Page 77 of What Hurts Us

“Two more flights after we left your scene with the burn victim.”

“You get any sleep in your bunk, or are you about to go upstairs and crash?”

“Shower, then sleep after I get my flight suit in the wash.” She leaned in and stole a kiss. “Someonedecided to give me a very unprofessional hug and get glitter all over me.”

I smirked as I nipped at her bottom lip, giving it a tug that had her irises darkening. “Someonedecided to be helpful and wash my uniform while crafting and made it look like it had been assaulted by a disco ball.”

A sharp wolf whistle from the street caught our attention. Miss Marilyn and Ms. Suzanne waved as they power walked down the sidewalk, arms swinging like they meant business.

“Mornin’, Officer!” Suzanne shouted.

I gave them a polite nod. “Mornin’, ladies.”

“Do you usually sit on the porch and drink coffee?” Layla asked.

“Sometimes.”

“And do you always do it without a shirt on?” She splayed her warm palm across my bare stomach.

I grinned. “Sometimes.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “You are single-handedly keeping the sixty-five-plus Creekers in shape. You know that, right?”

“Those two have been power walking down this street for close to five years,” I said defensively.

She tapped her finger against her chin. “And how long have you lived in this house?”

I scowled. “Four years and eleven months.”

Layla gave my cheek a condescending pat. “Point proven.”

I held the door open for Layla as we caravanned inside. She toed off the fuzzy brown and white boots that kept her feet warm on the drive home and stripped out of her flight suit as soon as the door was closed. Her long legs spilled out of the dark navy as she kicked it off and unloaded her seemingly millions of pockets. Permanent markers, laminated cards, alcohol swabs, rolls of medical tape, shears, and power bars spilled out in every direction. She was like a walking first aid kit.

I finished off my cup of coffee, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the frog mug Layla had picked out at the store. It wasn’t the only oddball mug that had appeared in my cabinet. The frog and pineapple mugs we bought while on the run from BJ weren’t the only ones stashed in the cupboard. A fox mug, a mug shaped like a dumpster that was on fire, a mug that looked like a stick of butter, and one that looked like a skull were crammed on the shelves.

While I was on duty yesterday, I stopped by the Falls Creek Mercantile and spotted a mug shaped like a squat eggplant that hadEat a Bag of Dicksprinted on the side. I’d have to call up Mavis Taylor, longtime proprietor of tourist trinkets and irreverent oddities, and see if she would hold it for me until I could swing by and get it to surprise Layla. She’d probably get a kick out of it.

“What are you up to today?” Layla asked when she returned from dumping her flight suit in the washing machine.

Her foot hit the first step, but that was as far as she was going. I scooped her up in my arms and started up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh as she snaked her arms around my neck.

“I’m doing what I do every morning.”

Carrying her up the stairs had started as an act of penance for begging for her to get on board with such a ridiculous favor. But after almost two months of carrying her up the stairs in the morning, it seemed almost sacred. A ritual of service that I was content to do simply because I wanted her to know that I cared for her.

Instead of depositing her in my bed, I made a tight turn into the bathroom when I hit the top of the stairs. I set Layla on the edge of the sink while I turned on the shower, made sure the water was turned to the toasty degree of hellfire that she preferred, and grabbed her a fresh towel. “Shane’s coming over in a bit. We’re gonna go on a run.”

“Enjoy your exercise.” She pecked my lips and stripped off her shirt. “I’ll enjoy doingnot that.”

“You up for going to the fundraiser tonight?” I asked, holding the weight of her heavy breasts in my hand as she wiggled out of her panties. I gave her nipples a little tug. “I don’t have to do the date auction this year, thanks to you, but I figured we could still go.”

A flicker of something akin to sadness crossed her face, but she quickly hid it with her signature smile. “One last show for the town?” Her voice softened. “Tomorrow, you’re off the hook.”

Fuck. I hadn’t thought of it like that.Our original plan was to fake a break-up when the fundraiser had passed. Layla would move back into her newly renovated and felon-free apartment, and I would…Go back to life as usual.

I’d go back to an empty house. To a kitchen table free of glitter, yarn, vinyl scraps, fancy pens, and weird decorative tapes. I’d go back to eating alone. Sleeping alone. I wouldn’t find her zonked out on the couch with a bowl of cereal abandoned on the coffee table.

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