taking my weight off my bad leg. “We’re just private people, is all. Nothing personal.”

“Well, I think it’s great!” she chirped. “Layla’s awesome.”

It got the feeling that Lauren thought most people wereawesome.But in Layla’s case, she wasn’t wrong. Layla was pretty cool.

And just pretty.But I dismissed that thought.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Chief Farby, now caffeinated, said as she sauntered up to the podium to begin the briefing.

The crowded room went from murmurs to rapt silence. Chief took a sip out of a mug that read,Harsher Punishments For Parole Violators, Stan.

“Mornin’, everyone. First off, congratulations to Detective Jepson and Detective Lopez. They spearheaded the investigation that led to the bust of a meth lab at the Pineview Apartments.” She paused for light applause. “Next, I need to bring a piece of department personnel news to your attention.”

Ah, shit.

“Officer Fletcher,” Chief said, innocent as a baby lamb. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

Murmured chuckles rumbled through the room.

“Nothing comes to mind, ma’am,” I clipped.

She picked up the remote-control clicker and turned on the PowerPoint presentation she’d prepared. There were photos of Layla and me moving boxes into my house. More photos appeared on screen of us eating dinner at the Copper Mule. The last few were of Layla leaving my house to go to work this morning, looking like a fucking badass in her flight suit.

Chief turned back to the conference room packed to the brim. “Any hopeless romantics out there have ‘Fletcher gets a girlfriend’ on their fall bingo card?”

Grumbles resounded from the peanut gallery.

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